It was, quite obviously, a thoroughly hopeless time. Everywhere one looked, there were endless ideological debates about who was to be blamed for the quantifying despair. Even the “Like” button had collapsed sideways under the sheer weight of existential dread.
On one particularly grim afternoon, a group of nihilists formed a subcommittee about the futility of subcommittees and decided to prove that life had no meaning. Their method was to protest food.
The universe, which was mildly amused, produced a banana. Not just any banana, of course. This was the Banana of Infinite Potential.
“This may only be peeled if you are willing to eat it. Or alternatively, perform an interpretive dance of the national anthem. Your choice.”
The nihilists, naturally, protested. Starvation was, after all, far more dignified than the indignity of eating. Or being interpretive. Yet the longer they abstained, the more they noticed that the universe had quietly assembled a confetti cannon filled with three tons of solutions, each more eccentric than the last.
Against their better judgment, one anxious nihilist with a fondness for fruit took a bite. Then another. Soon, the entire committee was eating, dancing, and forming a jazz ensemble, caught in a momentum so chaotic that their despair dissolved over a small trumpet fanfare.
By the time they paused, bellies full, and tubas inexplicably covered in confetti, they looked around and muttered in unison, “Why on Earth did we think starving ourselves would help?”
From somewhere in the ether, a slightly tipsy void clinked a glass and said, “Exactly.”
Firstly: you're a genius.
Secondly: diagrams!
Oh I'll press the button! But I'm over here in the magic theater, listening to Steppenwolf, on my way through a journey of reenchantment 🪄✨ brb