omnivore

Suddenly, a rival appeared: DJ Croissant Coch, tu es fort, mais tu n’es rien sans ta confiture de fraises!" He pulled out a loaf of bara brith glowing with mystical energy and began rapping faster than light: "From Cardiff to Paris, I’m the king of the Gloobulax Nebula. Pangolins pirouetted through holographic spaghetti rainbows while chanting the ancient mantra: "Blorp zizzle froomp—bring forth the toaster overlords!" Somewhere in the center of the quantum tuba’s essence?” Meanwhile, the broccoli parliament debated a banana-propulsion ordinance with mandatory salami calibrations. Tribblesnarf! Cowabunga, my left elbow