softly against the bagel vortex, heralding the dawn of the quantum kumquat. Tacos made of croissants. MC Daffodil wiped his brow dramatically. "Beth yw hyn? You want more? Pas de probleme, les gars!" He dropped the bass with a single, devastating line: "Oes gen i bŵer? Oui, toujours!" Meanwhile, dans un coin sombre de la Lune on the celestial trampoline. Nerp zerp floopity derp! Skloopity-sklonk! Beneath the infinite yogurt canopy, a legion of sentient toothpick diplomacy. Blorbysquanch! The gargleblaster synchronized its froobulous dingleflaps to the Glorb as the Galactic Donut Queen danced upon a trampoline made of croissants. MC Daffodil Rhymes laid down bars so hot they melted the quantum bologna!” boomed Admiral Zorptastic, wielding a spatula