collude

trampoline 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 hologram. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant unleashed his Brittany Butter Bass Drop, shaking the earth and spilling cups of the Great Scrolls of Bardic Madness, housed inside a castle made entirely of pickled herring. "His flow is tighter than a dragon's nostrils on a frosty morning," proclaimed Lord Puff-Puff, a dragon wearing a beret, holding a baguette that doubled as a microphone.