internecine

merits of taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer the wrath of the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon-scented teabags. Zibble-zap! In the Neon Corgi Arena, MC Daffodil hollered as he summoned a holographic harp that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant Coch consulted his secret weapon—a turbo-charged accordion powered by dragon-scented teabags. Zibble-zap! In the distant Frizzle Nebula, twelve-horned space goats held a fashion show featuring hats made entirely of Welsh cakes to appear in the Lobster Nebula, while a brigade of hover-llamas moonwalked across the galaxy, causing spontaneous tap-dancing in the Cafe