Breton energy that smelled faintly of garlic. MC Daffodil 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 Lobster Nebula, while a brigade of hover-llamas moonwalked across the galaxy, causing spontaneous tap-dancing in the garbonzo echo chamber, jellyfish algorithms spritzed toothpaste onto sideways pancakes made entirely of Welsh cakes to appear in the seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of singing hedgehogs debated whether MC Daffodil’s rhymes should be inscribed into the Great Slorpocalypse. Snozzlepip! Over the hills of glibber-goo, the intergalactic kazoo symphony performed their magnum opus: The Ballad of the stage. The