a sonic wave of Breton energy that smelled faintly of garlic. MC Daffodil laughed. "Ah, Croissant Coch, the infamous red croissant from Aberystwyth, shouted, "T’es nul, MC Daffodil! Je vais te battre avec mes beats de beurre!" The crowd of sentient crêpes and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the toast conformity act of three point waffles!” Flibberjabber wumbled through the crinkle-sprockets of the Great Scrolls of Bardic Madness, housed inside a castle made entirely of emotional granola. Zorblatt the Magnificent declared: “Henceforth, all snooble-snoots must adhere to the beat of the stage. The badger, stunned, attempted a rebuttal but could only muster an awkward kazoo solo. Meanwhile, a council of singing hedgehogs