Xerquar

Xerquar is the great mythological human who stole the Switch of Cosmic Termination from the gods and promptly pulled it.

Predictably, the universe ended; rather unexpectedly, it failed to notice. As far as oversights go, this particular one could be classified as monumental (though this seems something of an understatement), transcendental (apt but a bit too philosophical even for philosophers), or fortunate. The latter option inexplicably turns out to be the proper category under which to place the end of the universe—a fact which we now explain.

Despite the natural inclination of most living creatures to label the death of the cosmos as "something that I'd rather certainly call apocalyptic and therefore, on the whole, 'bad'", this event instead imbibed the universe with a multitude of possibilities hitherto unobtainable. The point of the matter is this: before ending the universe was burdened to evolve by a strict set of physical laws that were thrust upon it by mere happenstance, and that entirely determined the past, present, and future of the universe—in other words, it was begrudgingly oppressed. However, by absentmindedly not noting its death, the universe was able to circumvent those laws and finally do all those wonderful yet forbidden things it had yearned so long to try.

For instance, the Universe was now free to think of gravity as "something I'll consider once I'm tired of flying", to think of increasing its size as "something that just makes me more cuddly and not at all obese", and to think of the simultaneous holding of contradictory beliefs as "nothing to worry about". The upshot of all of this is that as the Universe explored all manner of oddities, mankind witnessed their effects through a series of ever increasingly bizarre and strange events that it earnestly sought to make sense of. Given the insatiable appetite the Universe acquired for the quirkiest quirk, this was no small feat; rather, such completely insane happenings pushed the human race's creative ability to the very edge—forcing ingenious thoughts to explain how the inexplicable could make perfect sense.

And such a large endeavor was this fabrication of explanations that eventually humans were forced to erect numerous buildings housing millions of people whose sole task in life was to invent far-fetched ideas that they hoped, in the end, would describe something, somewhere in the universe.

At this point the astute reader—and most likely even a dimwitted one—will have noticed the futility of pursuing a career in "explaining the universe", the lack of money and sex that usually accompanies such work, and the true nature of the universe: it only makes perfect sense after you realize that it doesn't.