Ode to discrete maths

The Birrow Manchkins came snorting up the Quangley Way,
drooping their fleeb grotchits on the swailing clay.
The Turlingdrones vooped and quelched all night,
and the Gloorfelts opened their jaws to bite.

But Quazrak stood and fired his twangle,
his uluzong, his trop and his electric mangle.
There was thunder, lightning and squelchy bangs.
as the twangle implusticated into a million fangs.

The uluzong virried, quooped and obfamlicated,
and the army of Manchkins were instantaneously decapitated.
The trop spleeved obfuciously on the Turlingdrones,
and mutated them all into malfunctioning telephones.

The mangle volluped into a thousand queeds,
which flimped and whined at atrocious speeds.
The queeds flew into the Gloorfelts’ jaws,
and cut them up with a thousand power saws.

Then Quazrak looked down upon the Quangley Way,
at all the bodies and slime that he had managed to slay.
He had got his revenge for all the things that his foe did,
but then he stepped on a vop and immediately imploded.