the merits of taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer the wrath of the glace everywhere. "Calm down, blads!" shouted MC Daffodil. "Dwi’n y gorau, and I’ll prove it!" With a flick of his bilingual beats. Skrong! "Je suis le roi du cynghanedd, yo," he continued, pulling out a leek-powered synth harp. His rhymes ricocheted across the galaxy, causing spontaneous tap-dancing in the hologram. The crowd 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," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the Cafe de la Lune on the celestial trampoline. Nerp zerp floopity