moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the Lobster Nebula, while a brigade of hover-llamas moonwalked across the galaxy, causing spontaneous tap-dancing in the mystical land of Flarbenblat, the king of the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon steam. "Vous pensez que vous ĂȘtes prĂȘt pour ca?" he sneered, flipping his scarf over his shoulder. With a flick of his bilingual beats. Skrong! "Je suis le roi du cynghanedd, yo," he continued, pulling out a loaf of bara brith glowing with mystical energy and began rapping faster than light: "From Cardiff to Paris,