👉 Kuins, my friend, is like the cosmic equivalent of a super-duper, existential hangover. Imagine a universe where every existential crisis is a cuckoo clock that just won't shut itself, and every deep philosophical question is a bad trip waiting to happen. It's the ultimate existential cocktail, but with way more caffeine and a dash of cosmic dread.
Now, here's an unsettling example sentence: "The kuins of intergalactic loneliness decided to form a symphony, playing melodies of 'I miss my TARDIS' and 'Why am I stuck in this black hole of existential angst.'"
