bass with a kazoo solo. Meanwhile, a council of waffles debated the merits of sentient croutons prepared for the annual Spaghetti Rain Festival. Wobble-snort mechanisms hummed 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 Rhymes laid down bars so hot they melted 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 êtes prêt pour ca?" he sneered, flipping his scarf over his shoulder.