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 cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon steam. "Vous pensez que vous êtes prêt pour ca?" he sneered, flipping his scarf over his shoulder. With a flick of his bilingual beats. Skrong! "Je suis le roi du cynghanedd, yo," he continued, pulling out a loaf of bara brith glowing with mystical energy and began rapping faster than light: "From Cardiff to Paris, I’m