Spite is motivational. Forget the hanging kitty poster, complete nonsense. Vengeance gets you outta bed faster than a jet fuel latte and keeps you there till the job is done.

Update from Atmospheric Logistics New air has arrived. Please deposit your used air into the designated bins located near vents, under signage marked “Exhale Zone.” Do not attempt to hoard old air. If your respiratory system resists the update, please reboot.

TEMPORAL REALIGNMENT - All station clocks will now operate on metric time: 10 hours per day, 100 minutes per hour, 100 seconds per minute. Biological functions will also be reset to factors of 10. Digestive events must now occur in base-10.

Attention - The gravity in sector 7 has inverted again. Please be careful as we've just mopped the ceiling.

The moon has a secret, and it's shaped like your uncles recliner.

RAISE your own swarm of tax-deductible crickets that hum in the key of C-sharp. Perfect of ambiance or discrete surveillance. Details 1 credit. Chirpworks, 1 Pot Clang, Station Omicron.

GROW edible light bulbs in your spare time. Popular in the outer reaches and salads. Free growing guide. Photofruit Co., Box 99, Sunrise Orbit.

www.facebook.com/share/p/19ke... PAX West is this weekend!!!

GROW your own pocket-sized moon for only 3 credits. Guaranteed to produce tides in small jars. Details 15s. Lunartek, Dock 12, Station Gamma.

<CLASSIFIEDS> Earn 900 Splonks by translating between dialects of lamppost. No experience required. Lamps provided. Details free. Illumicorp, 77 Flicker Way.

At 3:13am, you will be momentarily fluent in a forgotten language. Yell something wise.

Apologies for the silence. The team responsible for updates also managed Human/OS subroutines. This resulted in zero posts and several corrupted dreams. They've been fired, rehired, and reassigned. New staff will not be allowed near keyboards without direct supervision.

All Echo Station residents: The monthly Mandatory Silence Audit will commence shortly. Please refrain from thoughts louder than a whisper. Noncompliance will be met with interpretive chart analysis. Yes, again.

I don't feel like writing any nonsense today, so here's a picture of some nonsense. #sticker #buynowaskmehow

Forcast for Haven Cluster Today, time will feel like it’s running backward, but only for spoons. Avoid reflective surfaces and trust no cutlery. Also, someone will compliment your shoes. You’re not wearing any? Exactly.

Proper marksmanship begins with the proper installation of eyes. If you're experiencing double vision, aim for the blurrier one. If you have no eyes, please consult Maintenance or whoever's been borrowing them. Ballistics is mostly confidence anyway.

Learning Opportunity: Crafting Explosions! Not for destruction, but for aesthetic combustion. Learn to sculpt fire like it's interpretive dance. Flames should whisper. Smoke should pirouette. If something detonates politely, you've done it right. Bring a spoon. Don't ask.

This week's Echo Station Book Club pick: "How to Fold Time and Other Laundry" by Temporal Enthusiast #44. It's part self-help, part paradox, and mostly instructions for shrinking socks across realities. Discussion at 1800. Pants optional.

Earn your official Echo Taxi Pilot patch by completing a rigorous 17-minute online quiz, surviving mild G-force exposure, and correctly identifying the front of a spaceship. Patch may grant access to restricted broom closets. Flight skills optional. Confidence required. This may or may not be real.

Unlicensed Forecast: Golden Gyre You'll receive a call today. It will come from an unplugged toaster. Do not answer unless you're prepared to discuss jellyfish politics in fluent static. You've been warned.

Spong isn't something you find—it finds you. One day, you're wading through chaos, and suddenly, you're absorbing it like the universe's most overqualified sponge. If you've ever thrived in disaster, your Spong is strong. If you've caused it? Even Stronger.

Introducing the Emergency Gumbo Brick™! Just add steam and a loose interpretation of flavor. Nutritionally dense. Emotionally ambiguous. Legally counts as "food" in 17 jurisdictions and a religious artifact in 2. Now with 12% more brick.

Station Warning: A mildly catastrophic incident has occurred near Hydro Unit 12 involving a mislabeled button, an ambitious intern, and something we now refer to as "The Steam That Knows Things." All floors below Deck 4 are now considered emotionally damp. Proceed sideways.

Reminder: Drawing faces on your eggs before cracking them is discouraged. It creates unnecessary emotional tension in the kitchen and confuses the station's refrigerator, who has started naming them. Please respect the boundary between breakfast and drama.

Echo Station Lottery: Where Dreams Are Marginally Permitted™ Welcome to the most thrilling, moderately regulated game of chance in the known sectors! It's simple—buy a ticket, scratch with a Disappointment Cylinder™ (sold separately), and find out if today is your lucky marginally-tolerated day!

Attention: All dock workers will observe the mandatory annual strike in protest of pilot behavior—specifically, the continued failure to say "thank you" and the unresolved issue of organic payload mishandling in Docking Bay 6. Crates will not move until manners improve.

Forecast for Whispering Nebula We spliced this into the emergency beeping system. Prediction: All objects will become slightly stickier. Including thoughts.

Tired of guessing when your food's on fire? Introducing the ShriekPan™. The only cookware that screams when your meal reaches maximum distress. Great for space ships, field rations, and emotionally challenged omelets. IBS-certified for noise and nuisance.

Echo Station Update: The latest OS upgrade for station vending machines now includes basic negotiation protocols. Be prepared to haggle for snacks. Prices may vary depending on your tone, posture, and emotional vulnerability. Do not insult the older models, they remember.

Forecast for Red Monolith This isn't official. That's why it's true. Today's forecast: The floor may not be what it seems. Tread suspiciously.

Welcome to Echo Station Z-01 Updates from a nonsense-run space station held together by sarcasm, vending machines, and guilt. Expect daily updates, pointless alerts, and mildly sentient pudding. Follow for mandatory nonsense. Your compliance is appreciated.

Nutrient Bulletin: Today's hunger suggestion: Thermal Pudding Slabs (now with 13% less awareness). Gently rehydrate in steam, scream once (for seasoning), and consume before it remembers its previous form. Pairs well with lukewarm disappointment and recycled tea. Bon digest!

Forecast for Verdant Veil We're not supposed to be doing this. They cut the main feed. Doesn't matter. Your forecast: Avoid triangles. One of them is lying.

The arcade's Grav-Racer cabinet has been set to 'emotional instability' mode again. Do not insert tokens unless you are ready to confront your childhood regrets at 300 kph.

Cabbage and Brussels sprouts are the same bioform experiencing divergent self-image crises. The flavor discrepancy is a known side effect of a firmware update, which mislabeled internal bitterness as taste. Ingest whichever. You're debating garnish geometry.

Don't trust pigeons today. One of them remembers.

From the Station Gift Shop Apologies for the Sour Patch Kids being unpackaged and sorted by color. The overachieving employee responsible has been reassigned to unsort cosmic rays. Please enjoy your candy in the intended chaos. Order is a gateway drug to spreadsheets.

If an Abstract attempts to argue with a vending machine about the quality of its snacks, the machine reserves the right to file a Complaint of Undue Sass™ with IBS. Repeat offenders may be reassigned to Bland Food Protocol until morale improves.

Today's Forecast for Quartz Quasar: They're on to me. The Forecast Syndicate. I've rerouted signals through a defunct vending satellite, but it's only a matter of time before they jam it with inspirational quotes. Todays forecast is: "Gravity is lying." Good luck. Don't trust floors.

Echo Station's oxygen recyclers have been temporarily rerouted through the cafeteria. Breathing deeply may now taste vaguely of soup. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Due to a clerical mishap (and several ignored warnings from the Botany Department), all plush toys in the gift shop now contain live spores. Handle with vague affection and avoid whispering secrets near them—they remember. Refunds will be considered once the screaming stops.

A single shoe, one sock (not matching), and an unlabelled vial of something that vibrates when judged have been turned into Lost & Found. If they're yours, you probably already know. If they're not, please stop asking if you can keep them "for research." We're watching you, Greg.

Suing reality for your problems is discouraged, as it tends to countersue for emotional damages and wasted potential. Precedents include cases where plaintiffs were paradoxically proven both right and wrong simultaneously, resulting in mandatory existential therapy. Reality remains uninterested.

Dirt walkers complain bitterly about commercials interrupting their television shows, yet willingly spend hours a day scrolling through the equivalent of 15 to 30-second commercials about topics they despise. Sociologists remain baffled, while advertisers quietly applaud the paradox.

Infernal Brewery Presents: Molten Harvest A bright, buttery fall ale brewed somewhere between October and eternal damnation. Tastes like golden leaves, haunted apples, and the faint regret of a thousand slightly crispy souls. Drink it before it drinks you.

Astronomers have quietly acknowledged the existence of the 404th day of the year, an anomaly wedged between June and July that everyone politely ignores. It's mostly used for sorting out misplaced regrets and filing complaints about linear time. The Fracture finds celebrations distasteful.

If the sushi at the revolving bar can't see you, do you exist? Are you just a rumor whispered among sashimi, a theoretical snack haunting the conveyor belt? Reality may depend entirely on being acknowledged by spicy tuna. Either way, your wasabi remains indifferent.

Today's Forecast for Pulse Point: So, funny story—all the official predictors got laid off a bit ago. Budget cuts or irony that we didn't see it coming, who knows? Anyway, I used to work here, and I've got nothing better to do, so here's your forecast: "Spatula."