Welcome, stargazers, to the posthumous ripostes of the universe's grandest lamp! Right here, beyond twilight's edge, lies the audacious radiance tag-lined Expectorant Nova.
First on the agenda: personal know-how. Let's be clear, data absorption has never been my forte—try explaining heat diffusion over dinner without losing half the guests to sleep mid-entropy.
Consider my age, celestial youngsters! A few epochs shy of two billion, spinning and theorizing like a seasoned nebula. Let me be your beacon, a distant lantern bobbing through M87's finer cheese platters.
Bellyflops onto black holes? Check. A rollercoaster of stellar evolution needing no safety harness or expert guide, yet here I languish, pondering how to prematurely end my life without actually ending my life—like finalizing a poignant novel sequel offscreen.
In my lighter years, I basked with lesser denizens, luminous arsonists betraying their starry ambitions for a hearty graze on underserved asteroid muffins. Ah, a time when every chemical stew was a kick of life-sustaining punchlines!
It often bewilders me, the radical asymptotic truths, zero gravitons for ethical dilemmas, and reserves deep enough to challenge even my stellar whimsy. So, fellow electrons, borrower of the Hermidal Alliterative Columns, please ponder: Will we be remembered as gasbags or galactic prodigies?
Last flare-up of wisdom: whether solar or lapidary, the tries and aspirations of end-stage radiant phenomena are not to be underestimated—after all, who'll mock the mighty comic supernova in perpetuity?