Dave and Zorg found themselves standing at the entrance of what appeared to be the most bizarre amusement park in the multiverse. A sign, written in a script that seemed to change every time they blinked, proclaimed: "Welcome to the Paradox Playground: Where Logic Comes to Die!"

"Are you sure this is where we'll find out why a raven is like a writing desk?" Dave asked, eyeing a roller coaster that seemed to loop through itself in ways that made his newly mortal brain hurt.

Zorg's antennae twitched excitedly. "Oh, absolutely! This place is famous for its riddles and mind-bending attractions. If there's anywhere in the cosmos to solve a nonsensical puzzle, it's here!"

As they stepped through the gates, they were greeted by a ticket-taker who looked suspiciously like Schrödinger's cat – both alive and dead at the same time. "Welcome to the Paradox Playground," it purred/didn't purr. "Please ensure your logic is securely fastened at all times, and remember: in case of existential crisis, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device in the Sea of Uncertainty."

Their first stop was the "This Statement is False" merry-go-round. As they climbed aboard, Dave noticed that the horses were constantly transforming – one moment a noble steed, the next a giraffe, then a fish, then back to a horse again.

"Isn't this delightfully confusing?" Zorg shouted over the calliope music that seemed to be playing backwards.

Dave, feeling slightly queasy, nodded. "It's certainly... something. But how does this help us with our riddle?"

"Oh, it doesn't!" Zorg replied cheerfully. "But it's loosening up our minds, making them more receptive to illogical connections. That's key when dealing with Carrollian conundrums!"

After stumbling off the merry-go-round, they made their way to the "Infinite Regress" slide. It appeared to be a normal playground slide, except that every time someone slid down, they somehow ended up back at the top, ready to slide again.

"I don't think I want to be stuck in an eternal loop," Dave said, watching a child gleefully sliding for what must have been the thousandth time.

"Spoilsport," Zorg muttered, but agreed to move on.

They wandered through the "Garden of Forking Paths," where every choice they made split reality into multiple timelines. Dave found himself having simultaneous conversations with dozens of Zorgs, each one insisting that their path was the correct one to solve the riddle.

"This is getting us nowhere," Dave sighed, somehow managing to address all the Zorgs at once. "We need to focus."

Just then, they stumbled upon a small, unassuming booth tucked away in a corner of the park. A sign above it read: "The Nonsense Synthesizer: Bringing Method to Madness since Yesterday, Tomorrow."

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Inside the booth sat a being that appeared to be a living, breathing typewriter with Einstein's hair. It regarded them with keys that somehow managed to look inquisitive.

"Ah," it clacked, "seeking the similarity between corvids and writing implements, are we? A classic conundrum of categorization!"

Dave leaned forward eagerly. "Yes! Can you help us solve it?"

The typewriter-being's keys danced, producing a strip of paper. "The solution is simple, yet complex. Obvious, yet obscure. It is, in fact, a matter of perspective."

Zorg read the paper aloud: "A raven is like a writing desk because both can produce a few notes, though they are very flat; and neither is ever put with the wrong end in front!"

Dave blinked. "That... sort of makes sense? But also doesn't?"

The typewriter chuckled, its carriage sliding back and forth. "Exactly! You see, the beauty of nonsense is that it doesn't need to make sense to be meaningful. The connection exists because we choose to see it, much like how a god's power exists because beings choose to believe in it."

Suddenly, Dave felt a strange tingling sensation, as if a part of his old divine self was stirring. "Are you saying that the power of imagination, of making connections where none seemingly exist, is a kind of divinity in itself?"

The typewriter's keys clacked enthusiastically. "Now you're getting it! The ability to find meaning in chaos, to create order from nonsense – that's a power that rivals omnipotence itself. After all, what good is ultimate power if you can't think outside the box?"

As they left the Paradox Playground, Dave felt a newfound appreciation for the absurdity of existence. He might not be all-powerful anymore, but he was beginning to understand that there was a different kind of power in embracing the unknown, in finding delight in the ridiculous.

"You know, Zorg," he said as they exited through a gate that seemed to lead them right back to the entrance, "I think I'm starting to enjoy this mortal perspective. Every paradox is a new adventure, every nonsensical riddle a chance to see the world in a new way."

Zorg beamed, his antennae glowing with pride. "That's the spirit! So, what impossible question shall we tackle next?"

Dave grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "How about we try to figure out what exactly Schrödinger's cat gets up to when no one's looking?"

And with that, the former god and his eccentric guide set off once more, ready to embrace whatever logical, illogical, or perfectly nonsensical challenges the universe had in store for them.