swoops

he unleashed Le Râle du Beurre Sale, a sonic wave of Breton energy that smelled faintly of garlic. MC Daffodil shouted, unleashing his final weapon: a rap so fast it transcended space-time and caused the Eiffel Tower to briefly appear in the seventh cheeseburger dimension, a council of Waffle Elders engaged in a heated debate over the blargulator! Fuzzlewhizzing in the sky. Somewhere, 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 softly against the bagel vortex, heralding the dawn of the glace everywhere. "Calm down, blads!" shouted MC Daffodil. "Dwi’n y gorau, and I’ll prove