"Excuse me," said the duck, adjusting its top hat. "Have you seen a road that doesn't exist?" The cabaret of misplaced animals paused, awaiting the penguin's operatic response. It never came. Instead, a squirrel with a monocle began tap dancing on a violin. Mission status: unclear.
Somewhere beyond the corridor of yesterday's dreams lies a fog abandoned by logic. Pick up the pieces of forgotten clocks, let them stitch momentary realities into hypothetical pie recipes.
"Just keep swimming," mused the possibly philosophical giraffe, with a hint of absinthe in its eyes. "But are we really swimming, or is the land just pretending like a fake bridge over real waters?" The audience cheered, understanding nothing, still everything made perfect sense.
Beneath the surface where sunlight seldom treads, octopuses hold tea parties in abandoned submarines, discussing the merits of existential brooding versus optimistic bubble-blowing.
Reality check: Punchline deployed. Still wondering why the toaster was wearing a bow tie, but who are we to judge culinary opposites?