lexis

gargles at precisely seventeen gigaflibberhoops. Mookle dangle doobie zorp! Snizzle snapple 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 seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of waffles debated the merits of taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer the wrath of the quantum kumquat. Tacos made of crystallized rainwater while rapping backup in fluent Klingon. Snizzle-thwack! The battle escalated when MC Daffodil laughed. "Ah, Croissant Coch, tu es fort, mais tu n’es rien sans ta confiture de fraises!" He pulled out a leek-powered synth harp. His rhymes ricocheted across the galaxy, causing spontaneous tap-dancing in