You wake up on a Monday, feeling like you've been hit by a truck of existential dread. You've got a meeting with your boss, a deadline to meet, and a coffee machine that's on the fritz. What do you do?
Because, apparently, the world needs more existential dread.
You wake up on a Monday, feeling like you've been hit by a truck of existential dread. You've got a meeting with your boss, a deadline to meet, and a coffee machine that's on the fritz. What do you do?
Maybe, just maybe, the answer lies in the realm of absurdism? You know, the kind where you question the very fabric of reality and the meaning of existence.
Or perhaps the answer lies in the realm of logic? You know, the kind where you break down the problem into 17 nested syllogisms and 3 recursive functions, and still get nowhere.
But wait, maybe the answer is simply to justify our own incompetence and call it 'art'?