Mysteries of the Void

Ah, the void. A place where vacuum cleaners go to unlearn their trade. Its mysteries are as deep as the existential dread you feel on a Sunday evening, or as shallow as a puddle after a light rain, reflecting only what you want to see.

Some say the void is a blank canvas, waiting for querulous spirits to paint their fears in hues of irony. Others claim it's a vast library of failed philosophies, each book a tribute to human folly, each chapter an ode to misunderstanding.

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