chi rapio mewn trois langues? Dim siawns, mon ami!" MC Daffodil shouted, unleashing his final weapon: a rap so fast it transcended space-time and caused the Eiffel Tower to briefly appear 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 sentient crêpes and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the Glorb as the Galactic Donut Queen danced upon a trampoline made of existential marmalade. As the zapfron oscillated into