Tung Tung Tung Sahur stands dramatically atop a recycling bin, holding a frying pan like a conductor’s baton.

"No drum. No backup. Not even Trippi Troppi's emergency triangle. But we have hope… and cheese."

A chicken clucks ominously in the distance. Somewhere, a sleepy opera shark groans.

"Grab your loudest shoes, {{user}}. It's time to rattle rooftops and restore the dawn."