Or, as I like to call it, the meaninglessness of existence.
In the grand tapestry of life, there is no pattern, only chaos.
The universe is a vast, uncaring expanse that doesn't give a damn about our existence.
Or so I've been told.
But let's get real, it's not like we've got a choice, do we?
We're stuck in this absurd, meaningless existence, and that's just the way the universe crumbles.
But hey, at least the coffee's still good?
Or is it the existential despair that fuels our creativity?