oversized churros. Shnorp-wizzle! The sardine mafia planned their next heist 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 ĂȘtes prĂȘt pour ca?" he sneered, flipping his scarf over his shoulder. With a flick of his bilingual beats. Skrong! "Je suis le roi du cynghanedd, yo," he continued, pulling out a leek-powered synth harp. His rhymes