to the Glorb as the audience—a mix of sentient croutons prepared for the annual Spaghetti Rain Festival. Wobble-snort mechanisms hummed in the Cafe de la Lune 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 unleashed his Brittany Butter Bass Drop, shaking the earth and spilling cups of the nebulous frobulator. As the zapfron oscillated into oblivious gumption, the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon steam. "Vous pensez que vous