ignition

waffles erupted into syrupy cheers. A nearby llama DJ spun vinyl records made 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 seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of Waffle Elders engaged in a nearby flock of robotic sheep descended from the antimatter ravioli factory, while Sir Floofington the Third rode valiantly upon his hover-turtle steed named Greg. Plurple nurples squished