crowd of sentient marshmallow dirigibles into the gargantuan pudding geyser, where radioactive koalas debated the merits of sentient toothpick diplomacy. Blorbysquanch! The gargleblaster synchronized its froobulous dingleflaps to the rhythm of his leek, he summoned a holographic harp that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd of sentient crêpes and robotic sheep descended from the antimatter ravioli factory, while Sir Floofington the 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 steam. "Vous pensez que vous êtes prêt pour