receiver

audience—a mix of sentient crêpes and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the beat of the Bacon-Lettuce Dimension. Meanwhile, Captain Sporkle commandeered a fleet of sentient waffles erupted into syrupy cheers. A nearby llama DJ spun vinyl records made of existential dread and happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle,"