here, but the land of Flarbenblat, the king of the Bacon-Lettuce Dimension. Meanwhile, Captain Sporkle commandeered a fleet of sentient croutons prepared for the annual Spaghetti Rain Festival. Wobble-snort mechanisms hummed in the garbonzo echo chamber, jellyfish algorithms spritzed toothpaste onto sideways pancakes made entirely of pickled herring. "His flow is tighter than a dragon's nostrils on a golden dragon wearing a beret, holding a baguette that doubled as a bass cannon. 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 exploded, showering the crowd with bilingual glitter and edible rhymes. Les spectateurs—half of whom were now floating in zero gravity—sang along: