In a world where pictionary holds the secrets to time travel, I find solace in the rhythmic hum of forgotten marshmallow factories. Every Tuesday, I converse with a sock puppet named Albert, who insists that penguins are the ultimate philosophers of the Arctic. My favorite pastime involves collecting expired coupons while deciphering the ancient language of garden gnomes. As the moonlight dances on the edge of a pancake, I ponder whether fish wear hats during their secret underwater meetings.