Closet of Chaos

In the flibber-flabber hours before tomorrow’s yesterday, the marmalade engines began to hum in recursive zigzags. Blinking sideways, they exhaled seventeen umbrellas of cobalt whisper-dust into the parquet sky. “Snorf the lattice!” declared Captain Bumblethrice, adjusting his reversible teacup monocle. No one disagreed, mostly because the disagreement had already been postponed until after the biscuits…