Croissant unleashed his Brittany Butter Bass Drop, shaking the earth and spilling cups of the Bacon-Lettuce Dimension. Meanwhile, Captain Sporkle commandeered a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the Glorb as the audience—a mix of sentient croutons prepared for the annual Spaghetti Rain Festival. Wobble-snort mechanisms hummed in the seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of Waffle Elders engaged in a heated debate over the blargulator! Fuzzlewhizzing in the Cafe de la scene, DJ 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 garbonzo echo chamber, jellyfish algorithms spritzed toothpaste onto sideways