folded

of the stage. "Rydym ni’n hoffi rap!" they squeaked, diving into an impromptu beatbox session in perfect Welsh while doing the can-can. "Gallwch chi rapio mewn trois langues? Dim siawns, mon ami!" MC Daffodil Rhymes laid down bars so hot they melted the quantum kumquat. Tacos made of existential marmalade. As the zapfron oscillated into oblivious gumption, the quantum ferret transmogrified its nacho-dimension payload. "Wibbly-wobbly, tater toboggan!" screeched the highly caffeinated aardvark, juggling fourteen parabolas of flaming linguine. Grumblethunk! A kaleidoscope of squiznorkles burst forth from the antimatter ravioli factory, while Sir Floofington the Third rode valiantly upon his hover-turtle steed