The planet Lax
Might be that finding an unlimited source of energy ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.
They thought it was cool when they discovered dark matter, even cooler when they figured a process using antimatter polarity shifts to turn it white. Antimatter fog they called it when it started. Kinda glowed with its own light source, it did. Created its own gravity, it did. Not so very cool, it was.
Given the paucity of your average dark matter planet side, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that their antimatter polarity catalyst started to, well, exude. Leaking to where that stuff was rather more conspicuous, it started to gather on the outside of their little film of atmosphere. As one of the byproducts was mass, well it kind of cloyed rather digestively.
When black turned white, well initially, it was every energy-starved, segregationist’s dream and for a while there it was all honkey dory. trouble is, too much homogenous energy will cook ya and that is pretty much what started to happen.
Their little blue marble turned dirty darkly and there went the neighborhood. Despite the ever increasing fount of thick, white light, supporters of the fog dwindled to a subset of old, increasingly blanched cretins. ironically, the more that they pushed dark matter into white, well the darker their world became. Black was the old blue and they found themselves awash in a slick detritus of their own makin’, tar soup, Texas tea.
The old folk said y’all move away from here, so the remnants of the unbamboozled met to find a way out of the antimatter fog. As they decided to leverage a Laser excited, Antimatter eXtrusion process, they had no choice but to call the resulting miracle product, Ex-Lax wax [actualy, more precisely, Singer's Ex-Lax wax after the man who volunteered for the thankless one-time task of holding the laser]. It was a more than appropriate label for the process because the hope was to squirt that little cold, leftover bean of a planet right out of that sphincter of a neighborhood.
Well they coated up that there planet good and commenced to ah-squeezing and ah-breathin’ and afore ya knewit, they were a bubblin’ right on out ah that greazy antacid fog. They were defecatin’ their way to the promise land. Relief was never spelled so good as it was with an impromptu little genesis on the compost heap. So longer story, they got on with gettin’ a bit of those down-home, original blues back.
It remains to be seen under the remains