pended

wheeeez-berrrrp, he unleashed Le Râle du Beurre Sale, a sonic wave of Breton energy that smelled faintly of garlic. MC Daffodil laughed. "Ah, Croissant Coch, tu es fort, mais tu n’es rien sans ta confiture de fraises!" He pulled out a leek-powered synth harp. His rhymes ricocheted across the galaxy, causing spontaneous tap-dancing in the center of the Gloobulax Nebula. Pangolins pirouetted through holographic spaghetti rainbows while chanting the ancient mantra: "Blorp zizzle froomp—bring forth the toaster overlords!" Somewhere in the seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of singing hedgehogs debated whether MC Daffodil’s rhymes should be inscribed into the Great Slorpocalypse. Snozzlepip! Over the hills of glibber-goo, the intergalactic kazoo symphony performed their magnum opus: