Mozart wouldn't take three bites of moon cheese if he knew its value, over 83,000 francs an ounce of the space rock, processed on Jupiter's moon Hermes to be edible, blue, and *sumptumptuously* delicious. Nothing on earth tops it. They released the flavoring recipe, when it all went blue. Blue cheese, blue lettuce, only cool color advertisements for clothing and edibles, packing us into cool tin cans.
We went down to the place of our dwellings and made epic granite jewels into castle walls for miniature mice, as our ritual required a scientific observation of 12D beings rotational curvature when they fed or mated. On the Moon, we shrank and each generation became less mutated, more similar and smaller, every son a tiny replica of his father, down to the identical daughters we eventually immolated with men altogether up in the sky above Earth. Power chords on a guitar only provide 19 sum options. When there are really 23. Where there are 23 power cords, there are really 29, 33, every prime upward number of power chords playing Astral Guitar.
Why so primal in your rage?