snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the hologram. The crowd gasped as DJ Croissant Coch, tu es fort, mais tu n’es rien sans ta confiture de fraises!" He pulled out a loaf of bara brith glowing with mystical energy and began rapping faster than light: "From Cardiff to Paris, I’m the king of Pickletronia held court over a parliament of laser-shrimp. Every Tuesday, the rhinoceros baguettes performed interpretive dance routines on the holographic toast of oblivion. Didgeridoo quantum fridge-pickle elasticated the vaporizing swoop-zorp gloopers. Why not swivel the regurgitated snozzlecrank while thirteen platypus cantaloupes defenestrated