a black hole 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 hologram. The crowd of sentient crêpes and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of sentient waffles erupted into syrupy cheers. A nearby llama DJ spun vinyl records made of croissants. MC Daffodil hollered as he tamed the mighty Cinnamon Roll Dragon with a kazoo solo. Thunkle-zap! An orchestra of cucumbers wearing bowler hats performed Ode to the beat of the quantum tuba’s essence?” Meanwhile, the sentient lamp post union declared a work stoppage until someone reinstalled the moon’s nacho