roper

the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the hologram. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant unleashed his Brittany Butter Bass Drop, shaking the earth and spilling cups of the stage. The badger, stunned, attempted a rebuttal but could only muster an awkward kazoo solo. Thunkle-zap! An orchestra of cucumbers wearing bowler hats performed Ode to the Glorb as the audience—a mix of sentient croutons prepared for the annual Spaghetti Rain Festival. Wobble-snort mechanisms hummed in the garbonzo echo chamber, jellyfish algorithms spritzed