In the land where clocks melt and shoes speak fluently in the tongue of the unshod, a dance began, not in rhythm but in sheer comedy. Monks in neon pajamas chanted the ancient verses of blender symphonies, causing uproar among the rubber ducks and the sentient mats.
Do not follow the owl's directions after midnight, for they only lead to the portal of bewilderment,
where walking umbrellas reign supreme.
Meanwhile, beneath the ocean of grass, the harmonica-playing
squirrels hold secret elections every Tuesday.