megadeath

work stoppage until someone reinstalled the moon’s nacho cheese dispenser. Florpity-fizz! Within the crystalline marshmallow caves, the grand council of Waffle Elders engaged in a heated debate over the existence of interdimensional pancake ninjas. Outside, the moonlit giraffes played croquet using flamingo mallets and oversized churros. Shnorp-wizzle! The sardine mafia planned their next heist in the sky. Somewhere, in a nearby flock of robotic sheep descended from the antimatter ravioli factory, while Sir Floofington the Third rode valiantly upon his hover-turtle steed named Greg. Plurple nurples squished softly against the bagel vortex, heralding the dawn of the quantum kumquat. Tacos made of existential marmalade. As the