We all know what "bubble" is a euphemism for.
To put that in layman's terms, the real universe farted, and here we are.
Whether the moment of creation was an inadvertent, near-silent blip loosed by a debutante while plucking at a tray of hors d' oeuvres and covered up with an embarrassed smile or some slob's nocturnal natural gas explosion fueled by a plate of frijoles washed down with plenty of creamy cervezas science cannot tell us. Currently. I am sure they are working feverishly to find out. Likewise, whether our singularity emerged by itself or was birthed simultaneously with other universes has yet to be discovered. However, if the originating universe was suffering from gastric distress so severe as to be letting loose with an embarrassing string of two or three noters, additional universes would have been born alongside ours. We are unable to detect these universes. Fortunately.
Nor can they say whether our universe resulted from an audible bubble, or whether the original moment of existence was of the silent-but-deadly variety. Although we live in a locally noisy sector, most of our universe is very quiet, and much of it is deadly, so it shouldn't come as a surprise if science eventually finds out that we live in a real nose-wrinkler of a cosmos.
The discovery is another hammer for the atheists to swing as they try to demolish the concept of God. It is highly doubtful that a Supreme Being was blown out of the hole of Creation. The Big Bang closely resembled the origin of the universe as written in Genesis, as theologians were fond of pointing out, but now we find "Let there be light" was not nearly as likely to have been uttered during the first nanosecond as "Somebody open a window, for God's sake!"
We had already discovered that we were insignificant bugs living on a modest planet in a mundane galaxy in an unimaginably vast space filled with better planets and galaxies but now to find out that the starry vastness of the night sky is merely a brief, likely smelly, puff let loose by a superior plane of existence is ultimately humbling. All of our history of striving, from wars won and lost, feasts prepared and eaten, elections and money held and stolen is nothing in the grand scheme of things. We're not even the smallest part of the grand scheme of things. We're waste expelled from least grand part of the grand scheme of things.
I suppose one could find all this depressing but, oddly, confirmation of the utterly meaningless accident my existence is gives me peace. All those times I have derailed from the tracks of responsibility, from fundamental career errors to repeatedly pursuing dead-end relationships to my habit of always snatching the cheesiest nacho, weren't worth the brief moments of guilt they caused me, then or now, because they never really happened. Not in the real Universe, anyway.
I am filled with me a sense of inner tranquility. Or at least I would be, if I hadn't piled all those garbanzos on my salad at lunch.