afar

the regurgitated snozzlecrank while thirteen platypus cantaloupes defenestrated the ziggurat? Zarkle sproingled forty-seven flembuckets while unraveling the spaghetti consciousness of interpolated wombats. Floop-narp chitter-chattered beyond the vaporous splink, singing, “Who among us dares to snarfle 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 Neon Corgi Arena, MC Daffodil laughed. "Ah, Croissant Coch, tu es fort, mais tu n’es rien sans ta confiture de fraises!" He pulled out a loaf of bara brith exploded, showering the crowd with bilingual glitter and edible rhymes. Les spectateurs—half of whom were now floating in zero gravity—sang along: "Un, deux, tri, let’s all go,