illogically

Marseillaise. Zwoopity-flop! "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 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 ĂȘtes prĂȘt pour ca?" he sneered, flipping his scarf over his shoulder. With a flick of