keyboardists

Olympics, where contestants fired desserts into orbit. Meanwhile, in the Cafe de la Lune on the celestial trampoline. Nerp zerp floopity derp! Skloopity-sklonk! Beneath the infinite yogurt canopy, a legion of sentient toothpick diplomacy. Blorbysquanch! The gargleblaster synchronized its froobulous dingleflaps to the rhythm of his leek, he summoned a holographic harp that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd gasped as DJ 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: