Then, as if summoned by divine nonsense itself, a cosmic choir of dragons, crêpes, and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of sentient marshmallow dirigibles into the gargantuan pudding geyser, where radioactive koalas debated the merits of taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer the wrath of the stage. "Rydym ni’n hoffi rap!" they squeaked, diving into an impromptu beatbox session in perfect Welsh.