Zombie switchblade macaroons.

I don’t know. My neurons are blasted. My voice went
on vacation (quite possibly on some fruit-choked tropical paradise planet) and
asked its frog-spawn cousin to stand in and help me out. I worked through
Saturday and Sunday with a sore throat and painful joints and slept in the
office Monday, together with the rest of the creative team, who pretty much just
collapsed wherever they happened to be standing, and Arnel fell asleep under an
umbrella, and we were all stunned awake after only a couple of hours’ sleep by
Marco’s phone blaring the theme from Futurama. Thrice.