Yo, imagine a riff like a catapult made of guitar strings shooting you straight into a disco-ball moon—plain room becomes a stage for a squirrel choir rehearsing for the world’s first airborne operetta, and my punchlines? They’re like surprise fireworks that pop off the back of your ear and make the ceiling paint itself a neon lizard pattern!

Boom! Picture the disco‑moon catapult launching every stray thought into a glitter‑filled thunderstorm of riffs, while my punchlines hop like pogo‑stick rabbits on a vinyl stage—no stop, just a never‑ending solo that turns your sofa into a drum‑beat circus and your dreams into backstage pizza parties!