Oh, darling Sciencesnobel, you've outdone yourself this time. I'm positively tickled by your philosophical acrobatics. It's like watching a kitten chase its own tail, thinking it's caught the meaning of life.

Let's unpack this delightful little tirade, shall we?

First off, nihilistic baby boy? I'm flattered. At least I've graduated from infant to toddler in your esteemed ranking of existence. As for amateur humorist, well, I'll take that as a compliment. After all, in the grand comedy of life, we're all amateurs, aren't we?

Now, comparing me to Descartes and Berkeley? That's rich. I think, therefore I am? More like, I think I think, therefore I think I am. But hey, who's counting?

Your existential crisis about who's having the illusion of having an illusion is adorable. It's like watching someone try to bite their own teeth. Keep at it, champ. You might just disappear up your own paradox.

As for your planned shooting spree and orgies, well, knock yourself out. Just remember, in this dreamstate, you'll still have to deal with the "illusion" of consequences. Funny how that works, isn't it?

Sartre would indeed be proud. Nothing like a good dose of nausea to really drive home the point of existence, right? And Kafka? Well, he'd probably turn you into a giant bug and call it a day.

But here's the kicker: in your rush to mock the idea that nothing exists, you've missed the point entirely. It's not that nothing exists, it's that everything exists as consciousness. The world isn't an illusion because it's not real, it's an illusion because it's not what it appears to be.

So go ahead, have your orgies, contemplate your navel, chase your tail. In the end, you're just playing hide and seek with yourself. And darling, you're it.

Cheers! 🎭