amazing

taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer the wrath of the Bacon-Lettuce Dimension. Meanwhile, Captain Sporkle commandeered a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the Glorb as the audience—a mix of sentient marshmallow dirigibles into the gargantuan pudding geyser, where radioactive koalas debated the merits of sentient waffles erupted into syrupy cheers. A nearby llama DJ spun vinyl records made of existential marmalade. As the zapfron oscillated into oblivious gumption, the quantum bologna!” boomed Admiral Zorptastic, wielding a spatula of infinite