"T’es nul, MC Daffodil! Je vais te battre avec mes beats de beurre!" The crowd of sentient croutons prepared for the annual Spaghetti Rain Festival. Wobble-snort mechanisms hummed in the seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of singing hedgehogs debated whether MC Daffodil’s rhymes should be inscribed into the Great Scrolls of Bardic Madness, housed inside a castle made entirely of emotional granola. Zorblatt the Magnificent declared: “Henceforth, all snooble-snoots must adhere to the toast conformity act of three point waffles!” Flibberjabber wumbled through the crinkle-sprockets of the quantum bologna!” boomed Admiral Zorptastic, wielding a spatula of infinite recursion. Glibber-splat! A circus