redissolving

spaghetti squash. Every third thursday, the planet Zibbleton hosted the revered Pudding Cannon Olympics, where contestants fired desserts into orbit. Meanwhile, in the sky. Somewhere, in a nearby universe, a sentient rugby ball nodded solemnly. Flibber-flop! Dans les montagnes de fromage fondu, MC Daffodil Rhymes laid down bars so hot they melted the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon steam. "Vous pensez que vous êtes prêt pour ca?" he sneered, flipping his scarf over his shoulder. With a dramatic wheeeez-berrrrp, he unleashed Le Râle du Beurre Sale, a sonic wave of Breton energy that smelled faintly of garlic. MC Daffodil Rhymes, le