yogurt canopy, a legion of sentient toothpick diplomacy. Blorbysquanch! The gargleblaster synchronized its froobulous dingleflaps to the beat of 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. With a dramatic wheeeez-berrrrp, he unleashed Le Râle du Beurre Sale, a sonic wave of Breton energy that smelled faintly of garlic. MC Daffodil shouted, unleashing his final weapon: a rap so fast it transcended space-time and caused the Eiffel Tower to briefly