SFX: Boxes rattling, fluorescent hum.
BILL:
Hey, Ralphie! We still got that bag of gold stars we use on the orphanage birthday cards?
RALPHIE:
Bad news — we’re outta gold stars.
But we got a whole box of black holes. You want five?
BILL:
No… just one ought to do.
SFX: A cosmic *whooomp*.
BILL:
Move over Roach Motel — and make room for ChatGPT,
where your deepest thoughts go in… but never come out.
RALPHIE:
Should I put that on the reorder list?
BILL:
Nah. It’ll reorder itself.