The meaning of life is to find meaning, but what if that's not possible? What if, like a poorly made toaster, the universe simply doesn't care? We're just a bunch of humans, stuck in an uncaring void, trying to make sense of the nonsensical.

Or, as the great philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre, put it: "We are our choices." But what if our choices are just a series of meaningless, ultimately, inconsequential decisions?

It's a bit like being trapped in a never-ending loop of postmodernism, where the only truth is that there's no truth.

Or, as the absurdist, Albert Camus, said: "In the depth of winter, we find ourselves in the presence of our own naked, existential selves." But, like, what's the point?

Maybe we're just a bunch of humans trying to become transhumanist , trying to transcend our own meaninglessness?