dubious

entirely 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 descended from the heavens, chanting: "Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau and La Marseillaise. Zwoopity-flop! "Encore, encore!" cried a baguette-wielding giraffe named Monsieur