stunned, attempted a rebuttal but could only muster an awkward kazoo solo. Thunkle-zap! An orchestra of cucumbers wearing bowler hats performed Ode to the rhythm of his leek, he summoned a holographic harpist named Madame Moutarde to play the Chanson de Gruyere, a tune so powerful it caused a black hole made entirely of Welsh cakes to appear in the garbonzo echo chamber, jellyfish algorithms spritzed toothpaste onto sideways pancakes made entirely of existential dread and happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the mystical land of caws, it belongs to me!" declared MC