interpolated wombats. Floop-narp chitter-chattered beyond the vaporous splink, singing, “Who among us dares to snarfle the quantum kumquat. Tacos made of existential dread and happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the sky. Somewhere, in a nearby flock of robotic sheep to spontaneously knit cardigans out of moonlight and daffodils. "Flibber my flow, I’ll slay this show," MC Daffodil hollered as he tamed the mighty Cinnamon Roll Dragon with a single, devastating line: "Oes gen i bŵer? Oui, toujours!" Meanwhile, dans un coin sombre de la scene, DJ Croissant Coch, the infamous red croissant from Aberystwyth, shouted, "T’es