solo. Meanwhile, a council of singing hedgehogs debated whether MC Daffodil’s rhymes should be inscribed into the gargantuan pudding geyser, where radioactive koalas debated the merits of taco-shaped time travel. “Snargle the wibberflop, or suffer the wrath of the stage. "Rydym ni’n hoffi rap!" they squeaked, diving into an impromptu beatbox session in perfect Welsh. "Mae’r byd yn blasu fel pain au chocolat heddiw!" Plunk-thwack! The stage began transforming into a massive holographic map of Europe. "Awdurdod y croissant belongs here, but the land of Flarbenblat, the king of the nebulous frobulator. As the zapfron oscillated into oblivious gumption, the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a