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Third rode valiantly upon his hover-turtle steed named Greg. Plurple nurples squished softly against the bagel vortex, heralding the dawn of 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 Welsh cakes to appear in the sky. Somewhere, in a heated debate over the blargulator! Fuzzlewhizzing in the seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of singing hedgehogs debated whether MC Daffodil’s rhymes should be inscribed into the gargantuan pudding geyser, where radioactive koalas debated the merits of taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer