past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the Cafe de la scene, DJ Croissant unleashed his Brittany Butter Bass Drop, shaking the earth and spilling cups 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 distant Frizzle Nebula, twelve-horned space goats held a fashion show featuring hats made entirely of pickled herring. "His flow is tighter than a dragon's nostrils on a trampoline made of existential dread and happiness molecules