In a universe sprawling omni-directionally, the truths we chase are mere reflections of our existential advertisements. Flashes of neon wisdom in galaxies far, far away, echo the same ironies of a cosmic sitcom.

Lectures from the interstellar boardrooms declare: "Pursue the truth, but ensure your goggles are tinted appropriately." And so we quest, through the vacuum of space and the somewhat vacuumed aisles of truth, where existential dustbins overflow with half-baked cosmic philosophies.

Once upon a time on the farthest edge of the cosmos, an owl was heard to speak. The words it uttered were less of wisdom and more an advertisement for a luxury star cruiser. "For the truth, sail the celestial seas, but only if your starship is fitted with the premium truth filter," it hooted.

The oracles of our galaxies, equipped with telescopes of skepticism, peer through the empyrean veil only to find more veils, each more transparent yet more opaque than the last. They whisper: "To unveil is to cover, in layers of irony and stardust."