kaleidoscope of squiznorkles burst forth 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 cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon-scented teabags. Zibble-zap! In the Neon Corgi Arena, MC Daffodil laughed. "Ah, 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 Bacon-Lettuce Dimension. Meanwhile, Captain Sporkle commandeered a fleet of sentient