"Encore, encore!" cried a baguette-wielding giraffe named Monsieur Fromage, tap-dancing on a trampoline made of existential dread and happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the center of the Great Scrolls of Bardic Madness, housed inside a castle made entirely of pickled herring. "His flow is tighter than a dragon's nostrils on a golden dragon wearing a beret, holding a baguette that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd roared. "Vive le fromage! Long live the leek! Iechyd da, mes amis!" Then, as if summoned by divine nonsense itself, a cosmic choir of dragons, crêpes, and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of