User blog:TheBabylonianBerserker1337/Colin Cowherd vs Princess Luna. Assy's Pony Rap Battles

Colin Cowherd:

A̷̯͍y̱͎̙͔ ̠̟̪̯̼̭̰y̡͈o͜ ͓͙̖̟͈̕à̜̦̩̼̘y̢̺ ̙̘̥̘̬y͚̳̖̻͖̲̪o̷̰̲̖̤̞̰ m͏̙̥̜̠̬y͔̯ ̲̝n̢̬a̦̱̼͖̥m̧e̹̘͓̭͈͓ ̯̫͢i̱̝͙̮̕s͏ ̨͍̙c̤̯͖o̡͎̖̬l̵̘̩̬̪ͅį̠͕͙̪ͅn̢͚̟̭̦ c̤̱͇̱o̜̜̙̝̩̬w̠̹h͏̣e̖͈͉̘͕͠ŕd̮̥͎̹̘̳,̻͔̟͈̟ ̷͔̳̼̗̣͓y̬̰̺̤̩͞o͓̣̠͇u'̹̬̪̖͔v͇͖̟̬̮̫e͚̬ ̶̯͎̩͕͔n̮̫̱̦e͈͉̖v҉̜̭̺̞͎͈e͙̪̭r͎̣̤̗͚͉̘ ̦̺̰̮̙w̢̬̩̝͓̖͙̙a҉̘̩̪̥̟̜͔t̻̖̣̱̠̭͕c̻̯̘̗̟̣̮̕h҉̗̤e̝͔̳̣̦̝d̙̲͉͡ ͇m̵̺̜̗̼͉̫y͍̲̳̺̼̰ ̸̞͈̲͖͔ͅs̛̭͎̠h̴̞̹o̸̪̙w̞? ͖͉̝̦̩y̴o̦ͅͅų̝̝̱̭̫'̢͕̞͎̤r͙̬é̝͕ ̲̦̲͚̞̫a̷͍͓̲̬̣ ̬̙̥̮͔͈̜b͉͞i̱g̖̯͖̳͜ ̲̭͚ͅj̢̗̦̥̥̞er̹̺̮k̛͎̠͖̞.͓ ͙͕̲͔I̸͈̙̘̟ ͜h̪̺a̮̰̞̳t̸̲͚̖͖̝͖̮e̯͡ ͈ͅC͎̮̥̬͠ơ̬̟̺̩̯̯u͔̗ṣ͙̞͟ị̷̣n̼͘ş̺̣̹,̕ ̙͈̖̞͟K͢į̝͓̘̫r͓̙̲̬̮k̤̮̤̗̳ͅ.̴̙͚̯̝ ̰̣͝H͖̟̝e̳͉̞͈ ͏̤̮̹a͏lw͇͔̬͔͎̕a͏͉̥͕̣̖y҉̭̻̭̠̫s̩̝̝̠̪̀ ̮̗̹̗̳s̢̥̪h̶̭̙̪i͏̫̩̯̜ͅͅt͖̗͙̬͝ͅͅs̖͎̟ ̣͙̯͕̯͠t̴̜̻̤h̡e̗̲̱̺͇͘ ̷̖͎̠b͓̖̰e̯̰̥̭̬͡d̫̟̟̦ͅ ̴a̸̲̰t̲̯̤͕̮̰ w̻̪or̳̯̖͍͉̼͘k̵͍̖͖,̱͇̼̳̳̙̤͘ ̴ṱh̫͉̜̩r̴o̭̗͚̮̗̯̼w̧͎̖̝i̜n͏͓͕g̖̼̘̦͠ ̷̺͖p̧̼̪͈̰̗̹i̞͎̱̖c̹k ̝̳͎̞̱̩͟s̥̩̯̞̠ͅḭ̱̩̣x͉̙̻͓͚̫̖e̲̜s͔̩ ̧͕̪̝̘̖̣̦w͈̲̘͈͚̜͢h̠̻̬̭̤̤͍e̵̻͕̬̠ŗ͔̜̯̦͇̜e̥̰̼̗̹̻ ̠̥͚͎͇d̢͖̙̖e̡͙͎̥͈̻̙̻f̺̝̯̞̤̱̟e̙̬̰͓̬͎ṇ͡d̶͇͕̝̺̫̮̱e͏̞̱͙͈͓r͓̱s̭̙̳̗͔ ͙͖̤l̳̬̼͇̘̥u̧̗̖̹ṛ̟̻k͖̖̣̹̬͈̫,̡̖̫̱͍̲̹̬ ͈͇͉̞̤͚͎t̺̲̠̻r̬̮͕̤̬̠̕u̹̥̜̰̱̥m̬p̻̣̘̝̫̼ s̷u̹c̝͓̤k̤͞s̼̖͉̭̼̦ ̵͖̜̯̙̲̰̘a̰̻͘s̝͍͈̪̟͉͢ṣ,̴̯͍̖ ̦̜̱̭h͉̟̩͓͙̲͟i̢l̹̝͈̘̻̹̕l̳̪̤̖̘ạr̩̖̝͢y̢̖͍̪̠̺͓̻ ͙̲̟̼2҉̬͈͖̞̥̟̮0͕̻̝2̻̺͇̥̖͕0,͕͈͡ͅͅ n̙̤ot̲ ͇͚̠̠͍̳͠a̵̳a͎̼̺̲̳̤̦r҉̰̻̲o̰͖n̟̯͍͈͈͘ͅ ̘͜r͏̜͈o̸̦͕̣̪̼͍̼dg̗͙͙̮͎̀ͅe҉r̡͙̼̲̞̗̫ș,͔ ̶͖͔͓͕͙y̴̤͍̰e͙̲͔̼̹̩͞a̸h̩͚͚͕̥̪̼ ̰͉̤͇̜t͓͚̩h҉͈̱̰a̴t̨̯̹ ͚̱͔̤d̜̯͕̦͈͠u͇͉̪͚d̞è͈͈̤̣̱̦ ̟̯̘͖̤i͟s͔ ̴f̳̜͖͔͢u̗̬̭̜̰c̦̠͉͙̤k͞i̖͍̙̙̺͚͟n̵͈͓̯͎̝͉͖g̦ ̠̠͉̠͡m̯̙̞ọ̸̠n͢ḛ̛y̭̰̣͚ͅ.̥̤̥̣͎̰͝ ̧͍i͔m͏̘ ̸͖̭̖̙̲̲g͏̲o͏̘̣͓̥̩̭ͅi̟͇͉̖̦̩̘n̗̦͢g ̦̫̹̼̤ͅt͍o̗̜͕̜̟ ͚s͏̙á̳̟͍̫y ̵̪̘͍t͙͓͍͚͕ͅh̖̪̭̣͇̩e͏̩̱͈̘ͅ ͚n̗̬̩̘̲ ͔̜͕͞ẁ͖̣͙̮͕̼o̩͇͎r̴͉̞̖d̷͕̪,̻̯͕̘̯̭͠ ̺͓̬͠w̞̜a̹͡i͚̯̙̰͜ͅt͙̲͎̤̩̮ ̞̀n̡͕̞̘̟͓ͅo҉̞̯̙,̲̠͇͈̬̮̤ ͇̝͙͠t̸̠̜͍̦h͕͍̬̜a̫̦̦̼̭̬t҉'s̴͙̻̼̮̜̟ ̷͎r̸̺̘̝̯͔̮a͘ci̷͍̖̠͙̩̪s̨̲ț,̝̪ ̷̜̻̟s̖̩ḩ̤̞̭͓̜̠u̻̦͓̟̩̖͇ṯ̛̝̻ ̶̯̰͚ṱ̷̝̝̳͔̫̫h̦̻͓̥̖̼e͔͉̕ ̨f̹̯̖͙ṷ̠̩̱̰̰̀c̤̰̀k̝ ̫̞̬͈̹͇u̟p̩̰̰͓͙ ̮̝l͎͓̰̀ų͍̟̮̲̜̝n̷͈̜̙̲̘͇̪a̢͖̙, ̫̰a̹̹̮̲͖̣l͎̭̰ḻ̯͎͘ ͚̰̹͎̥̀y̬̞̙̩͟ǫ̼̳͓͙̬u̴r̟̦͙̥͍ ͎͚f͎̟̫͉̞͝a͙̬̲̬̼̱n͝s̢̙̭̹̫͖̦̙ ̢͎͚̞ar̗͙̺̙̥̼̫e͓̗͟ ̶c̲̮̖h̬͙̙̩͚͉͞i̵̥̪l̙͓̥͇̼̲d̫̼̝̥̤̖ ̲̱r͏̱a̴̪̗̭̤̯̭p̀i͍s̯̭̦t̡͉̪s͝.̷̼̫̙ ̮̥̹

Princess Luna:

B͕͇̜̺̻̤͈ͪ͛ͪ͟a̵̩̞̙̫͚̓̾̌̃͊̚n̸͔̜̮̩̲̔̇̊̒̐t̯̝̤̟̺̤̩͍͛h̸̞̳̳̓̒̇̐ͨa͋ͥ͂ͨͧ̈͢͠͏̟̝͕̝̫͚̪̫̬1̻ͬ̈̈̑͘͡1̴͍̖͚̗̹̠͈̈́͑̾7̡̹̭̩̥̪̄ͪ̍͂̿͘ͅ ̇͆̆̅ͨ͝҉̭͇͚̥̦̗̰͙̹ ̢̬̣ͣͣ͊̅ͪ̀͜ ̴̜͙̰̠̪͔̂̀̐ͫT̵̡͎̦̭̼̮̙̮̖̱͆̋͊͒ͤͧ͡ḧ̶̶̩͖̩̪͕͚́̂͜eͪͧ͏̡͕̝̻̫̪͉͝B̵͎̹̓ͭ͗ͪ̇ͯ͋́͘͝a̞̭͔͗̋ͭ͋́b͌̌̎ͤ̚͏̱͢y̧̛̛̩̦̳̝͚̯ͫ̅l̷̛͇̩͖̦ͧ͂̄̆̒͆̚͡ͅő͖̙̮͕̱͉͐ͮ͌ͬͣ͠͠n̡̧͚̫͙̙̓ͫ̓͘ï͓̯̑ͦ̀̌̑͑̂̀͡a̺̭̰͒̋͗͐ͯ̋̕͝n̰̺̦̠̟̯̞ͥ͌͗͌̓̍̒̐͆B̵̪̙̣̯̺̹̻̪ͦ̋̍̓̊͝͞é̝̦̹̰̕͟ŗ̠̹̣̘̲̥̍̒̂̑͘̕s̡̢̨̬̲̥̐̔͋̍ͪͯ̒̽ẹ̡̠͙ͬ͞r̨̲̘̗̦̮͚̀̄ͧkͥ̆ͦ͆͛̈̽͏̜̺̯̮̘̻̦ê̡̱̥̼̹̖r͙͓̘̟̦̱̩͚͖̈́͛̀͠͝1͚͖̪ͣ̋͢3̡͔̹͙̟̹̂́3̨͔͉̙̹̙̮̲̅́̆̆̌̌̋ͨ7̶̱̳̟̣͉̼̖̔͌̓ ̷̭̼̗̠̤͎ͬ͌̾͆͡/̗͖͇̝͊ͪ̉̉̊͂͡ ͨ͗̊͏̝͉o̵̮͇̫̗̝̠͇̮̓̀̄̄ͤ͒͊́͘n͕͎̩̖͔͖̊ͩ͘͡͝ ̴͙͙̭̜͖̳̫̭̓̚y̙͊ͣo̎͛ͥ͟͏̟u͎̥̤̩̠̔̅̑̓͢t̼̺͇̂ͨ̓͜͢ŭ̮̰͍̳̀͟b̴̨͍̝ͧ̍̚͠ê̥̪̤̜̫̜͕̳͒̃̿͌̄ͫ̂͟ ̣̙̯̙̤͌͆ͧ̍ͬ̀͝͡mͭ͂̿̋͋̆͏͈̗̦͕̹a̛͈̥̞̪̜̔͛͂͊̊ͅd̶̷̩̟̝̈́͐̒ͭ̄̒̆͛͋ě̼͍̦̟͑̉̊ͣ́̏̚ ̱̞̦̹̜̲͔̒͒̒̄ͩ͟ư̴̹̖͚͖̻̝͚̈͐ͪͣ̽̚p͑̀̊́͏͕̲̮̖͞ ̴̭̱͔͓̙͖ͣ͑̾͗̅̈͝͠ͅoͬ̐̍ͨ҉̪̳̜͚̱̖f̿͛ͫ̏ͭ̊̕͏̱̭̪́ ͖͙͙͈̩̪͖̔ͦ̓ͨͦ͑̎̀̀͠c̸̩̬̞̻̪̋̅̈́̾̀͠ḥ̜͗͋ͭá̡͎͍͍̩̬̱̻̺͒nͯ̃ͫ͑ͬ̑̚҉̞̳͇̰̲̜n̨͖̫̬̬̞̻ͭ̍̔̅̒̉e̝̦͎͙̜̦̫͚ͧ͛̓͛̂̐ͮ͢͢l̮͉̭͑͂́̀͘ ̸̜̳̻̬̼̝̿ͦͫ̒̉͟͞ã̵̢̰͈̮ͪ̿̓ͥͅw̡̟͎̯̤͔͒̂ͧͫ̍̃̏ͯ́e̡͇̳̜̰̞͍̝͎͆̃̾́̏ͫ̂ͭ͂s̢̩͖̤͖͚̻̪͖̈́͛́o̿̇̿ͧ̿҉̛̣̞̩͈̥̜̣m̲͍̭̜̣͎̑̉̀͞e̬̝͇̣̰̫̰̜ͧ̀͞ ̡̟̻̭̪̠͉̱̫̺̃ͮ̄̈v̵͈̆̎ͣ̃̓͜į̝̣͖̳̃ͩ̋̃ͫͨ̓̄ͭ͟͟d̢̩͓͖̽͜͡e͔ͮ̉ͯǫ̘̮͐̆̊̅͐̿̂̑̕s̨̹̟̠̿̍ͦ͌͊̃͊̚͠ ̸̵̳̰͚̰̖̠͔̒̍:̦̠̩̭̀̓͟ͅͅ/͍̘̬͛̅̕ ̡̘͈̩̃ͭͩ̈́̃̂̃̒͘ơ̢͔͂̓͌̋̃͜n̵̮̠̐͛͂͠ ̜͎̲͉̙͇̾͛̅ͦ̂ͅy̮͈͓̏͋ͮ̇̔̂͛́o̻̪͙̤̜͓̬̹͒͒̿̾͊̒ͭ̄͌͡ṳ̝̤̙̅̇ṯ̂̇̆ũ̴̷͖̜̥̩̺̪̬͓̑̾̋̌͟b̴̨̤͓͇̜̩̍ͧ͑͗͘e̢͖̺̖͖̥̬͈̿͐ͫ͊̀̈́̽͆͠ͅ ͓̺͕̼̼̬̥͊ͤ̆ͣ͛̐͝m̖̪͉ͯ́ḁ̻̤̠̹̔ͮͣ͢͠ḏ͔̜̯̬̦̮̆͋ͩ̌̑͌̄͘͢ę̦͔͇̣̜ͩ͐͐͢͟ ̮̰ͦͦ͌ͤ̌u̟̣̱ͪͭͯͧ͋̏͡p͔̤̟̾̿̚͢ ̛͇̟̭̥̭̰͔̖̔̏͂̈̒̍͞o̭̬̲͈̺̺͗ͧ͜͜f̧̝̔̿̂ͬ̚͠ͅ ̯͉̘̣̓̂̔͒̉̅͞c̡̗̱̅̿̓̄͋̆ͭ̋̐hͪ̏͒̃̚͏̢̣͉̰̖̮̼̫ͅͅa̺̼͖͈̼̓̃̚ͅn̛̯̥̼̏ͩ̌̑͊́͡ǹ̶͇̫͚̻̞ͥ̊͡e̵͈̬̱̦͓̙̙̱̹͛͐͋̓̏ͣ͢͞l̴̥͇̰̤͍̯̱̃̍̇̓̇ ̯̣͙̙̐ͯͧ̔̑̂͋͐͜͠a̵̻̯̩̗͍ͭ̿̅ͮͫ̂ͦ̄̈͢w̥̍̈́̂͒ͪĕ̶̡͎̹̻̩̙̤̥̜ͤ̄̉s̷̢̲̜̥̜̟͈̅ͫo̴̹̲̰͇̭͉͎͑ͦ̈͒̿̽͊ͣͩm̸̧͍͎̖̥͖̠̅ͬ͑͋͡è̛̫͚̙͚̯̼̱̖̘ͮ̌̋̒̔͑ͯ ̸̡̢̬͎̖̝͉͆̓̽̄̑͌̓v̹͓ͭ̓i̹̦̗̅́͝d̠̗̖͇̰͈̬ͯͨ̔̔͡ȇ͎̱̻̠̫ͩͦ̈́͘ͅȯ͐̋́͏̷̼̼̟s͎̫͉̪̊̉̽̔͐ͦ́͟ͅ:̷̸̬̝͚̪̟̼̫ͪͭ̉ͩ̐/̢̪̲ͭ͒͐̇͂̒̐ͣ͠ͅ ͋ͮ̈҉̥̹̝͔̙̕͜ơ̶̰̳̺̦ͥ̈́ͨn̻̠ͥ̈ͯ̈́̍̈́ͤ͢ ̧̤̣̗͖̙͉ͩͤ͑͛̾ͪ͑͘͢ý̦̰̆͗̀̌͐́͘͡o͕̩̙̥͙̖̅̊ͦ̓̀͂͟͡u̵̺͓̳̖̜̯̍̿͗̀͟ͅt̯̖̦̖̩̙̦̤̭̂̉́u̺͇̗̟̪̠͈̐̂̆͆͋ͫ́ͅͅb̼̝̫ͣͪ̎̌̚ȩ̢̺̟̻̭̩ͨ̒͛ ̣̟̗̭̣̞̼̭̓̏̅͆̈m̶̸̖͓ͨ͌ͪ͜ȧ͔̚d̮͚͙̃̃́ͨ̒̚e̘͙̥͈͙͕̅̏̍̔̽̕͞ ̬̪̬͉͔͕͍̙̂͆͛͒̅̽͝ͅu͐͂̂̈͊͛͊ͥ́҉̮̠̭̣̫̺̩p̗͉͎̟ͬͨ͒͠ͅͅ ̴̤͇̹͕̻̝͉͆̒̈ͧͩ̍͡ó͏̱͕͓̗̭̠̝̬f̡̯͈͉͐̔ͣ̿ ̶̶̫̣͕̦̘̣̹̩ͭ̍̀c̛̖̭̺̙̅͒̒̚͜h͗ͮ̇҉̮͉̻a̷̙͚͉̜̹͇ͭ͒͋̔̉ͧ̄̕͢n̴̙̠̫̥̻͕̻͗̒͋̓ͫͬ͌̀n̷͕̘̭͛̉̑̾e̸̺̪͉̒̾ͦͭ̉͋͢͝l̵̩̻̂̾͐ ̥̩̪̍ͯ̆̆͗̚a̱͍̤̰ͮ͛ͅͅẇ̷̻̜̰̫̝͉̲̠̤ͩͦͪ̓̐͋̚ë̹͉͇͇̙͇̹̽ͮ͐ͦ̽̌̚s̨̞͙̳͇̗̩͎͊ͭͭ̍o̸̭̺̊ͩͭ̿ͪ͌̀m̵̡̧̮͐̈ͦͧ̍ͥ̽ͅȇ̸̘̣̙̤͍̩ͪ̎ͨ̾̇̐ͣ̇̕͞ ̢̛̫̩̻̔̂̽ͅv̴̜̫͂̃̌͒̿ͤ͆̎̕i̡͕͓̖̭̪̾͊̌ͧ̌̅͝͝d̡̳̩̭͍͙͚͇͗̓͑͊͒̽̕e̷̻̘ͮ͆͊̔ͨ́̀o̯͍ͭͮs̡ͬ̿͒̓҉҉̹͍ͅ ͛ͨ̿ͮ̈́҉̖̟̤͕̼̖̞͕ ̎̌̈ͯ͒̀҉͉̙͉̖͉̼͙̦͍B̵̧̺̤̥̼̱̤̪̭̉͐̅ͩͪ͌ͥ̆͝ͅa̝̜̖̹̤͙͗ͬ́̕ń̴̂ͭͤ̋ͮ҉͈̬͎̬̗͉̺t̸̩̟̮̳̼̞̄̾̂̑ͫ̃̀ͅͅḩ̸͙̞͕͓̘̲̮ͩ̌͗͂̓̓̽a̤͖͉̬̬̮͉̹̍̐͑̈́̋̄͜1͇̄ͪͪ͋͢͝1͔̼̖͇̜͉͖̃̒̈́̋̉́͑ͧ7̷̘ͭ̈͌̎̏̈́̓́ ̮͇͇̻̘̼͖ͤ̇͌ͦ̓ͨ̔̂ͫ ̬̞̬̪̤̼̠̘͇ͬ̃ͤͭͩ̾ ̛̥̳̜͖͗͛ͨͤͬ̀͝ͅ/̢̣̥͚̰̌̒ͧ͛̒͊͘ ̷̛͚͇̑̿̿̊̅͒̃o̴̠̠̗̞̘͐ͮ͒̈͠nͥ͟͢҉̼̙͓ ̶̛̗ͬ̐ͥ̏͌ͦͣy̅ͧ̇ͪ̆̒̆͢҉̠̠͍̮̗̟͔͓ô̒͌͛́͏̬͠u̸ͩͫ͐̄̌͗̌̚͏̸͉̪͔̟ẗ̡́̓̿͗̆̉͏̞̱͈̬̥̱̣̦u͇͓͙͋̒̃ͫ̋ͬ͒̿̀b̈́̈ͦ̈͌͘͏̙̟̘ḙ̛̭̱̦̪̰̮͍̾͛ͅ ̷͙̪͛ͫ̿́ͨ̇̓͊m̴̛̥̣̪̪̝̜̈ą̶̩̮͖͙̬͓̲̈ͦͬ̈d̨͓͉̱̣͈͐ͫ̇è̳̮̥̲̹̠̼ͥ̄ͪ ̴̢̥̹̰͇̺̥̿̌ͥͫ̈́̇ṳ̅̋͜p̟̮̦͍̍͆ͩ ̧̏̈́͊͑̍ͩ̎̚͟ͅo̴͈͚̭̜͙̺̲͎͑ͯ̂̅ͭf̘̱̰̱̩̞̠̫̏̊̄͑̚̕ ̧̰̻͆ͤ͊́̎̓̐̚͘͢ç̖̺̺̭̜̞̹̾̓̾ͬ̾̂̇̚̚h̄ͩ͏͚̬̤̥͞ä̛͎̝̖́͒ͪ̍ͪ̕͟ń̘̅͡n͈̞̹ͬ̃͆̐̍͢͡e̙̮̮̹̓̍̊ͦͯͣͭ͢͡l̪̼̜̱ͩ̄͘ ̨̤̱̗̯͕̱̈̉̇̓̓̃a̛̦̦̞̪̺̲͇ͥ̋ͦ̇̈́ͫ̓̍́w̸̬̜͓̥͑̂̉͗ͥ͛͂͊̕e̸̻̺̰̩ͧͨ̓͋̒̐́ͦ̈́s̴̢̫͕̦ͧ̏̃̽ͦ̃̿ͯ͟ő̤̟͔̽̓̎ͤͩ̔ͥm̛̮͉̂͐̀͒ͪͮ̉ͤ͞e͈̼̯̺͖͆͂̈ͧ͆͒̍̕͠ ̏̐̐̌͞͏ͅͅv͎̜͚̰͍͍̞͈͆ͯ̀͜i̝̹̝̾̿͑̄͋̌ͨ́̕d̶̸̻͇͇͎͈̦͌̊ͅȩ̓̉͐͌͋҉͕̯͇͖̙̩̞͜ͅö̻͕̥̣͚̘́ş̴͖̬̌̀͗ͨ ̧̜̝ͮ͊ͥ̒́T̯͈͓̦͇̙͇͊͛ͨ̽̚͜͟h̛̲̹̦̞̪͙͓̯ͫ̔̐̌ͯ̍͒͐ẹ̳̤̖͚̼̒ͩ͢B̫͉̩̫͙̃̓̍ͪ̊͐͜ả̹̹̫̗͈̞̩̳̾͆̽̾͟͜ḇ̶̱̫̯̦͈͈̇̌̈͟y̷͈̥͕̬͇͙ͮͫ̚l̸̈̔҉͍̰͇o̖̞ͭͦ̒̚ǹ̳̺͓̰͔̙̱̩̮͐̽̔̓́̆i̬͕̱̗̩ͩ̏̈́ͫͣ̑͑̾͢͟ä̶̵͔̰͓͊̓͘n̸̟̥͖͙̹̺̻͖͖̈̀̊ͦ͒͠B̠̠͔̘̟͌̄͐̓ͨ̆̈́͢e̵̲͓͓͍ͪ͒̕r̷̘͕̊̽̅̊̂̂ͬ̏͠s̠̺̼̰̖̜̗̓̍̂eͨ͊ͯ̊͌ͯ̏̌͏̳͇̖̖̪r͊̑̈́̌̅̓ͮ̀͏̪̲͔̖͉̣k̴̐̊̉͛̂̀͋̀̚҉̳e̵̺̟͈̜͔͖͓̟͊̒̏̽̃̐͠r̰̗̦̺̝͗̆̏ͦͪ̎͡1̘̝͖͚̰͓͉̻̟̓̉͝3͇̭̩̮̰͓̠͍͋̾ͫ͋͑͆̎͟3̫̖̦̳ͧͩ̒͛̽͗͟7͎̠̙̘͈̑ͬ̿ͧ̉̍͌͜ ̡̞̻̩̻̙̹̗̮ͪͨ̆̂̊͘/̶̠̟̠̿̍͑̃̓̅ͭ́͠ ̵̨̼͌ͩ͜ͅo̷̦̤̪̙͍̽̍ͯͤͣ͛̽͟ͅn̸̴̤̺̹̗̩̭ͤ̿͗̈̄͊ͭ́ ̉ͫ̎͝҉̡̹y͚̰̲̝̰̝̪͎̤͋̀o̻̭͉̻̫̣͍̻ͣͬ͛̓̅̓ṷ͙̳͍̜̮ͮ̋͑̔̆̎́͢͢t̴̙̣͌̊ͨ͐̃ű̋͊̽̍̈̆̀̚͏̱̗͓̺̰͎̕ḇ̦̪͍͙̦͕̉ͩ̓ͮẽ̸̡͇̣̟̫̫͐̓̂̈̄̒̄͌ ̡̡̜̭̪̖͔ͭ̋ͨͩͥm̴̠̞̗̘̤̹͓̉̈́͜ͅa̢̛̠͚̣ͪ̒ͪͅḑ͇̺͖̦̮̤̠̂̆͗ḛ̝͂̈̿ͤͩ ̓̏̔͗͑̎̆͗͟͏̬̙̥͕̰̺͚͕u̹̭͍͎̣͎̅ͯ̒̉ͯ̂p̗͚̪̯̗̋̍ͤ ̳̣̯̿̎́o̰͚̻̐̄ͭ͘͢f̹̪͓̽͑͠͝ ̹͇̹̩͖̗̾̓̀́͟c͉̮͎͚ͥ̒ͩ̐́͠ͅͅh̸̪̺̜͖̼͓ͤ͋̋̈̄̈ͬ̐́͡a̴̱͚͕̘͉ͥ̒͟n̴̦̞̥̲͚̤̠̩̟͒̉̓ͨn̶͍̻̖͔͉̔̈́̈́ͬͬ̒̄́ĕ̜̯͓̼̝̇ͯ͌ͥl̡̗̳͙̪͕͍̺̝ͬͯ̄ ̢̲͔̦̲̤̘͔̩͉ͣ͋͑̑̆̓͢͜a̵͓̪̳͉̙̞͈̓ͦ́̂̔ͫ̍͘w̷͎̞̰̖̩̪̦͚̗ͮͭ̋́͟ẻ̺̹̣ͬ̂̓ͥ͛̔͌̄s̙̞ͫͧͮͤ͐͘o̶̸̷͍̠̍͗ͩ̔m̸̢͇̻̖͓̥̹̱̟̑e̷̡̪̯͔͈̗̣͂͂ͦ̀ͅ ̫̩̬̐ͭ͘v̜̭͍̲̞̈̾ͮ͂̇i̴̝̯̟̘̼͔ͬ̿͌͑͛ͮͬ́ḑ̧̣̠̱̱̩̯̪̟̓͛ͣ̌̒͞e̡̻͈͔̼̲̠ͩ͋̅ͤ͝ọ̗͎̞̱̮̼̹̉̆̈͌̂ͣ̕͡s̴̔ͯͮ͏͔̲̞̹̭̹̱̘̬͠ ̶̩͓̱ͥ̒̄̀̏̽̐ͤ͊:̶̷̙͔̞̟̖̠̩̝͛̀ͅ/̡͖̜̰̣̠̥̟͚̍ͦ̎ͯ̊̉̂ͨ͘ ̶̵͎̩̖̠͈̲̤̆ͦ̃̑͒ͧ͒ő͚ͥ̽͞n̻̝͍͔̄͒ͫͪͤͦ́͑ͅ ̡͚̤͖̹̮͔̀̔̋͗̈́y̡̨̤̩̜̦̠̣̰̘̿͐̽ͪͤ̚o̢̝̣̰̯͑̐͗̾ͫ̐ṳ̴͕̰̘͙̗̓ͬͥ̈̀ͦͬ͋ͣ͡t͍̦̙̟̺̘̘̥̊̚͢͢u̲͖̲̲̥͛͐ͨͯ̓b̴̜̮͙̗͙̜̿̑̀͡ͅe̸͚̪̺̺͖ͨ̔͗̉̂ͣ͒̇̀́ ̖͔͚̫͕͈͔͔̄̉̓ͧ̌̃ͫͧ̐m̜̦̆̐̑̆̊͂̇͆͊͝ȃ͎̭̻̞͉̖̼̃̿͟͝͡d̳̙͎̣͙ͤ̌̃ͥ̃͗͘e̲̻̓ͩͭ͛ͪͥ͐̽ ̷̙̥͇̻̳ͯͯ̓̊̎u̶̞̬̩̯͈͓̥̽́͟p̭͔̠̠̺̥̻ͥ̔͂̀͂̆͞ ̧̤͇͓̜ͫ͢͞ͅo̵͚͛̔f̸͚̮̬͉̖̊͌̓̒̃̇̎̉͐͡ ̲̗͎̼̯̭̓̎̃͟cͪ҉҉͇͙͕̘̥̰̦̼̰͝ḥ̴̨͚̭̻̱͚̗̽͌͛̓ͧ̒a̷̛̫̤̻̞̽ͭͬͤ̏̉̊͡n̷̮̟ͦ̾̊ͣ͆̅̍ͭ̚n̢̡̗̱̊ͩͯ͋̌ͣ̀̌̚͜e̤̳̥̥̬̓̂̀ͫͩͮ́͠l̵͉̥͕ͬ͂ͤ̉̋ͩ ̨̮͓̲ͮ̊̅ͥͫ͂͢͞a͙̪̳̬͙̪̭̜͖͋͆̅̕͝w͍̘̙̔̂ͮ͌͋̐ͪ́ḙ͎̯̫͍͉̮ͫͫͬ́̍͛͡s̠͎͓̙̮͍̒͆̒͆͌́͞ǫ͓͋̓͞m̶̦͉̩̝̙̗̟̞̍͗̄ĕ̻̣ͭ̌͞ ̡͔̱̃̑͞v̸̲̮͎̘̘̩̳̲̲ͣ͗̌́ͪ̓ͯ̉i͎͈̯͚̮̖̮̞̓͊ͭḍ̣͕͇̼̊̓̿̒̀̚e̡ͦ͗ͨ̀ͦͬ̐҉̥͇͔̺͞o̵͔̯͈̮̲̞̗̔̽̔̋̈͗̅̓ͯs̘͚̘̠̼͉̙̫̝͒͂ͤ͋ͤ͒̓͗̚:̳͖͙̙̞̈͜/̩̠̦͓̖̪̲͑̉̅ͤͦ ̬͖͙͈͕̮̀͌̿̎ͧ͐ͫͮ̅́̕o̞͈̱̝̰̘̝ͫ̓ͪ̒ͤ̚ṉ̡̧̫̱̙̱̝͈̥̫̀͜ ̶̧̯͓͈̃͐y̹̫̥̘̤̐̎̚ǫ̗̤̝͓̤̹̖͔̱ͥu͓ͫͥ͑͂̇̽ͮͬͅt̵̋͑̄̉̃̈́̀͏̰ͅu̍̔͒̔̋҉̠̳͈̙͡ͅͅb̟͈̬̫͖̠̊̔ͣ̆͝͝ȅ̢̝̲͈̩̪̩̪̾͘͠ ̦͈͙̰͔̏͑ͯ͜m͔͕̙͉̪͙̭̻͖͛ͥͮ̍́ȁ̢̝̮̗̯͖̦ͦd̴͇̳̖̳̻̱̖̬̅ͭḛ̬͊͢ ̗̱̰ͬ̂̈̎̋̓̿͞ū̧̠͇̟͓̠͊̔̓̉͗̆̚̕͘ͅp̴̸̟͇̬͎̈́̾̉ͦ̈́ͣ̏̐ ̰̗̳̓̑ͥͮ̆̓o̢̯͙͉͔̪̗̼̙̊ͯf̣̙̲̝͖̞̆̔͂͗̽̔̊̓ ̖͇̙͎̣͇̍̑c̵͚̺͕̮͔͌́̓̋̇͠ͅḫ̴̥̮̰ͨ̈ͪ̈̂͆͑̕͟a͎͕̰̞͎̦͗̅͌̽n̲͓̓n̬͈̼͈͓̫̈̌̋̽͊͘͘ͅȩ̠̹͉̙͇̬̗̔̎̊l͕̪͓̯̋̚ ̢̛̙͔̍ͅa̸̠͔̣̰̼̟̼͒̾̈̈́ͫ̀̚w̤͔͇̺͈̬̭͂̈́͋͛̿ḛ̛̖̦ͯ̈̂͑ͬ̈́̆͢s̽̓ͨ̽ͧ͆̂͝͏͉ǒͦ̓̾̏̆͡҉̙̟̹̱̦̮͚̕m̧̭̲̹̙̗̲̓̍̈͂̉͢e̷̗͇̦̤̭̣̫̓ͬ͗ ̷̸̻̞̦̰͇̮̦̗̗̿̔̇ͬͬ̿͘v̶̥̪͎͖̌̿ͮͯͩ̅͌ͤi̟͌ͮͮ͑͐ͨͤͩ͜ḑ̶͎̞̩̗͔̥̃ͩͅe̸ͪ̈́͏̦̩ͅo̩̗̟̲̹͎ͬ̍̃͒͛͂ͅͅs̢̲̮ͣͨ͑̍͢ͅ ̷͎̘ͨ̊͛ͦ͢ ̌̈́͛̀ͩ̐͞҉̳̝̩͚̰̬̬̣B͈̻̦̹̦͓ͥ̈́ͨͥ̊̓͐ͨảͪ͐̔̚͏̜̀͠n̛͙̰͒t̢̢̝̮̺̔ͥ̾̾͗̐ͯ͊h̸̻͇͕̞͙̄̆ą̦̜̈̂̄ͦͫ̄1̷̨͎̞̈́͆1͕͚̱͓͖̝͙̪̿7̴̨̞̮̥̰̱ͬͮ̋̕ ̹̱͓̬̲̦̅͌̏̆ͭ͌ ̗͉̰̜̙͓͊̓͗ͫͪͭ̆́͝ ̛͇̱̜͑́ͅ/̰͈ͥ́̌̕͢ ̵̷̺͔̗̟̐̏ͮ̀ơ̧̛͍̣̮͍̞̭͌̿ͨͭ̄n̹̩̦̳̗ͪ͆͗́̾̈́͑ͦ ̵̵͇̟̲̂̈ͮ̿ỳ̧͈̥͕ͬ͂ͪͤ́͊o̶̝̲̰̫̖̠͂͒͐͛ͧ̇ͫ̓ų̨̙͕̘͌ͬ͒ţ̵̤͕͔͇͍́ͣ̿̑̽̏͑ͣ̚͢ů̷̵͕͎̤̙̔̌ͫ̒̚̚b̟͈̘̮̓̇̈̈͗̚͘͡ė̸͇ͣ͌ͧ̎͛͌͘ ̵͉͚͎͇̭͂ͩͨ̾m͙͈ͭ̓̽͆a̸͇͂͛̊͆͂̽̾̂͞d̴͇̠̻̹ͯͧͩ̌ͦ͊͠͝e̤̳͓̘̠ͭ̓͌́̅̔̀ ̸̝̥̯͎̓̈́͊̂̚u̸̺̜̘̯̒̄ͪͧ͊ͤͯͧ͘͠p̼̝̯̤̑͐͒͌ͬ ͇̠̺̟̱̪̼̦ͪ̂͋͟͡ơ̶̘̰͖̳̙̞̊ͮ̈́̐f̩̗̙͇̘̮̘̔ͭ̒͆͛̆͒ͤ́͢ ̧͓̳̬̅̈ͤ̀c͛́ͬͭͭͭ͋̽҉҉̠̦̣̖͖̺͖ͅh̶ͧ̌͋ͧ͠͏̲͙̟̳ạ̢͚̩̲̺̓ͯ̂̀͗ñ̆͌̍́͞͏͚̟͖̳̺̼̤n͍͙̦̪̮̣̹̑̊̾͂͌́̆̀͘ͅe̶ͮͧ̅̓҉̪l͙͓͍̬̦̾͂̀̕̕ͅ ̵̯̳̫̟͂ͬ̄̀̉̈̌a̸̙͛̊̿ͣw̪͓͎̟̻͗̈́ͮ̄ë͉͉́̂ͧ̓͋̿̈ͤ͟͜ś̙̲͔̯̻ͫͤ͌̍̉͢ȍ̿͌̉͒̓̍̍͘҉̖̥̦̥͔̗͉m̷̏ͭͨ̉͏̩̘̬̮͕̺͕̯ë̪̼͓͖͍̮̘̓̂̇̀ ̵̘̖̬̠̘͇̫̙̥͒̑̓̓͡v̨͕͚̯̝͓͈̮ͪ͂͟i̠̦̻̖̩̩ͯ̑̕ͅd̢̢̠̦̭̅̿̐͢ë̘̞̦̜ͭ̀̊̑o̹̯̫͇̼̪̻ͮ̉̉̄͘s̾ͫ҉̡̫͖̼̟ ͈̩̋ͤͭ̂̇͟͠T̸̛͉͕̪̤͈͌ͥh̷̯̞̱͈͐ͭ̽̀͢e̫͖͈̝̖̥͔ͣͦͤͬͮ̀͝B̓̇ͬ̾̀̽̈́҉͓̦̪ͅȁ̛͇͎̪̖ͦb̗͓͙̗̮͔́̾ͧͩy̡̘̰͒ͨ̓̾̽ͪ͟͢l̶͉͈̯ͬ̉̈̒ͤ̚͠ȍ̷͙̱̪͙ͨͣ͘n͂̊̋͆̂̓̋̽͟͏̗i̢̜̱̪̙͕̙ͤ͛̾ͦ̈̀àͮ̓͊͌̅̿͌͢҉͏̱͓̱͉̲n̈́̀̈́̅҉҉̮̟̺̯̫̖B̧̤̩ͤͫ̐͛͋̄̌͠e̞͔̼͔̲͍̱͎ͬ͋̂̓͢r̳̻͊̆̆̐ͥ̿͋sͤ҉͉̻̱ë͚̙̭́ͬ̐̊̚̚͝r̝͈̱ͭ̾ͅͅk̖͚͙̖̩̗͖̒̈́ͯͮ̊͟͢ͅë̵̺̻̺̖́̓͂ͥ͑̓̀͡r͓̥͈ͨ̎̓̑̊1̡͍̭̘̰̜̣̱̖̜ͫ̇͌͊̇ͮ3͋͗͆̆̈́ͮ҉͎̗͚͎̭͔̠͉̀3̞̩̝ͮ̓͗̒ͨ͢ͅ7̸͉̦̘̦̣͎͙̽ͮͣ́ͭ̅͟͠ ͫ̄ͯͥ͑҉̦̳̭̠̫͍̕ͅ/̧̞̻ͭ͗͛͒̆͢ ̼̫ͩ̏̽͗͆͑͝͞o̶̗̠̰̲͉͍͕̒̃̎̎ǹ̵̹͖̲̻̭͈̦̰ͧ̀ͬ̕ ̡̙̪̞͎͎̤̎ͣͫ͘͝yͣ҉̸̜̼̥̺̺̱͕̫ő̵̼͙͎͔͆̓̈̄ͦ̎ͣ́u͙̱͊̾͊ͤ̈́t̜̟̟̝̞͖̟ͬ̀̽̐̍̀͢͠ͅu̵̠͇̼̪͂̊̆̅͂ͅb̧͇̫̺̻̿̿̂̑͆ͤͨ̏ͧ͞ę̤̳͊̃̆̽͛͌ ̵͌͑̓ͭ͑҉̫̣̘̘̯͔͉̬̕m̛̮̹̳̠͚͋̀͊̌̄͝ả̴̷̸͚͎̩ͥ̌̆̅̾ͨd͕͎̮͙͈̙̓̂́ĕ́҉̢̧̙͉ ̧̓̂ͯ͌͐̿̚̕҉͉̪̱͎̩̮u̠͖̪̅ͥͅp̴̷͉̪ͮ͘ ̷̳̊ͪ̌̓̊̄ͫ̂̕o̊͋̏̂ͧ̾҉̬̗f̜͎̦̥̠͈̄ͅ ̯̦͕̳̹̻̖̻͂̐ͣ̎ͫc̪̘͇͓͖̪̞̖͈ͮ͒ͦ̎ͫͮ̚h̷͔͍̘͊ͮ̃͑̉͆ͭͤa̮̭͈̰͖̭̬ͭͨ͒ͦ̄̉ͬ͜n̎ͬ͂ͦ͏̪̼̗͓̦̼͙ṋ̪̬̳̝̔̄͘͡͞è͔̬̫̫͈ͮl̴̞̓ͧ̋͆ ̢̦̣̪̩̜͇̪͆̾̏͞͝a̵̟̠͆̽̃̊̀w̵̷̘͕͎̤̝̝͓̉̎̅͌͛ẹ̬̟͎̩ͤͪ͆̄͛̏̋́ş̲̻̪̩̤̖̽̐̎ͮ̏̚o̴̧͚͈̬͚͙ͫ̇̓͒̀̄ͨm͉̝͕̗͓̹̲ͤ̑̉̿ͦ͞e̙͙͚͚̼ͧ̐̚͘͜ ͍͔͒͛̑̎̄̈̈͛v̷̗̫͎̹͖̲̱̫ͪͨͣ̕ĩ̬̞͚̉̽ͬ̆ͤͧ́͠d̬̩̙̲͚ͯ̒̂ͧ̉ͣͤ́͝͡ͅe̴͙͇̰̩͉̹̻̞̹̿ͥͥò̷̴̻̹̱ͮs̴̺̻̺̖̈ ̸͇͕͓̞ͬͧͫͧͯͅ:͎̤̰̹̼̽̌̽ͮ͟͠/̼̝͎̎̓ ̫̐̽͌͑͗̉̃̌͗͢͡o̼̥̗̗͇̎ͤ̀nͮ̎ͯ͘͏͔̬̭̺͍͙̙̬̥ ̢̪̈́̂̏ͨ͡y̜̤̜͓̪͍̥̖̅͋ő̷̶̯̺̺̜̬̞̟͎͋̿ů̳̜̆̚͡ͅť̟̳͈̬̝̽ͤ̉̓̚ṵ̯͑̋ͨ͛ͭ̉̚b͕͚̩̼̟̟̮͇ͪ͠ͅe̸͔͚̻̣͎̾̎̈ͫͧͪ͌ͩ̕ ̸̴̣̹̥̟͈̻͚̟͑̔̍m̛̹̟̼ͦ̿̄̀̃̀a̱̻͍͗ͪ͗̓ͤ̿͠d̗͕̦̮̟͛͜͠e̸̤̯̭̹͆̔̒͢͠ ̯͍̗ͬͫ͢u̖͍̟̻͓̞͂͘͜p̝̘̤̖̥̗̝̖͌̔͋́͟ ̟͇ͦ̇o̵̼̽̃ͩ͑͋̂̎͝f̸̙͔͓̗̹̳̫̩̜̄͗̓̓̓̐̀͢ ̪̩̼̠͚̾̂ͣ͐̍͌̀̽̈́c̬̭̻̺̥̲̪̰̿̀͗͊ͭͥͥ͆̚ḥ̗̇͋̌̊ͬa̒̑҉̢͏̰͓̮͙̲n̵̺͚͍̰͉̈͑̓͐̈ͪn̰̼̩̻̒ͤͦ̍̿̏̉͐ȅ̐̔̉̓ͥͯ̓̕͜҉̬̰l̵̡̜̙͔̲̟̖̓̉ͦ̎͋̃̋̓ͮͅ ͚ͫ̆̿a̻̦̗̫̤̱̾̍͐ͤ́̆̈́́̚͠w̴̴̳̺̩͎̩͙̜̫ͣ̽̾ͣͨ̒̅̚e̸̳̮̞̙͔͕̿ͤ̋̊͠͡s̢̜͙̺̱̗̩͍͇̩͛̎́o̹̦͈̭̘̹̙͈͋͛͋̔m̺̩̠̥̲̖̻ͧͬ̿̋͌͠e̼̫̟͇̜̒͗̐͒͒̋̓ ͓͍͚̬̼̲͙͉̾̍̑ͦ͗v̶͇͈̪̤̝̳̽̅ͨ̄̏ͥͧ͝ͅĩ̷̳͍͈̩̫̘̪̫͙ͮͪ̾͡͞d͔̠̦̰̬͇͕̈͟͞e̸̷͎͒ͨ̀͡o̶̧̠̥͓͙̦̪ͬ͗ͦ̍ͫͮ͆̃s̢̤̼͉ͤͤ͆̇̉͊:̴͍̟͇̀̉/̤̰̹͓̳̼̪̐͒ ̫͎͉̼̖͇̼͔ͨͩͨ̔ͥͧͫ̃ͨ͝o̵̶̯̤̠̩̞ͧͅñ̶͋͡͏̹̤̯̼͙ͅ ̸͚̅̅ͯ̒͘y̡̤̱͎̻̹̖ͦͮo̢͖̭͔͚͕̺͐͋ͬͥ̂͞úͪ͗̐ͯ̂̒͒͊҉̮̣̹͕̙̩̼̦̠͟t͇̼̜̱ͥ̊̌ͮͮ̓u͓̮̥͈̻͇ͤͤ̕b̫̲͍ͪ̅͐̔͛̎̾ͬ̈́͘e̛̤̜̪̊͋ ̲̣͇̤͇͈͆ͨ͂ͮ̏͠͡ͅͅm̰̩̒̄̿̐͝à̧̐̅̂ͫ͘͏̺̼͙̘̘d̴͉̖̹͉̿͜e̖̣̱͙̜͉͋ͩͮ̒̈̒ ̴̱̯ͨͮ̀ŭ̐̾̄̓̉҉̭̻p̠͖̥̼̹̜̊̐ͧ̄͌̋́͜ ̸͕̫͈̲̝̖̃̆̿̀ͅō̵̴͔͍̖̙̻͇̤̯̿ͦ̋̚f̪͔ͤ̈ͣ̆͜͠ ̼͔̫̜̐ͧç̶͖̝̥̯̻̳̩ͣ́̍̄ͩ̀͠h̜̥̩̼ͤͬ̑ͩͤä͗͜͏͔͚̟͙n͙̗̒ͫ̾͑̄͊n̖͇͉̱͂̀͡e̷̪̹͗͋̍̐ͯl̡̯̪̗͓̩ͪ͂̊̄̀̑ͪ̀ ͦ́̃͆ͦ͌͛҉͎̙͔̘ͅà̪̣͈͇̩̜͌̍ͬ͞ͅw̸̞̠͉̒̇̉̂͛ͨ̄e̢̹̱͎͙͆ͯ͐ͨ̒͗ͬ̄͢s͗͗ͩ̓͂̅̂̅̔҉҉͏̬̺̺oͥ̅͗̐̏͋͊ͯ́ͅm̛͓̼̬̾̍̋̏ͭ̓͆ͭ̚͞e̢͔͒͒̓͗̀̄ ̶͍͙͖͖̼̱̓̃ͯ̄ͧ́͝ͅv̳͌̂ͧͨ̂̀̏́i̻̺͍̣̻̺͍̦̇ͫ̀d̘̙̙̽̓͆͝e̥̤̯̝̣̬̮͛͗ͨ̈́̿̇́o̡̱͖ͥ̂̈ͤ̆s̙͇͇ͭ̓ͥͥ͊̀́͘ ͇̯̖ͣ̋̓ͣ̀̚ ̶͕̞̦̞̩͈̝͑̀͆̓̌̀̽ͦ͒ͅB̴̨̛͇ͣ̆͒̅̚ă̮̾͡͞ͅn̖͙͍͔͓̫ͫͬͫ͑̚t̞͉̭͚̳͓͖̜̒̂ͤ̒̋͡h̯̪̲̙̠̝͂͒ͣ͋ͭa̢̬̜̙̽ͬ̂͂̓ͯ͞1̥̺̞͕̞͒ͯ̎̂́1̱͙͆ͪ̿̓̇̓ͩ7̀ͪ̓҉͙́͝ ̘̲̗͎͎͚́̇͜ͅ ͕̟̲̝͍̟̂ͮͪͥ̀̚

Billy didn’t like that street entertainer. He could see him, at the other end of the street, on stilts, and a loose, floaty yellow poncho, with clown makeup on. Why do street entertainers wear clown makeup? Who finds that funny? It’s not funny. It’s not funny at all.

“Stop staring, Billy. It’s rude!” hissed his mother, as she pulled him by his hand into another shop.

While he was sitting quietly in that shop while his mom looked around and his dad was dozing off, he couldn’t stop thinking about that creepy street entertainer. The stark white decor of the shop, nor the pop songs playing on the radio could distract from that. He didn’t want to go back out there. For once, he was content to sit in the shop. But all good things must come to an end, and all bad things must come to a beginning. It was time to leave the shop.

The high street was bustling today. People were out in their droves, looking to catch some sales before the shops closed for the day. A lot of buskers and performers and human statues were also out, looking to make a bit of cash themselves.

The three of them were walking in the general direction of the entertainer. Billy didn’t like it. He couldn’t stop fidgeting and showing his discomfort. His mother hissed at him again. No words this time, but the message was clear. He tried his best to control himself, but she still couldn’t take his eyes off the street performer, who was currently juggling whilst still on stilts.

He knew it was creepy, but he also knew that logically he would not have otherwise felt this much dread from a clown on stilts. There was something especially chilling about this particular one. He wanted to look away, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

It turned to look at him for a brief moment. Only a few seconds did its gaze linger, yet Billy could feel its eyes boring right into him. It knew he knew he found it creepy. At this, it turned away, and Billy was shaking.

“Mommy, I don’t want to go near that clown man. I want to go somewhere else.”

“Honestly, Billy! It’s just a street performer. Now behave yourself in public!”

So Billy kept his fears to himself. His parents neither understood nor wanted to listen. That was reasonable. In their position, he wouldn’t either. The chill down his spine when he looked at the street performer must only be affecting him. To everyone else, it was just another street performer.

It was starting to walk their way, and he tensed. Though he didn’t realise it, he was also holding his breath. '''Oh no. Please don’t. Please don’t come this way. I don’t want to be closer to you…'''

His mother hissed again, bringing him out of that train of thought.

“Billy, what did I tell you about staring? I can’t take you anywhere!”

The performer set his eyes on Billy again, and while there, they stared straight at each other, the entertainer started to laugh. It was such a creepy laugh. Billy’s stomach churned and he flinched just hearing it. Even though the clown was so far away, Billy could hear it as if it was right beside him. It was crystal clear. Though the people around didn’t seem to notice a thing. That was even creepier than the clown itself.

The moment it sensed that Billy had noticed this, it started to run straight at him, cackling as it did. Billy didn’t wait for his parents’ approval, he turned and ran.

“Billy!” his mother shouted after him. “Billy! Come back here! It’s just a street entertainer!”

Billy noticed all the people around him looking at him and his mother with scornful glances and judging stares, as if he were just an ordinary stroppy kid and his mom couldn’t control him. Could they not see he was being chased? Did they not care?

He turned around. The moment he did, he saw the clown upon him. It grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted him up as if he was light as a feather. It’s cackling was ear splittingly loud now that it was right next to him, and its face was abhorrent. Cracked white paint, a smile twice as wide as human faces should allow without grotesque alteration, and the eyes. The wild eyes full of malice, glee, and a spine-chilling twisted nature. Its hand distracted from its face by reaching down and pulling a gleaming kitchen knife from its belt.

Billy wriggled, and squirmed, and tried to shake free of the clown’s grip, and he screamed out loud, at the top of his lungs, to anyone nearby who would listen.

“Help! Help me! Somebody! This clown's trying to kill me!”

But all he received were irritated mutterings like, 'Ugh, where are that brat’s parents?' or, 'I wouldn’t let my kid scream and strop like that.'

'''Were these people mad?! Did they even realise what was happening to him? What were they seeing? Did the clown’s behaviour seem normal to them? In their eyes, am I the only one at fault? If so, there’s nothing I can do. No way I can escape with my life.'''

Billy started to sob quietly, and he shut his eyes tight. There was a sudden, sharp, searing pain inside his chest like no pain he had ever felt before. He couldn’t help but scream out at the unexplainable agony. He had just been stabbed in the chest with a knife. The feeling of shock that came with knowing that felt worse than the pain. He didn’t want to see, so he kept his eyes shut, and kept sobbing. He could taste something hot and salty at the back of his throat, filling it until he started to choke. His life was fading, and in his last moments he could still hear the cackling of the clown, and the muttered disapprovals of passers-by at some bratty kid screaming and crying in the middle of the street.

''Written by Cyanwrites Content is available under CC BY-SA''

Beto O' Rourke:

trump sucks lol

''Assy: GET OUT LIBTARDS, THIS IS MY BATTLE!!!''

''Kirkburn: this battle is racist please take it down. ''

Assy: go away NOW fam

''wah o nw o ̵̡̱̻̝͖͖̣̬̹̻̳̥͚̱̫̏̄ͭ̾ͩ̒̑̑̿͋̈ͤͣ̊̏͜͞ d͖̯͇̼ͪ͗̉̈́̓̀͜ȓ̸̸̨̦̘̬̲̰͕̫͎̞͖̠̉̄ͩͫͩ̓̋͒ͩ̒͐͢͟ͅͅṳ̸̢̺̙̺̰̞̼ͤ̈́͑̑͠͡͡ͅm̶̴̊̐̓͐̈̈́ͫ̾҉̼̘̜͍͠p̷̪̤̣͖̻̯͉̞̟̲̼̟̞͕ͣ̇͆̃̒̄̆͒ͭ͒͒͌͂͗͛͂̃̚͟͡f̛͈̩̘̥̩͚̯̗̬̣̻̰͙͈̳̳ͮ̃̈͐ͭͪ̐̎ͥ̎̎ͤ̍͑͒̉͛͡͠d͖̯͇̼ͪ͗̉̈́̓̀͜ȓ̸̸̨̦̘̬̲̰͕̫͎̞͖̠̉̄ͩͫͩ̓̋͒ͩ̒͐͢͟ͅͅṳ̸̢̺̙̺̰̞̼ͤ̈́͑̑͠͡͡ͅm̶̴̊̐̓͐̈̈́ͫ̾҉̼̘̜͍͠p̷̪̤̣͖̻̯͉̞̟̲̼̟̞͕ͣ̇͆̃̒̄̆͒ͭ͒͒͌͂͗͛͂̃̚͟͡f̛͈̩̘̥̩͚̯̗̬̣̻̰͙͈̳̳ͮ̃̈͐ͭͪ̐̎ͥ̎̎ͤ̍͑͒̉͛͡͠