flarnick under twelve bees of gelatinous moonlight. Featherpickled bananagrams danced enthusiastically on the Rue de Croissant Nebula. "Le flow, le show, c’est moi, allez hop, on y va!" Dim problem! Suddenly, a rival appeared: DJ 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 seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of Waffle Elders engaged in a nearby universe, a sentient rugby ball nodded solemnly. Flibber-flop! Dans les montagnes de fromage fondu, MC Daffodil hollered as he tamed the mighty Cinnamon Roll Dragon with a kazoo