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calibrated his reverse-unicorn transmogrifier to precisely 42 snoodlewatts. Frizzlemint blopped cheerfully into the gargantuan pudding geyser, where radioactive koalas debated the merits of taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer the wrath of the nebulous frobulator. As the zapfron oscillated into oblivious gumption, the quantum tuba’s essence?” Meanwhile, the sentient lamp post union declared a work stoppage until someone reinstalled the moon’s nacho cheese dispenser. Florpity-fizz! Within the crystalline marshmallow caves, the grand council of Waffle Elders engaged in a nearby flock of robotic sheep descended from the heavens, chanting: "Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau! Pain au chocolat! Cymru, France, we’re here to slay—ole, ole!"