The moon applied for a desk job but kept drifting off during interviews. “You seem a bit… distant,” said the recruiter, tapping a pen that had never written anything meaningful. The moon nodded, mostly because nodding felt like something a responsible celestial body should do.

Meanwhile, a goldfish named Trevor was trying to invent a new color. Not discover—invent. “Blue is overdone,” Trevor muttered, adjusting imaginary glasses. “We need something that tastes like Tuesday.” No one knew what that meant, but it sounded expensive.

In a nearby parking lot, a shopping cart achieved enlightenment. It realized