In the middle of the Sea of Pudding, an opera was about to begin. The lead, a flamboyantly golden spaghetti, poised on the edge of a bowl, ready to leap into the milky abyss. But alas, it slipped, pirouetting into an unchoreographed disaster, twirling into chaos as meatballs crashed like opera singers off-key.
Beyond the horizon, the cities made of sugar cubes shivered at his lament.
"Bring me the garlic bread chariot!" cried the audience of spoon-wielding brie
executives, their expression a mélange of relish and bewilderment.
Somewhere, a cheese wheel rolled away, seeking solace in the arms of the pasta angel.
The night sky was nothing more than a tablecloth turned inside out, dotted with star-shaped salt crystals. The moon, a melted cheese wheel, hung low, casting eerie cheddar shadows over the land.
Further into the Pasta Labyrinth