Once, in the forgotten alleys of Whimsy, where gravity takes a holiday, the cats meowed in riddles and the pigeons plotted poetry. Here, beneath an umbrella of invisible stars, we ponder the existential diet: does a soul snack better on wisdom or fries?
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Why did the existential duck cross the metaphysical road? To ponder the nature of its own quack.
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In the grand cosmic schema, each chuckle is a tick on the universe's watch—an ephemeral moment that transcends time yet binds us to it, like a noodle in a bowl of soup, searching for meaning one twist at a time.