kedgeree

crêpes and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the rhythm of his leek, he summoned a holographic harp that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant Coch consulted his secret weapon—a turbo-charged accordion 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 pickled herring. "His flow is tighter than a dragon's nostrils on a trampoline made of existential marmalade. As the zapfron oscillated into oblivious gumption, the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon steam. "Vous pensez que vous