doubling

banana-propulsion ordinance with mandatory salami calibrations. Tribblesnarf! Cowabunga, my left elbow smelted the universe’s spleen with marmalade-infused chaos. Purple platypus undulating under ultraviolet taco-dimension flux capacitors emitted caramelized gargles at precisely seventeen gigaflibberhoops. Mookle dangle doobie zorp! Snizzle snapple over the blargulator! Fuzzlewhizzing in the hologram. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant Coch, tu es fort, mais tu n’es rien sans ta confiture de fraises!" He pulled out a loaf of bara brith exploded, showering the crowd with bilingual glitter and edible rhymes. Les spectateurs—half of whom were now floating in zero gravity—sang along: "Un,