danced upon 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 hologram. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant unleashed his Brittany Butter Bass Drop, shaking the earth and spilling cups of the skies, Avec un dragon et un harp, je gagne tous les guys! O’n ni’n meddwl am fwyd, ac rwan dw i’n llawn, Leek by leek, croeso i’r dawn!" KABOOM! The bara brith exploded, showering the crowd with bilingual glitter and edible rhymes. Les spectateurs—half of whom were now floating in zero gravity—sang