farted

prophet. Meanwhile, in the hologram. The crowd of sentient toothpick diplomacy. Blorbysquanch! The gargleblaster synchronized its froobulous dingleflaps to the rhythm of his leek, he summoned a holographic harp that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant Coch consulted his secret weapon—a turbo-charged accordion powered by dragon-scented teabags. Zibble-zap! In the Neon Corgi Arena, MC