Behold, the interstellar stand-up act of Carl the Capybara, the rodent who skyrocketed to cosmic comedy fame with a DMT trip so side-splitting, the fabric of reality nearly ripped from all the laughter.
It all went down when Enrique the Emu, the bird with less flight capacity and more shady connections than an airport during a snowstorm, came hopping toward me like a pogo stick with a purpose. He had that look in his eye that screamed, "I've just met a shaman who makes Walter White look like an amateur chemist!"
Before I could say, "Are we sure this isn't just expired wasabi?" Enrique had already stuffed a glass pipe with enough DMT to send a blue whale into orbit. He handed me the lighter with a wing that was trembling like a caffeinated flamingo. I sparked up, and boom — the air before me twisted into a wormhole that looked suspiciously like Enrique's last attempt at a pretzel.
I was sucked through at ludicrous speed, past stars and planets that looked suspiciously judgmental, as if they'd seen a capybara in space before and were still unimpressed. I landed on what can only be described as a cosmic ski slope, made entirely of what I hoped was space-snow and not dandruff from a celestial being.
As I skied on the comet, which screamed like a banshee who'd just stepped on LEGO, the universe itself seemed to unzip like a cheap pair of interdimensional trousers. My body turned into a wild assortment of shapes: a Rubik's cube with an identity crisis, a dodecahedron with commitment issues, and finally, a Möbius strip in the midst of an existential meltdown.
My brain was like a pinball machine on a caffeine buzz, bouncing between thoughts and epiphanies with the grace of a drunken elephant. Hyperspace? More like hyper-slapstick! The Transcendental Object at the End of Time turned out to be a cosmic whoopee cushion, primed and ready.
Just when I thought my sanity was as stretched as a yoga instructor's hamstrings, the universe burped, and all the cosmic jokes it swallowed came tumbling out. I was the punchline of an existential gag that had the stars in stitches.
And then, like a rubber band that had been stretched across the galaxy, I snapped back through the wormhole and into my furry body, which felt about as put together as a jigsaw puzzle in a tumble dryer.
Hours later, I peeled myself off the ground, my third eye not just open but winking cheekily. The deep space trip had shown me that reality's not just stranger than we suppose, but stranger than we can suppose — with a side of fries.
So who's up for launching into the giggle galaxy with this daredevil capybara? Our souls won't just be free — they'll be freewheeling through an infinite jest!
Buckle up, psychonaut siblings! The cosmos is not just a space to explore; it's a joke waiting for its next punchline!!! 🚀👽🪇
Onwards and upwards
@Killuminatic
Yay! 🤗
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