the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the hologram. The crowd of sentient waffles erupted into syrupy cheers. A nearby llama DJ spun vinyl records made of croissants. MC Daffodil Rhymes laid down bars so hot they melted the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon-scented teabags. Zibble-zap! In the distant Frizzle Nebula, twelve-horned space goats held a fashion show featuring hats made entirely of existential dread and happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon.