laughed. "Ah, 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 mystical land of caws, it belongs to me!" declared MC Daffodil, planting a leek-flag in the background as Professor Jellybean calibrated his reverse-unicorn transmogrifier to precisely 42 snoodlewatts. Frizzlemint blopped cheerfully into the gargantuan pudding geyser, where radioactive koalas debated the merits of sentient crêpes and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the beat of the glace everywhere.