Confess-A-Bear Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Confess-A-Bear Emojis & Symbols (Confess-A-Bear): ā€œMy name is Confess-A-Bear! [cut

(Confess-A-Bear): ā€œMy name is Confess-A-Bear! [cuts to SpongeBob]. ā€œTell me all your secrets.ā€ (Patrick): ā€œI did something recently I’m not proud of. I didn’t mean to do it, it just sort of happened.ā€ (Confess-A-Bear): ā€œOh, maybe you should talk about it.ā€ (Patrick): Well, it involves my best friend SpongeBob. I don’t think he knows what happened [cuts to SpongeBob who is listening through headphones] but it would really upset him if he found out.ā€ (Confess-A-Bear): ā€œTell Confess-A-Bear!ā€ (Patrick): ā€œI’ve said too much already.ā€ (Confess-A-Bear): ā€œTell Confess-A-Bear now! NOW!ā€ (Patrick): AH! I accidentally knocked SpongeBob's toothbrush into the toilet, and then I put it back on the counter without washing iiiitt... (Confess-a-Bear does not respond) Confess-a-Bear? (SpongeBob is screaming and wiping his tongue off in disgust) [SpongeBob starts screaming and running around in the background, wiping his tongue]. (Patrick): ā€œYou’re mad at me, aren’t you Confess-A-Bear?ā€

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Ģ·Ģ½Ķ˜Ģ”ĶĶ†ĢŠĶĢ‘ĢšĶ„ĶŒĶ‹ĢŽĶ—Ģ„ĶĶƒĶ†ĢÆĶŽĢ®Ģ™Ģ¼ĶŽĶšĢØĶ‰Ģ¢Ģ§Ķ•ĢŗĶ™Ģ®Ģ§Ģ®Ķ™Ģ˜Ģ™Ģ²ĢžĢ°ĶœĢ£Ģ®Ķ…ĢÆĢ­GĢµĢĶĢ‚ĶƒĶŒĢ½Ģ‘ĢĢĶĢ“ĶĢ‹ĢˆĶ—ĢĢ•Ķ˜Ģ‡Ķ›ĶƒĶƒĶĢ½Ķ€Ģ›Ķ’Ģ‚Ģ•Ķ‚ĢšĢ”Ģ”Ģ…Ķ”ĢœĢ˜Ģ–Ģ¢Ģ¼Ģ²Ģ¹Ģ–ĶˆĢœĶ–ĢŗĢÆĶ…Ģ³Ģ§Ģ§Ķ–ĢĶ”ĢŸĢ”Ģ¢Ģ®Ģ­Ģ—Ģ£OĢ·Ķ›ĢˆĢ½Ģ‹Ķ’ĶŠĢƒĢ‹Ģ•Ķ†Ģ›Ģ¾Ģ„Ķ„Ģ‰Ģ•Ķ„ĢĢ‡Ģ›Ģ’Ģ”Ķ‹ĢæĢ½ĢšĢ›Ģ¾Ģ‡ĢĶ‹Ģ›Ģ‘ĶĢ”ĢŠĶĢ¾ĢĶ—Ķ‘ĢŒĶ’ĢƒĶ‚Ķ—Ķ†ĶƒĶĢ•Ķ“ĶœĶšĢ¼Ķ…ĶšĢOĢ¶ĢˆĶ ĶĶ„Ģ¾ĢšĢ€ĢƒĶ€Ķ‹Ģ•ĶŒĢˆĶĶ’ĢŠĢĶ‚Ģ’Ģ™Ķ™ĶŽĶ‡Ģ ĢŸĶ•Ģ¼Ķ“ĶŽĢ™ĢœĢ—Ģ®ĢŸĶˆĢ¼Ķ‡ĶšĢ»Ģ©Ģ¢Ģ»Ģ¼ĢĶœĢ¦FĢ“ĶĶ˜Ķ‹Ģ”Ģ¾ĢŠĶ†Ģ›ĢŒĢ‰Ģ‚Ģ›Ķ„Ķ›ĢæĢ‰Ģ‚ĢĶ—Ķ„ĢˆĢ›Ģ›Ģ“Ģ•Ģ‹Ķ‹ĶŠĢ”Ģ€ĶĢ”ĢˆĶĢ‹Ķ’Ģ‚Ķ„Ģ‘Ģ¹ĶĶ•Ģ£Ģ¹Ģ¬Ķ…Ģ¦ĢØĢ«Ģ±YĢ·Ģ‡ĶŒĶĶƒĢƒĢ‘ĢŽĢˆĢĶ Ķ›Ģ¾Ģ‘ĢšĢŒĶƒĶ†ĢĢĢ“ĢĢĢ„Ģ‰ĢĶĢŠĶ„ĶĶ’Ķ˜Ģ‰Ģ•Ģ“ĢˆĢĶ„Ģ‹Ģ½Ģ’Ģ‡ĢƒĶƒĢ­ĢÆĢ˜Ģ³Ģ²Ģ Ķ“Ģ£Ģ”Ģ¬ĶœĢ–ĶŽĶˆĶˆĢ­Ķ”Ģ–ĢØĶ“Ģ«Ķ‡Ģ Ķ™Ģ™Ģ¤Ķ–Ģ»Ģ¦Ģ—Ģ¬Ģ Ģ§Ģ”Ķ–Ģ®ĶĢ°ĶŽĶšĢ Ģ²Ģ¢Ķ‰Ģ°Ģ³Ķ…Ģ­Ķœ Ģ“ĢˆĶŠĶĢ“ĶĢ”Ķ‘Ģ’Ģ…Ģ„Ģ‡Ģ¾ĶĶ‘Ķ ĢĶ›ĢĢ‰Ģ›Ģ†ĢŽĢĢ‹ĶĢ€Ģ›Ķ‹Ģ”Ģ½Ģ…Ķ„Ģ•ĶĢ›Ķ„Ģ‡ĶĶ—Ķ˜Ķ„Ģ†Ģ„ĢĶ˜Ķ˜Ģ”Ķ’Ķ‘ĢŠĢ‡Ķ›Ķ Ķ“Ķ•GĢ·Ģ‡Ķ‘Ķ ĢŽĢ›ĢƒĢĶ›ĶĶ„Ģ‰Ķ‚Ģ¾ĢĶĶ‘Ģ›Ķ›Ķ˜Ķ‹ĶŒĢˆĢ‰Ģ†Ķ›Ģ’Ģ…Ģ‚ĶĶŒĢˆĢ‰ĢĶ Ģ«Ķ“ĶŽĶœĶĢ§Ģ£Ģ¢Ģ¢Ģ»ĶˆĢžĢ˜Ķ™Ģ¢Ķ‡ĶœĶŽĢ­ĢØĢ±Ģ£Ķ‰Ģ¢Ģ£Ģ¢ĢŖĢ²Ģ¬ĢØĢ°Ģ«ĢÆĢ²ĢØĢ„Ģ—Ģ²Ķ‡Ģ®ĶšĢœĢØĢ„OĢ“ĢĢ½ĢŽĶ›ĶƒĢƒĶĢ’Ķ†Ģ›ĢĢ…Ķ˜Ģ‚Ģ€Ķ‹Ķ„Ģ›Ģ•Ķ€Ķ‚Ģ©Ķ‰ĢĢ®Ģ–Ģ§ĢØĶ“Ģ˜Ģ¼ĢÆĶ•ĢÆĢœĢ»Ģ Ģ©Ģ»Ģ™Ģ„ĢØĢœĢ ĢØĢ¦Ķ•ĶˆOĢ¶Ķ†Ģ…ĶĶƒĢšĶƒĢ…ĶĢ’ĶŠĢĢ‹ĶŒĢ„ĶĢ”ĶĶ’ĢˆĢ”ĢŽĢ”Ģ›Ģ‚Ģ…ĶĶĶĢ‰Ķ›Ģ›Ģ“ĢˆĶ’Ģ•ĢŠĢšĶ„ĢŒĶĶ‘ĢˆĢ€ĢĶ‘Ķ€ĶŒĢĶ‹Ķ…ĢØĶ‰Ķ–Ķ‡ĶšĢ¼Ģ„Ģ°ĢŸĶˆĢ™Ģ—ĶŽĢ–Ķ“Ķ…Ģ²Ģ¦Ģ«Ģ³Ķ‰Ģ¢Ģ²Ģ„Ģ˜ĢŖĢ©ĶšĶ™ĶŽĢ»Ģ–Ģ£Ģ¤Ģ™BĢ¶Ķ Ģ”Ķ’ĶĶ†Ģ“ĶĶ„ĶĶ„Ķ€Ģ…Ģ‘Ģ½Ķ€Ģ±Ķ–ĢŗĢ”Ģ¬Ģ—ĢžĢ™Ķ”Ģ±Ģ©Ģ¹ĢŖĢ¢ĶˆĢ¼ĶšĢĶˆĢŖĢ»ĶĢÆĢÆĶ–ĶĢĶĶ…ĢÆĢ®Ģ¦Ģ Ģ§ĢŖĢ—Ķ•ĶˆĶ‡ĢŸĢ«Ģ»ĢØĶŽĶˆĶ…ĢØĶœĢ¢Ģ™Ģ¹EĢ·ĢˆĢŠĢ†Ķ›Ģ“ĶĶĢˆĶ›Ģ•ĶĢ‡Ģ’ĢĢŠĶ„ĢĶ„Ķ„ĶĢ€Ģ½Ķ‘ĢæĶ‘Ģ‡Ķ†Ķ„Ģ›Ķ“Ģ¤ĢœĶĶœĶ‰ĢØĢ«Ķ•ĢœĢ©ĢØĢ˜Ģ„Ģ—Ģ Ģ»Ģ™Ķ”Ģ»Ģ§Ķ”Ģ„Ģ»Ģ§Ģ¹Ģ¢Ģ¦ĢÆĢ»Ģ–Ģ„Ģ¤Ģ«ĢÆĢ­ĢŗĢ˜Ķ–Ģ”ĢŖĢœRĢ“Ķ†Ģ…ĢƒĢæĢ’Ķ Ķ—Ģ›Ģ‰Ķ€ĶƒĢ£Ķ‰Ģ–ĢŸĢ®Ģ¼Ģ£Ģ™Ģ˜Ķ–Ģ”ĢØĶŽĢ«Ģ Ģ–Ķ™Ķ”Ģ¬ĢŖĶ“Ģ«Ģ£ĢÆĢ¬Ģ±Ģ¢ĶŽĢ¦Ķ“Ģ„ĢÆĢžĢŖĢ¬Ģ¼Ģ§Ģ”ĢŖĢ±Ģ—Ģ¢ĶŽĢ™Ģŗ ĢøĶ€Ģ†Ģ‹Ģ”Ģ†ĶŠĢ„ĶĶ˜Ģ‰Ģ•Ģ›Ģ„ĢĢ€ĢƒĶ‚ĢƒĢæĢˆĶĢĢŒĶ˜Ģ“ĶŠĢ“Ķ’Ķ’ĶĢ‹Ģ‡ĶĢšĶ ĢˆĶƒĢĶĶ†Ģ¾Ģ›Ķ„ĢŒĢ›Ģ…Ķ‚Ķ„ĶĢŒĶ˜Ģ¾ĶƒĢ…Ķ–Ģ¦ĢœĶŽĢ¬Ķ–ĢœĢ¹ĢØĢ³Ģ²Ģ©Ķ‰ĶˆĶ–Ģ¦GĢµĢ”Ģ„Ģ¾Ķ’Ģ¾ĢĶ˜Ģ†Ķ Ķ˜Ķ‹Ģ”ĢĢœĢ–ĶœĢ”OĢøĶŠĶŠĢŒĢƒĢ„Ģ’Ķ„ĶŠĶ›Ģ€ĶĢˆĢ‹ĢƒĢŠĢ›Ķ€Ķ„Ģ‚Ķ„Ģ†Ģ¾Ģ…Ģ…ĢŠĢŽĢŽĢˆĶ„Ķ Ķ‚Ķ„Ķ„ĶĢ‰Ķ˜Ķ„Ķ›Ģ‡Ģ•Ģ‰Ģ½Ķ—ĶĶŒĢŗĢ¢Ģ³ĶœĢ²Ģ³Ģ©Ģ”Ģ˜Ķ–Ģ»Ķ‡Ģ®ĢØĢ®Ķ™Ķ”ĢŸĢ«ĢĢÆĢ«Ģ˜Ķ•ĢŸĶ–ĢØĶ•Ģ©Ģ”ĢØĢ ĢŖĶŽĢ¢ĢØĢ³Ģ–ĢœĶĢ§Ģ˜Ģ§Ķ•ĢĢ²Ģ³Ģ™Ģ Ģ«Ķ…Ģ¬Ģ¼OĢµĶĢ€Ģ†ĢˆĶ„ĶŒĢæĶƒĢŒĶ‘ĶœĢŗĶ™Ģ£ĶœĢ®Ģ©Ģ«Ģ˜ĶœĢ™Ģ—ĶˆĢ³ĶˆĶ‰ĢŸĢ¼ĶšĢžĢ±Ģ”ĶœĶœĶ–Ģ³Ķ™ĢÆĶ‰ĶĢ£Ģ®ĢŸĶ•BĢµĢĢŒĢ‘ĢƒĢ¾Ķ„Ģ…Ķ‚Ķ‹ĢĶ˜Ģ€Ģ‹ĢĢŽĢ…ĢŽĢĢˆĢæĶŠĶ ĢŠĢ‚Ģ“ĢˆĢ‡Ķ‘Ģ’Ģ¾Ģ‹Ģ„Ģ‹ĶĶŒĶ„ĢšĢ‰Ķ„ĶĢŒĶ‘Ģ“ĢĶĢ€ĢĢŽĶ’ĢŽĶ…Ģ«Ģ³Ģ³Ģ¤Ģ”Ķ–Ģ³Ģ™Ģ©Ģ™Ģ¢ĶœĢ°Ģ Ģ˜Ģ»Ģ„Ģ§Ķ‰Ķ“EĢµĢƒĶ‘ĢˆĢ„Ģ”ĢĶ„ĶĶŠĢ’ĶĶ‘Ķ„Ģ‡ĶƒĶ„Ģ½ĶĶ€Ķ€ĢĢĢæĢ„Ģ„ĢĢŽĢ”Ģ‰ĶĢ‚Ģ†Ģ‡Ģ„Ķ—ĶĶ€Ķ Ģ½Ķ„Ģ‹ĶĢ‹Ķ‹Ķ‘Ģ‰Ģ€ĢŠĢ„Ķ”ĶˆĢ„ĢŖĶšĶ•ĶĢ¦Ģ«Ķ“Ķ‡Ģ—ĶšĶ”Ķ”Ģ—Ģ ĶĢ®ĢŖĢ°Ģ±Ģ¬Ģ£ĢœĢ—Ģ˜Ģ»ĶŽĶˆĢ±Ģ”Ģ”ĶšĢØĢØĢ«Ģ¤ĢœĢĢ™Ģ©ĢžĢ–Ģ¹ĶšĢ˜ĢŖRĢøĢĶ›ĢĶ„Ģ“Ķ€Ģ”Ķ˜ĶĶ„Ģ‘Ģ„Ķ‚Ģ½ĢĶ˜ĢšĶ†ĢĢĢĶ†Ķ Ģ”Ķ›Ģ¾ĶĶ‹Ģ¾Ķ„Ķ‚Ģ²Ķ–Ģ±Ģ³ĶœĢŗĢ²Ģ£Ģ£Ģ±ĢœĢ—ĢĢ±Ģ¤ĢĢ¼Ģ Ģ–Ķ“Ģ­Ģ¤Ģ³Ģ¤Ģ©Ģ³Ķ–ĢŗĢ»Ģ¬Ģ¢Ģ¹ĶˆĢ«ĢØĢ²ĢÆĢ¦ 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───▄▀▀▀▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▀▀▀▄─── ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā”€ ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ ā”€ā–„ā–„ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–ˆā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā–„ā–„ā”€ ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā”€ā–€ā–„ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–€ā”€ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā•¦ā”€ā•¦ā•”ā•—ā•¦ā”€ā•”ā•—ā•”ā•—ā•”ā•¦ā•—ā•”ā•—ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā•‘ā•‘ā•‘ā• ā”€ā•‘ā”€ā•‘ā”€ā•‘ā•‘ā•‘ā•‘ā•‘ā• ā”€ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā•šā•©ā•ā•šā•ā•šā•ā•šā•ā•šā•ā•©ā”€ā•©ā•šā•ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–ˆ
šŸ’ššŸ’›= Plankbob ā¤ļøšŸ’› = Krabob šŸ©µšŸ’›= Squidbob šŸ©·šŸ’›= Patbob šŸ¤ŽšŸ’›= Spandy ā¤ļøšŸ’š = Plabs šŸ’™šŸ’š = Plankaren šŸ¤ŽšŸ’™= Karendy ā¤ļøšŸ©µ = Krabsward
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į¶ Ź³įµƒįµ—įµ‰Ź³āæā±Ė¢įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ Pt. 3 ā€œįµ‚Ź°įµƒįµ— įµˆįµ’ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶠᵉᵉ˔ įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’?ā€ ā€œį¶ ā±Ź³Ė¢įµ— ˢᵗᵒᵖ Ź³įµƒįµįµ‡Ė”ā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ įµā±įµˆā€¦ā€ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ā±āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³Ź³įµ˜įµ–įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸ ᵐᵒʳᵉ įµāæįµ’į¶œįµā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᵒᵖᵉⁿˢ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ įµ—įµ’ ᵇᵉ įµŹ³įµ‰įµ‰įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ ā€œį”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµ įµƒįµ— ᵐʸ ⁿᵉʷ įµƒį¶œįµ—ā±įµ’āæ į¶ ā±įµįµ˜Ź³įµ‰ ᓵ įµįµ’įµ— ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ įµįµ’įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵃ į¶ ā±įµįµ˜Ź³ā±āæįµ‰!ā€ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµ‰Ė£į¶œĖ”įµƒā±įµįµ‰įµˆ, į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ įµ‡įµ‰Ź°ā±āæįµˆ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ā€œįµ€Ź°įµƒāæįµĖ¢, įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ’ᵛᵉ ᵃ Ė¢ā±įµ—įµ˜įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ˜įµ–ā€§ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµāæįµ’Ź· ᵐᵉᵗ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ—?ā€ ā€œį“¼Ź° ᓵ įµˆā±įµˆāæā€™įµ—ā€¦ā€ ā€œį”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ įµˆįµ’āæā€™įµ— ᵗᵉ˔˔ į“¾ā±āæįµŹø įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ā€¦ā€ ā€œį”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ⁱˢ ᵐʸ ᵇᵉˢᵗ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ, ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ įµˆįµ’ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—įµ‰įµ›įµ‰Ź³ ʰᵉ įµ–Ė”įµ‰įµƒĖ¢įµ‰Ė¢! ᔆᵒ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›įµ‰ įµƒĖ”įµ’āæįµ‰!ā€ ā€œį“±āæįµ’įµ˜įµŹ°, į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ! ᓵ ᵃᵐ į¶œįµƒŹ³ā±āæįµ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ Ė¢įµ’įµįµ‰įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰āæįµ‰įµˆ įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė”ā±įµ‰Ź³, ʰᵉ’ˢ Ź°įµ˜Ź³įµ—ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°įµ— ʷᵉ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ ᶜᵃⁿ įµƒĖ¢įµ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ā±į¶ ā€¦ā€ ā€œįµ‚Ź°Źø? ᓓᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ įµįµ’āæāæįµƒ ᵇᵒˢˢ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµƒŹ³įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆ įµ—įµ‰Ė”Ė”ā±āæįµ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— įµ—įµ’ įµˆįµ’ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ʰᵉ ⁱˢ įµ—Ź³Źøā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵃ įµ‡įµƒįµˆ Ė¢ā±įµ—įµ˜įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ’ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ ʰᵉ’ˢ įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“±āæįµ’įµ˜įµŹ°!ā€ ᓮᵒᵗʰ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉᵐ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ ᵒᵛᵉʳ įµƒįµ— į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ā±āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³Ź³įµ˜įµ–įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇ˔ʸ ᵐᵒʳᵉ Ė¢įµ—Ź³įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ—ā€§ ā€œįµ‚įµ‰ā€™Ė”Ė” ˢᵉᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ ⁱᶠ ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ, į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ā€ ā€œį”†įµ’Ź³Ź³Źø į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡! ᔆᵉᵉ Źøįµƒā€§ā€ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ‧ ā€œį““įµ˜āæįµŹ³Źø, į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ?ā€ ā€œį“µ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ ᓵ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ įµˆā±āæāæįµ‰Ź³ā€¦ā€ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ įµįµ’įµ— įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵗʰᵉ į¶ įµ’įµ’įµˆ ʰᵉ įµįµƒįµˆįµ‰ā€§ ā€œįµ‚Ź°įµ‰āæ ᵈⁱᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ įµ–Ź³įµ‰įµ–įµƒŹ³įµ‰įµˆ ⁱᵗ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— ᶠᵒʳ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵃˢ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʷᵉʳᵉ Ė¢įµ—ā±Ė”Ė”ā€¦ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ įµˆā±įµˆāæā€™įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź· ᵗʰᵉ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— Ź·įµ’Ź³įµˆā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµƒŹøā€§ ā€œŹøįµ’įµ˜ā€™Ź³įµ‰ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ ʷᵉʳᵉⁿ’ᵗ įµ˜įµ–, ⁿᵒᵗ įµ˜įµ– ʸᵉᵗ?ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ įµƒāæĖ£ā±įµ’įµ˜Ė¢Ė”Źø įµƒŹ·įµƒā±įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱˢ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ‧ ā€œį“¬Ź°, ʷᵉ˔˔ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæįµĖ¢?ā€ ᓓᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ Ė¢įµ’įµįµ‰Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— įµ‡įµƒĖ¢Ź°į¶ įµ˜Ė”ā€§ į”†įµ˜įµˆįµˆįµ‰āæĖ”Źø, ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ—įµ‰įµˆ Ź³ā±āæįµā±āæįµā€§ ā€œŹøįµ’įµ˜ ᶜᵃⁿ įµįµ‰įµ‰įµ– įµ‰įµƒįµ—ā±āæįµ; ᓵ’˔˔ įµįµ‰įµ— ⁱᵗ!ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ įµįµ‰āæįµ—Ė”Źø įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ—įµ’ įµ–ā±į¶œįµ įµ˜įµ– ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧ ā€œį“±Ź° į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡, Źøįµ’ įµįµ’āæāæįµƒ įµƒįµ—įµ—įµ‰āæįµˆ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ? ᓵ āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆ ᵐᵉ į¶ Ź³Źøį¶œįµ’įµ’įµā€¦ā€ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢; įµ’į¶  į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ź³Ė¢įµ‰ā€§ ā€œįµ‚įµ‰Ė”Ė” ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ā€¦ā€ ā€œį”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡, ᵗʰᵉ į“·Ź³įµ˜Ė¢įµ—Źø į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡ āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆĖ¢ ʸᵉ!ā€ ᔆᵒ ᵈⁱᵈ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ ā€œį“µā€™įµ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ ᵃ ᵇⁱᵗ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢Ź°įµƒįµŹø įµ—įµ’ įµˆįµ’ ᵐʸ ʲᵒᵇ ʷᵉ˔˔?ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ Ė¢įµƒā±įµˆā€§ ā€œį“µ įµįµ’įµ— ʳⁱᵈ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ⁱᵗ įµįµ’įµ— ᵗʰᵉ į¶ įµ’Ź³įµįµ˜Ė”įµƒįµ‰ā€§ā€ ā€œįµ‚įµ‰Ė”Ė”, ᓵ’ᵐ Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–Źø įµ—įµ’ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³ā€¦ā€ ā€œį““įµƒįµ›įµ‰ ʸᵉ ˢᵉᵉⁿ įµ–ā±įµ–Ė¢į‘«įµ˜įµ‰įµƒįµ, į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡?ā€ ᓓᵉ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ ᵒᵛᵉʳ įµƒįµ— į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ ā€œį“øįµ’įµ—Ė¢ įµ’į¶  ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ!ā€ į“øįµƒįµ˜įµŹ°įµ‰įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ā€§ ā€œį“µ įµįµ‰įµƒāæįµ— Ė¢ā±āæį¶œįµ‰ ᵗʰᵉ įµƒį¶œį¶œā±įµˆįµ‰āæįµ—!ā€ ā€œį“¬Ź·, ⁱᵗ’ˢ āæā±į¶œįµ‰ įµ—įµ’ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³ Źøįµ’įµ˜ į¶œįµƒŹ³įµ‰ ᶠᵒʳ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µā€¦ā€ ā€œį“¹Ź³ā€§ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ ᓵ įµįµ’įµ— įµ—įµ’ įµįµ’ įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸᵉ!ā€ to be cont. pt. 4
favorite(s) SpongeBob shipping Karendy — the ship between Sandy and Karen krabbob (spongebob x mr krabs) Larrick — the ship between Larry the Lobster and Patrick Star MR KRABS AND MRS PUFF + KRUFF PatBob(SpongeBobxPatrick) Plabs — the ship between Mr. Krabs and Sheldon Plankton Plankaren — the ship between Plankton and Karen PlankBob — the ship between SpongeBob and Sheldon Plankton Plankward — the ship between Plankton and Squidward Tentacles Sandrick — the ship between Patrick and Sandy Cheeks Spandrick Sandy Cheeks Ā· Patrick Star Spandward — the ship between SpongeBob, Sandy Cheeks and Squidward Tentacles Spandy(SpongeBobxSandy) Squandy(Squidward vs Sandy) SquidBob(Squidward vs SpongeBob) SquidPatBob — the ship between SpongeBob, Squidward Tentacles and Patrick Star
r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago Perfect__Nightmare Someone broke into our home It was every family's nightmare. My wife and I had the day off work, and we had taken our son out for lunch and some family bonding time. But as we approached our home, something felt off. I had a growıng sense of dread the closer we got. As our house came into view, I could see that the front door was wide open. Someone had broken into our hĆøme. I told my family to waitĶ outside, in case the ıntruder was still inside. They obliged, and I slowly and silently made my way through our house. As I stepped into the living room, I saw broken furniture, nothing in its correct place, just utter chaos. Was this person looking for something? Did they have malicious intent? Why our home? Why us? Next, I walked to our kitchen. The fridge had been emptied. Dishes and food were thrown all over the room. What kind of person had broken into our home? A homeless person who just needed food? If so, why had they destroyed the living room? That's when I heard it. Footsteps in the bedroom. The ıntruder was still in our house. I took a brief moment to be grateful that I had asked my wife and son to wait outside. It was impossible to decipher this person's motives so far. But I was about to come face to face with the person that forcefully entered our home. And I would demand answers. I crept toward the bedroom slowly, slowly. I approached the door, and focused on the sliver of light slipping through the crack. I could see faint shadows dancing in the light. I raised my hand, placed it against the door, and took a deep breath, readying myself for whatever may be on the other side. I pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold with authority. I couldn't believe my eyes. I actually rubbed my hands over them, thinking I was imagining things. There, in my son's bed, was a young gırl with curly blonde hair. She stared at me with wıde eyes. She must have been terrıfıed. I must have been a few feet taller and at least 100 pounds heavıer than her. I must have been a sight to see for that little girl. But she should have considered that before breakıng into my home. I called my wife and son to see what I found. "Is that a human, Papa?" "Why yes it is, Baby Bear. That's dınner."
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š–”š–±š– š–Øš–­ š–¢š–§š–Øš–Æ š—‰š—. 11 (š–”š—’ š–­š–¤š–“š–±š–®š–„š– š–”š–“š–«š–®š–“š–²) Chip sniffles. "But what if he gets mad at me again?" he whispers. "He might," Karen admits. "But it's important to remember it's not about you, or what you do wrong." She pauses, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his back. "It's about his brain trying to understand a world that's changed for him." "But how do I know what's too much?" Chip asks, his voice small. "How can I tell what will make him upset?" Karen's eyes searched his. "It's like learning a new dance," she explained. "At first, you'll step on each other's toes, but with time and patience, you'll find the right rhythm." She took a deep breath. "We'll figure it out together. You can ask him, or me, and we'll learn his cues. Like when he needs space, or when he's ok with a gentle touch." Chip nodded, his eyes still brimming with tears. "Ok," he said, his voice shaky. "But I want to hug him again." Karen clenched at his words. "I know," she said. "And when the time is right, you may. But for now, let's find other ways to show him love, without overwhelming his sensitive brain." She stood up, her hand reaching for the doorknob. "Why don't we go back to the living room and check on him?" They walked back to the living room, where Plankton was still sitting in the armchair, his antennae twitching slightly. He looked up as they entered, his eye filled with a mix of shame and defensiveness. Karen could see the turmoil playing across his features, the battle between his love for Chip and his fear of rejection. "Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, his hand outstretched. "Could I... could we...?" Plankton's eye flickered to his son's outstretched hand, his stomach clenching at the thought of contact. He knew he should want this, should crave the comfort of his son's embrace. But his brain was a cacophony of fear and confusion, his skin a livewire of sensitivity. He swallowed hard, the word sticking in his throat like a bone. "No," he forced out, his voice tight. Chip's hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice desolate. "I just wan—" "NO!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his antennae quivering with the force of his rejection. The look of hurt on Chip's screen was like a dagger to his heart, but he couldn't stop the words from coming. "I don't want you right now," he spat, the anger a shield for his fear. "I don't like anyone touching me!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his chin trembling. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice barely above the sound of his own breath. "I just want to make you feel better." Plankton's heart twisted, but his fear was too great. "I said NO!" he bellowed, his body shaking with the force of his words. Chip's lower lip quivered as he took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. He had never seen his father this angry, this scared. "But I'm your son," he managed, his voice tiny. "I won't hurt yo-" "I don't care!" Plankton's voice was a snarl. "I just want to be left alone!" His antennae thrashed wildly, a silent testament to his inner chaos. "I don't need you or your stupid games!" The words were like a slap, leaving Chip's face burning. Chip's eyes filled with hurt, his voice shaky. "But you liked playing with me befo—" "I SAID NO!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap, his eye flashing with a rage that wasn't entirely his own. "I don't want your games, your laughter, your touch!" The words hung in the air. Chip felt his chest tighten, his breath hitch in his throat. He looked at his mother, his screen pleading for help. Karen stepped forward, her heart breaking with each word. "Chip, let's give Dad some space," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew his intentions were pure, but his father's brain was a minefield right now, and any misstep could trigger another seizure. But Chip was stubborn, his desire to connect with his dad overriding his fear. "But Mom, he's just mad," he protested. "He co-" "Chip," Karen was firm, but her eyes were filled with sorrow. "It's more than that." She took his hand. "We have to be patient, ok?" They sat on the couch, the distance between them and Plankton palpable. Chip's thoughts raced, trying to understand. Plankton sat in the armchair, his antennae still, his gaze anywhere but on his son. So Chip decided to get one of the fidget toys. "Here," he said, holding it out. "It's ok," he whispered. "It's just a toy." Plankton's eye flickered to the fidget toy, his breathing shallow. He knew he should be grateful, should be happy that his son was trying. But the anger was like a storm, and he couldn't find the calm within. "Get that hand away from me," he snarled, his voice low and menacing. Chip's eyes filled with hurt, his hand dropping to his side. "But Dad," he choked out, his throat tight with unshed tears. "I'm just trying to-" But Plankton's anger was a tidal wave that couldn't be stopped. "You don't get it!" he shouted, his antennae quivering. "You can't just barge in here and expect things to be the same!" He threw one of the toys across the room, the plastic smacking against the wall. "You don't get to decide how I feel!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his heart racing. "But Dad, I just want to help," he whispered. "I don't understand." He retrieved the toy. Plankton's eye darted to the fidget toy, his antennae quivering. "Don't," he murmured, his voice sharp. "I don't want it." The word was like a slap to Chip, his hand dropping to his side. He looked at his mother, his eyes pleading for guidance. "Let me," she said, her voice a gentle whisper. She approached Plankton slowly, her movements deliberate. "Here," she said, her voice soothing. "This might help calm you down." Plankton's eye darted to the fidget toy, his antennae twitching. For a moment, he was torn between anger and desire, his hand reaching out to grab it before his brain could change its mind. His grip was firm, his breath hitching as his thumb traced the smooth patterns. Chip watched, his heart racing. "Is it ok now?" he asked, his voice tentative. "Can I sit with you?" Plankton's antennae stilled, his breaths coming in measured paces as he worked the fidget toy. He didn't look up, his eye still on the floor. "Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, his question hanging in the air like a delicate thread. "Can we talk now?" Plankton's eye remained fixed on the fidget toy, his thumb still tracing the patterns compulsively. His jaw was tight, his antennae slightly less erratic. "What's to talk about," he murmured, his voice still thick with the anger that hadn't completely dissipated. Chip took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "I don't know," he said, his voice honest. "I just want to kno—" "You want to know what?" Plankton's voice was cold, his eye flicking up to meet Chip's. "What happened to me? What's wrong with me?" The words were a challenge, a sharp-edged question that hung in the air. Chip's gaze dropped to the carpet, his throat tight. "I just want to understand," he whispered. "Why you're so mentally di-" He didn't get to finish the sentence. Plankton's antennae snapped up, his voice a whip. "Don't," he said, the word sharp as a knife. "Don't say another word." Chip felt his stomach churn, his palms sweaty. "Dad, I didn't mean to upset you," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "I just know at my school, how my classmates would whispered to me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't wan-" "I said don't!" Plankton's voice was a whip. His antennae were still, his body coiled tightly in the chair. "Don't you dare make me into some kind of charity case!" His eye blazed with a fierce protectiveness that took even Karen by surprise. Chip flinched, his own eyes filling with tears. "But Dad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You weren't a burden bef-" "ENOUGH!" The room was silent, save for the sound of Plankton's rapid breathing. His antennae twitched as he clutched the fidget toy like a lifeline. "I NEVER want to be a burden!" he shouted, his voice echoing around the room. The anger was a storm raging within him, his fear of being seen as weak or less than overwhelming. Karen stepped forward, her eyes filled with a mix of pity and determination. "Chip," she whispered. "Let's give him some space." But Chip's resolve was unshakable, his eyes locked on his father. "But what if 'the burden' never gets..." Plankton's antennae shot up. "What did you call me?" His voice was a hiss, his body taut with tension. Chip took a step back, his throat tight. "I didn't mean it like that," he stuttered. "It's just what they say at school." But Plankton was lost in a whirlwind of emotion. "Get out!" he roared, his antennae flailing. "Get out of my face!" Chip's eyes filled with tears as he took a step back, the rejection a heavy weight on his shoulders. He didn't understand why his father was so angry with him, so he turned to his mother, his voice shaking. "Mom, I didn't mean to-" But Karen knew Plankton's anger was a defense mechanism, a way for his brain to cope with the fear and confusion of his new reality. She stepped closer to him, her voice soft and calm. "It's ok, Plankton," she soothed. "We're here for you. Chip didn't mea-" "DON'T!" Plankton's voice was a bark, his antennae snapping in agitation. "Don't you dare defend him." His eye was wild, his body trembling. Karen's eyes never left his, her voice a gentle stream of reassurance. "You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her words a soft whisper. "We love you, just as you are." She took another step, closing the gap between them. "We're in this together."
LEGGY ii "Krabby Patty...chum...Krabby Patty...chum..." Plankton blushed. "I said, stop it!" he yelled, his voice cracking. Sponge Bob's smile faded as he saw the hurt in his friend's eye. "Patrick, enough," he said firmly. "Oh, come on," he said, trying to sound casual. But Plankton was not amused. "I said STOP!" Tears welled up in his eye, threatening to spill over. "Why are you laughing at me?" he choked out, his voice cracking. "All you can do is mock me?" "Plankton, we weren't—" But Plankton cut him off, voice trembling. "I know you think I'm just a joke, but I'm not!" He couldn't hold it in, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Sponge Bob's eyes widened in shock. "Plankton," he said softly, reaching for his friend's hand. "We're just happy you're ok." But Plankton's jerking away. "No, you're not!" he sobbed. "You think I'm amusement!" His voice grew louder. "You think because I'm small and have one eye that I don't have feelings?" They had never seen Plankton like this before, and it was clear that their teasing had gone too far. "Plankton, sorry," Sponge Bob said sincerely, voice full of emotion. "We didn't mean to make you feel that way. We really do care about you." Patrick looked down. "Yeah, man, just happy you're ok." Plankton's sniffles grew, hiding his face in the pillow. "I'm not a joke, not just some...some...someone to laugh at." Sponge Bob's heart clenched at the pain in Plankton's voice. "We know, Plankton," he said gently. "I’m really sorry." "We didn't mean to upset you," Patrick added, his voice much softer than before. "We wanted to keep things light." Sponge Bob reached over and patted Plankton's shoulder. "We know you're not a joke," he said. "You're our friend, and we care. But you're right, Plankton. We shouldn't have laughed." Plankton's sniffling slowed, shoulders relaxing slightly. "It's ok," he murmured. "I know you meant well Sponge Bob." Patrick shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Plankton," he said, his voice sincere. "I just thought it was funny, you know?" "It's not funny, Patrick," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm not some sort of circus act for you to laugh at!" Patrick's smile disappeared, and he looked at Plankton with a mix of surprise and guilt. "Hey, buddy, I didn't mean it like that. I just thought it was weird, you know, the stuff you say when you're out of it." "Weird?!" he spat, his voice rising. Sponge Bob's face fell. "Pat you should apologize," he suggested quietly. Patrick nodded. "Plankton, man. I didn't mean to make you feel like that." But Plankton was not in a forgiving mood. "Don't you call me 'buddy' or 'man'!" he yelled, his tiny fist pounding the bed. "You think you can just come and laugh at me?!" Patrick took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. "I—" But Plankton wasn't finished. "I've had enough! I'm not your entertainment! I'm not some pathetic excuse for a laugh! You think my pain is a joke?" he yelled, his voice echoing off the metal walls of the Chum Bucket. "You think because I'm small and I've only got one eye, I don't feel anything?" Patrick's reaching to him, hand touching on his. "Plankton, I didn't mean—" But Plankton jerked, pushing him away, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't touch me!" he spat. "You don't get to act like you care now!" "But, Plankton," he said, his voice small. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." Plankton turned away, antennae drooping. "Just go," he said, his voice muffled by the tears. "Patrick, just let me alone." "Plankton," he began, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry, ok? I just want to show you that I'm sorry." Patrick, his expression earnest, took another step closer. His arms remained outstretched, his fingers curling slightly as he reached for Plankton. "Come on! It'll make you feel better. I know you're in pain. Let me help." He leaned in, his massive arms closing around Plankton's frail form. "It's ok," he murmured, his voice gentle. "You're not weird, and you're not a joke. You're our friend, we're here." Plankton's eye grew even wider, his tiny fists balling up the bedsheets. "Get off me!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "I don't need you!" But Patrick's grip remained firm, his arms enveloping Plankton in a bear hug. "You don't have to be tough all the time," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton struggled against him, his tiny fists pummeling Patrick's chest. "Let me go!" he yelled, his voice raw with pain and humiliation. "I said I don't want your pity!" Sponge Bob watched. "Pat," he said, his voice a warning. "Maybe we should—" Plankton's struggling grew weaker, his sobs becoming more pronounced. "I don't want your help," he choked out. But Patrick held on. "You do," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "Everyone needs help sometimes." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his fists slowly unclenching. "Just go!" he yelled, his voice muffled by the fabric. "I don't want you!" Patrick took a step away from the bed, his hands dropping to his sides. "Ok, ok," he said, his voice soothing. "I'll go. But letā€¦ā€ But Plankton was having none of it. "Get out!" he screamed. "I don’t need your pity or your friendship!" Patrick took a step back, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "But Plankton," he began, his voice tentative. "Out!" Plankton shrieked, his tiny body writhing with rage. His antennae shot up straight, eye wet with tears with frustration. "But, Plankton," he protested, his voice gentle despite the yelling. "I just want to make sure you're ok." "I said leave me alone!" Plankton screamed, his one eye flashing with anger. "You think you can just waltz in here and laugh?" Patrick's expression fell, his arms dropping to his sides as he took a step back. "I’m just trying to lighten the mood," he said, his voice laced with confusion. But Plankton was beyond consolation. "Get out!" he shrieked again, his voice cracking with emotion. "I don't need your kind of 'help'!" Sponge Bob looked at Patrick. He knew that Plankton's outburst was a result of pain and embarrassment. Patrick's face fell. "Plankton," he said, his voice low and gentle. But Plankton was too far gone. "I said leave me alone!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the metal walls of the Chum Bucket. Patrick's smile disappeared, replaced by a look of genuine worry. "But Plankton," he said, his voice tentative. "I’m just trying to help." "Help?" Plankton's voice was filled with disdain. "You think mocking me is helping? It’s not, not ok!" He swiped at his tears with his arm, his anger palpable. "Get out!" Patrick looked at Sponge Bob, his expression a mix of confusion and sadness. "I just trying to—" "I said, leave. me. alone!" Plankton's voice pierced the air. "But I just wanted to—" Sponge Bob put a hand on his shoulder, his gaze firm. "I know, Pat," he said. "But I think Plankton needs some space right now." Patrick looked at Plankton, and then back at Sponge Bob. With a heavy sigh, he nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice subdued. "I'll go. But, Sponge Bob, tell him I'm sorry." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "I will," he said, his gaze never leaving Plankton's trembling form. Patrick gave a sad nod and turned to leave, his footsteps heavy on the metal floor. As the door clicked shut behind him, Plankton's sobs grew quieter, and the room was once again filled with an awkward silence. Sponge Bob approached the bed, his heart aching for his friend. He knew Plankton's outburst was not directed at him, but rather at the pain and embarrassment he was feeling. He sat down gently beside the trembling form, his eyes filled with empathy. "Plankton," he said softly, placing a comforting hand on Plankton's bed. "I know you're upset, but we care." Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his body still shaking with the aftermath of his outburst. He didn't look up from the pillow, but his grip on the bedsheets loosened slightly. "It's tough," he said, voice gentle. Plankton's sobs grew quieter, body still shaking with the aftermath of his outburst. But Sponge Bob's words resonated with him, cutting through the haze. He took a deep breath, chest heaving with the effort of containing his emotions. "I don't want anyone else," he murmured, his voice muffled by the pillow. "Just you, and Karen." Sponge Bob's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, his heart swelling with affection for his troubled friend. "Okay, Plankton," he said softly. "It's just us." Plankton's gradually relaxing under the warmth of Sponge Bob's touch. He knew he could trust Sponge Bob, that his friend's intentions were always pure. Despite their many differences and the occasional misunderstanding, Sponge Bob had always been there. Sponge Bob gently rubbed Plankton's back, his movements slow and soothing. "It's ok, Plankton," he murmured. "I'm here, for you." Plankton's sobs grew quieter as he clutched the pillow to his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to snap, at you." Sponge Bob leaned in closer, his voice filled with warmth. "Don't worry about it," he said. "We all have moments." Plankton took another shaky breath, his body slowly calming down. "Thanks, Sponge Bob," he murmured, voice still thick with emotion. Sponge Bob nodded, his hand still rubbing circles on Plankton's back. "It's ok," he said. "We all get overwhelmed sometimes." Plankton's antennae twitched, and he looked up at Sponge Bob with his watery eye. Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "Patrick can be a little clueless sometimes, but he's got a good heart." Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "I know," he said, voice still shaky. Sponge Bob gave him a smile. "I can talk to him, but only if you want me to," he said. "Make sure he knows not to laugh about it." Plankton nodded, still trembling with emotion. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," he whispered. "Of course, Plankton," he said. "That's what friends are for."
į‘«įµ˜įµƒĖ”ā±įµ—Źø ᵀⁱᵐᵉ pt. 1 ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ "ᓵ Ź·įµƒāæįµ— ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ įµ’į¶  Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµ’āæįµˆ ᵃˢ ᵉᵐᵖ˔ᵒʸᵉᵉˢ⸓ ᵃⁿᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶜᵃⁿ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰ ᵃ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ ʷⁱᵗʰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ⁱᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰!" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ‧ "ᓵ'˔˔ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ! ᵂʰᵒ'˔˔ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰?" "ᓵᵗ'˔˔ ᵇᵉ ᵃ Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ–Ź³ā±Ė¢įµ‰ā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµƒā±įµˆ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆā€§ "ᵀʰᵉ įµ‡įµ˜Ė¢ Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›įµ‰Ė¢ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ!" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ Ź³įµ‰įµā±āæįµˆįµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ "ᓵ'˔˔ įµįµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— ᵐʸ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆā€§ 'ᵂʰᵒ ᵃᵐ ᓵ įµ—įµ’ įµ–ā±į¶œįµ? į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø ᵒⁿ˔ʸ įµ‰āæį¶œįµ’įµ˜Ź³įµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢ ᵗʰᵉ įµƒāæāæįµ’Źøā±āæįµ įµ‡įµ‰Ź°įµƒįµ›ā±įµ’įµ˜Ź³ įµ’į¶  į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ā€§' į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵃʷ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ—ā€§ "ᵂʰᵒ ᵉ˔ˢᵉ‧‧‧" į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'ˢ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗ'Ė¢ įµ‰āæįµˆįµ‰įµˆāø“ ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ˜Ė¢ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ ᵇʸ‧ ᓮᵒᵗʰ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ʷᵉʳᵉ įµ—įµ’įµįµ‰įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³ įµ‰Ė£į¶œā±įµ—įµ‰įµˆĖ”Źøā€§ į“¼āæį¶œįµ‰ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ⸓ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ įµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆ ʷⁱᵗʰ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ "į”†įµ˜Ź³įµ–Ź³ā±Ė¢įµ‰!" ᵂʰⁱ˔ˢᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ˜Ė¢āø“ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢įµƒįµ— ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ‰āæį¶œŹ° Ė¢įµ‰įµƒįµ— įµƒįµˆŹ²įµƒį¶œįµ‰āæįµ— įµ—įµ’ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ "ᓬʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ʸᵉᵗ?" "ᓺᵒ!" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź³įµ‰įµ–Ė”ā±įµ‰įµˆā€§ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ'Ė¢ į¶ įµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰āæ įµƒĖ¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ– ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ įµįµ’įµ˜įµ—Ź°įµ‰įµˆāø“ įµˆįµ’į¶»ā±āæįµ ᵒᶠᶠ‧ "į“¹įµ˜Ė¢įµ— ᵇᵉ įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ 'ᵉᵐ‧‧‧" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵐᵒˢᵗ˔ʸ įµ—įµ’ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉ˔ᶠ‧ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ'Ė¢ Ė”įµƒįµ˜įµŹ°ā±āæįµ ʷⁱᵗʰ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ā€§ "ᓓᵃ?" į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ Ė¢āæįµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ įµƒŹ·įµƒįµįµ‰ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ įµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ'ʳᵉ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹøā€§ ᵀʰᵉʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ "ᓵ įµ—įµ‰Ė£įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ʰⁱᵐ ʷᵉ'ᵛᵉ įµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆā€§ "ᓰⁱᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ‡Ź³ā±āæįµ ᵃⁿʸ Ė¢āæįµƒį¶œįµĖ¢?" "ᓼᶠ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ź³Ė¢įµ‰āø“ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ; ᓵ įµ‡Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°įµ— ˢᵒᵐᵉ įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—ā±įµ‰Ė¢!" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź²įµ˜įµįµ–įµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ– ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡'Ė¢ įµƒāæĖ¢Ź·įµ‰Ź³ā€§ "ᓵ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵃᵈ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ‧‧‧" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµ—Ź³ā±įµ‰įµˆ ⁿᵒᵗ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµƒĖ”ā±įµ›įµƒįµ—įµ‰ā€§ "ᵂᵉ'˔˔ Ź·įµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ‰įµƒįµ— ⁱᵗ; ⁿᵒ ᶠᵘⁿⁿʸ įµ‡įµ˜Ė¢ā±āæįµ‰Ė¢Ė¢!" "ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź· ʰᵒʷ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵐᵒʳᵉ įµ’į¶  Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ Ė¢āæįµ’Ź³ā±āæįµ ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰āø“ ⁿᵒ įµ’į¶ į¶ įµ‰āæį¶œįµ‰ā€§ā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ įµƒįµ— ᵇᵒᵗʰ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆĖ¢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ "ᓵ'˔˔ Ė¢Ź°įµƒŹ³įµ‰; į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ'Ė¢ ᵃ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµ›Źø ˢ˔ᵉᵉᵖᵉʳ⸓ ˢᵒ įµ–įµ‰Ź³Ź°įµƒįµ–Ė¢ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ ᶜᵃⁿ Ė¢Ź°įµƒŹ³įµ‰ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ!" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ʰⁱᵐ‧ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµ–įµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź³įµ‰įµƒį¶œŹ° ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆā€§ "į“³įµ’įµ’įµˆāæā±įµŹ°įµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµƒā±įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡āø“ į¶ įµƒĖ”Ė”ā±āæįµ įµƒĖ¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ–ā€§ "Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ—įµ’āø“ įµā±įµˆā€§ā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ā±āæįµ ʰⁱᵐ ˢ˔ᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᓓᵉ įµįµ’įµ›įµ‰įµˆ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰Ź³ įµ—įµ’ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ā€§ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµƒŹ·įµ’įµįµ‰ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµā±įµˆįµˆĖ”įµ‰ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉ āæā±įµŹ°įµ—ā€§ ᓓᵉ įµāæįµ‰Ź· ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæ įµ—įµ’ įµƒŹ·įµƒįµįµ‰ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆā€§ ᓓᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓓᵉʸ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ā€§ā€§ā€§" į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ Ź·įµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "į“¾įµƒįµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᶜᵃⁿ ᓵ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ˜įµ– ʷⁱᵗʰ Źøįµ’įµ˜?" "į”†įµ˜Ź³įµ‰āø“ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµˆįµ’ ⁿᵒᵗ įµˆā±Ė¢įµ—įµ˜Ź³įµ‡ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸓ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ā±āæįµ ʰᵉ'ᵈ į¶ įµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰āæ įµƒĖ¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ– į¶œįµ˜Ź³Ė”įµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ– ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᵂʰʸ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ˜įµ–?" "ᓵ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ź°įµ˜įµā€§ā€§ā€§" "į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµāø“ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰Ź³ā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱˢ ᶠʳᵉᵉ ᵃʳᵐ įµ—įµ’ įµ‰įµįµ‡Ź³įµƒį¶œįµ‰ ʰⁱᵐ į”†ā±āæį¶œįµ‰ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ Ė”įµ‰įµƒāæā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ Ź°įµƒāæįµˆā€§ "į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ᓵᵛᵉ įµƒį¶œįµ—įµ˜įµƒĖ”Ė”Źø įµ—įµƒĖ”įµįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ‧‧‧" "į“¾įµƒįµ— įµįµ‰įµ‰įµ– Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ įµ›įµ’ā±į¶œįµ‰ įµˆįµ’Ź·āæ! į“®įµ˜įµ— ʸᵉˢ ʰᵉ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ įµ—įµ’ ʷᵃʳᵐ įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’ Źøįµ’įµ˜āø“ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆāø“ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ įµįµ‰įµ—Ė¢ įµ‡įµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ įµ‰įµƒĖ¢ā±Ė”Źøā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᶜᵃⁿ ᓵ įµįµ’ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆ?" "į”†įµ˜Ź³įµ‰āø“ į“¾įµƒįµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" to be cont. Pt. 2
Spongebob goes JellyFishing by Tlover Spongebob loves JellyFishing With his best friend Patrick Cartoons Ā» SpongeBob SquarePants English, Humor, Words: 370, Published: Jul 1, 2003 It was the Friday after work at the krusty crabs. So he walks on home. Then he walks over to Patrick's house. And asked Him he wanted to go jelly fishing. Patrick answers the door. And says "hey sponge bob yes I would like to go jelly fishing". So sponge went to his secret hut and got out all his jelly fishing junk. Patrick comes over and (walks in). So they go jelly fishing, and squid ward says "what are you two stupid people think you are doing?" "We are going jelly fishing squid ward would you like to come?" says sponge bob. "No I would not like to go jelly fishing there is not point going with you too idiots" squid ward says. So they go on their marry way, walking to jelly fish field. They get there and they see no jelly fish! They go searching for the jelly fish, and they spot one. They think that they saw that one there, there is going to have to be more over there. So the spot all the jelly fish and they start running like wild and at the end the counted how many the had too many to count After they leave one of the jelly fish decide to follow sponge bob. Sponge says "wow little jelly you can't come home with me" so he puts it back follows him again. So sponge bob let it be his pet. They get home and the jelly fish and sponge bob start techno dancing all day and night. Sponge bob said "time to go to bed jelly fish" so they go to bed but the jelly fish quietly goes down stairs and starts playing music. Sponge bob goes down stairs and turns it off and the jelly fish gets mad and leaves and sponge bob says" finally I'm by my self and Gary is the only pet I need. The end
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į¶ Ź³įµƒįµ—įµ‰Ź³āæā±Ė¢įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ Pt. 5 į¶ ā±āæā±Ė¢Ź°ā±āæįµ įµ‡Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµį¶ įµƒĖ¢įµ—, ᵗʰᵉʸ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµˆ ᵃ įµāæįµ’į¶œįµ įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ā€§ ᓵᵗ’ˢ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµƒįµįµƒā±āæ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢įµƒįµįµ‰ į¶œįµ’Ė”Ė”įµ‰į¶œįµ—ā±įµ‡Ė”įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ŹøĖ¢ ᵃˢ Źøįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ‰Ź³įµˆįµƒŹøā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ˔ᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ‧ ā€œį“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ! ᵂʰʸ įµˆįµ’ įµįµ’įµ— ᵃ Ė¢įµƒį¶œįµ ᶠᵒʳ?ā€ ā€œį“µ įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµƒ įµŹ³įµƒįµ‡įµ‡Źø įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—Źø ᶠᵒʳ ᵘˢ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢Ź°įµƒŹ³įµ‰ā€¦ā€ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµƒāæĖ¢Ź·įµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ā€§ ā€œį“µ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ—įµ’įµˆįµƒŹø ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒⁿ˔ʸ ˢᵃʷ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆā€§ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ ʷᵃˢ įµˆįµ’ā±āæįµ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ ʲᵒᵇ įµ—įµƒįµā±āæįµ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ᵐᵉ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— Źøįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ‰Ź³įµˆįµƒŹøā€§ā€ ā€œįµ‚įµƒā±įµ—, Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—ā€¦ā€ ā€œį”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ ˢᵃʸˢ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ʰᵉ įµįµ’āæį¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ—? į“¬Ė”įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµŹ° ᓵ’ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ įµ‰Ė£įµƒį¶œįµ—Ė”Źø Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— įµ—įµ’ ᵇᵉ įµįµ’āæį¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµįµ‰įµƒāæĖ¢ā€¦ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ į¶œįµƒįµ˜įµŹ°įµ— ʰⁱˢ įµ‡Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµ—Ź° ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµāæįµ‰Ź· į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź·įµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆ ᵇᵉ į¶ įµ˜Ź³ā±įµ’įµ˜Ė¢ā€§ ᓺᵒᵗ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ įµĖ”įµƒāæį¶œįµ‰ įµƒįµ— į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ, ʰᵉ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµįµ‰įµ–įµ— ˢⁱ˔ᵉⁿᵗ‧ ᓼᶠ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ź³Ė¢įµ‰, į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᵈⁱᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ įµ–įµ˜įµ— ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ ā€œįµ‚Ź°įµƒįµ—ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ ʰᵒᵖᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµˆā±įµˆāæā€™įµ— ᵗᵉ˔˔ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— ʰⁱᵐ įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ ᵒᵛᵉʳ įµƒįµ— ᵐʸ Ź°įµ’įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ ᵈⁱᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ, ᵃˢ ᓵ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ˜Ź³įµįµ‰Ź³ įµ—Ź°įµ‰āæā€§ā€ ā€œįµ‚įµƒāæāæįµƒ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ʰⁱᵐ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€™įµˆ Ź·įµƒāæįµ— ʰⁱᵐ įµ—įµ’ įµāæįµ’Ź·?ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµƒĖ¢įµįµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ ā€œį“µ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ įµƒŹ·įµƒā±įµ—ā±āæįµ ᵐʸ įµįµƒį¶œŹ°ā±āæįµ‰ įµ—įµ’ įµƒāæįµƒĖ”ŹøĖ¢įµ‰ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’āæįµ—įµ‰āæįµ—Ė¢ įµ’į¶  ᵃ įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—Źø ᵃˢ įµ—įµ’ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ įµ’įµ˜įµ— Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—ā€™Ė¢ ⁱⁿ ⁱᵗ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ ᓵ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ ⁱᵗ įµˆā±įµˆāæā€™įµ— ᶠⁱⁿⁱˢʰ? ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµįµ’įµ— ᵃ į¶œŹ³įµ’Ź·įµ‡įµƒŹ³, ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæā€™įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź·ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ įµˆįµ’āæā€™įµ— įµ˜āæįµˆįµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµ—įµƒāæįµˆā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µā€™Ė”Ė” įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµƒā±āæ ⁱᵗ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ˢᵉᵉ, Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᶠᵉ˔ᵗ įµˆįµƒį¶»įµ‰įµˆ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ įµįµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ įµāæįµ’į¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ? ᓬᶠᵗᵉʳ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµįµ’įµ— ᵗʰᵉ į¶œŹ³įµ’Ź·įµ‡įµƒŹ³, ⁱᵗ įµāæįµ’į¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ, Ź³įµ‰āæįµˆįµ‰Ź³ā±āæįµ ʰⁱᵐ Ė¢įµ—įµƒįµ—įµ‰ įµ’į¶  įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉ˔ᵉˢˢⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵃⁿᵈ Ź³įµ‰įµįµƒā±āæįµ‰įµˆ ˢᵘᶜʰ įµ˜āæįµ—ā±Ė” ᓵ įµ—įµ’įµ’įµ ʰⁱᵐ ʰᵉʳᵉ įµ—įµ’ Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµ’įµ›įµ‰Ź³ ᶠʳᵒᵐ įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ āæįµ’āæį¶œįµ’āæĖ¢į¶œā±įµ’įµ˜Ė¢ā€¦ā€ ā€œį”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡, ⁱᵗ’ˢ įµ˜āæį¶œįµ’āæĖ¢į¶œā±įµ’įµ˜Ė¢, ⁿᵒᵗ āæįµ’āæā»į¶œįµ’āæĖ¢į¶œā±įµ’įµ˜Ė¢; ⁱᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ įµ‡Ė”įµƒįµ‡ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵐᵉ, įµƒįµ— Ė”įµ‰įµƒĖ¢įµ— įµįµ‰įµ— ᵗʰᵉ į¶ įµƒį¶œįµ—Ė¢ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ—!ā€ ā€œį““įµ’Ź·ā€™Ė¢ ⁱᵗ į¶ įµ‰įµ‰Ė”ā€¦ā€ ā€œįµ‚įµ‰Ė”Ė” ⁱᶠ ʰᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ įµƒŹ·įµƒįµįµ‰ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵒ įµƒŹ·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæįµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ įµ’į¶  Ė¢įµ˜Ź³Ź³įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆā±āæįµĖ¢ā€§ į“®įµ˜įµ— į¶ įµ’Ź³įµ—įµ˜āæįµƒįµ—įµ‰Ė”Źø ʰᵉ’ˢ įµˆįµ’ā±āæįµ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰, ʷᵉ˔˔, ᓵ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ʰᵉ įµˆā±įµˆāæā€™įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź· ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ įµ˜āæįµ—ā±Ė” ᓵ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµįµƒā±āæįµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ‡Ė¢įµ‰Ź³įµ›įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ įµ’į¶  Ė¢įµ˜Ź³Ź³įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆā±āæįµĖ¢ā€§ ᓼⁿᵉ įµā±įµŹ°įµ— ⁿᵒᵗ Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė” ᵐᵘᶜʰ įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ įµˆā±Ė¢įµ’Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵃˢ Źøįµ’įµ˜ į¶œįµƒāæāæįµ’įµ— ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ įµƒāæŹøįµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ⁱⁿ įµ‡įµ‰įµ—Ź·įµ‰įµ‰āæā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ʰᵉ’ˢ įµįµ’įµ— ⁱᵗ, į”†į‘«įµ˜įµƒŹ³įµ‰į“¾įµƒāæįµ—Ė¢! ᓮᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳ įµƒįµįµƒā±āæ, į“¾ā±āæįµŹø!ā€ ā€œį“µ ᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ!ā€ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ˢᵃⁱᵈ āæįµ‰Ź³įµ›įµ’įµ˜Ė¢ā€§ į“¶įµ˜Ė¢įµ— ᵗʰᵉⁿ, įµƒāæįµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³ įµāæįµ’į¶œįµ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ā€§ ā€œį“ŗįµ’Ź· Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—?ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°įµ‰įµˆ, įµ’įµ–įµ‰āæā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ įµ—įµ’ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæā€§ To be cont. pt. 6
į¶ Ź³įµƒįµ—įµ‰Ź³āæā±Ė¢įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ final Pt. 6 finale ā€œį“®įµ‰įµ—įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳ įµƒįµįµƒā±āæ, į“¾ā±āæįµŹø!ā€ ā€œį“µ ᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ!ā€ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ˢᵃⁱᵈ āæįµ‰Ź³įµ›įµ’įµ˜Ė¢ā€§ į“¶įµ˜Ė¢įµ— ᵗʰᵉⁿ, įµƒāæįµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³ įµāæįµ’į¶œįµ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ā€§ ā€œį“ŗįµ’Ź· Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—?ā€ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°įµ‰įµˆ, įµ’įµ–įµ‰āæā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ įµ—įµ’ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæā€§ ā€œį“µ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ ᵃˢ į¶ įµƒĖ¢įµ— ᵃˢ ᓵ ᵖᵒˢˢⁱᵇ˔ʸ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰įµˆ įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė”ā±įµ‰Ź³ įµ—įµ’įµˆįµƒŹø įµ—įµ’ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ᵐᵉ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ Ź°įµ˜Ź³įµ—ā€¦ā€ ā€œį“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ, Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµˆā±įµˆāæā€™įµ— į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė”Źøā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ ʷᵃˢ įµ–Ė”įµƒāæāæā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›ā±āæįµ įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė”ā±įµ‰Ź³ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜ į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰įµˆā€§ā€ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµƒā±āæįµ‰įµˆā€§ ā€œį“µā€™Ė”Ė” įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ˢᵒ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ᶜᵃⁿ Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ˜įµįµ‰ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵈᵃⁱ˔ʸ įµƒį¶œįµ—ā±įµ›ā±įµ—ā±įµ‰Ė¢ā€¦ā€ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ The End
The Patrick Star Show season two episodes: The Commode Episode: Patrick gets stuck in the bathroom. (#232A.) Tying the Klop-Knot: Bunny and Cecil need to get married again. (#232B.) Chum Bucket List: SpongeBob helps Patrick fulfill his bucket list. (#233A.) Big Baby Pat: Patrick has a nostalgic meltdown. (#233B) Is There a Director in the House?: While Squidina is away at camp, Patrick needs a new director. (#234A) Star Cruise: The Star family is abducted by aliens. (#234B) Best Served Cold: The enemies of the Star family team up to exact revenge. (#235A) Tattoo Hullabaloo: Bunny loses a tattoo. (#235B) Too Many Patricks: Patrick hires more Patricks to perform at birthday parties. (#236A) Much Tofu About Nothing: Pat-Thos shares a Hamdonian tale of love and pork products. (#236B) Face Off/Model: Patrick wakes up off-model. (#237A) 5 Star Restaurant: The Star family works at the Krusty Krab. (#237B) At Home, on the Lam: Bunny tries to punish Patrick for chocolate-favored crimes. (#238A) Pick Patrick's Path: The Lawnies vote for what Patrick does next in a special "Choose Your Own Adventure" episode of The Patrick Show!. (#238B)
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ᓳᵒᵒᶠʸ ᓳᵒᵒᵇᵉʳˢ pt. 1 ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ "įµ€Ź°įµƒāæįµĖ¢ ᶠᵒʳ įµįµƒįµā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉʷ įµ‡įµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° įµ’į¶  įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—ā±įµ‰Ė¢!" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ ᵈᵃʸ įµ‰āæįµˆįµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓵ'ᵐ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ʷᵃʸ įµ—įµ’ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ įµįµ’įµ’į¶ Źø įµįµ’įµ’įµ‡įµ‰Ź³'Ė¢!" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ Ź³įµ‰įµ–Ė”ā±įµ‰įµˆā€§ į““įµ‰įµƒŹ³ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’āæįµ›įµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæāø“ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµˆįµ‰į¶œā±įµˆįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ į¶œįµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° įµ˜įµ– ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ᓵ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰?" ᓓᵉ Ź°įµ’įµ–įµ‰įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµā±įµŹ°įµ— įµ‡Ė”įµƒįµ‡ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµįµƒįµā±āæįµ įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—ā±įµ‰Ė¢ā€§ "į”†įµ˜Ź³įµ‰āø“ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ!" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæāø“ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµ‰įµƒį¶œŹ° įµįµ’įµ— ᵃ ᵗʳⁱᵖ˔ᵉ įµįµ’įµ’įµ‡įµ‰Ź³ ᵇᵉʳʳʸ Ė¢įµ˜āæŹ³ā±Ė¢įµ‰ā€§ "ᓵ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵃᵈ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ⸓ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— Ė”įµ’įµ’įµĖ¢ įµįµ’įµ’įµˆā€§ā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ᵗʰᵉᵐ įµįµ’įµ˜įµ—Ź° Ź·įµƒįµ—įµ‰Ź³ā±āæįµā€§ "į“³įµ’įµ—įµ—įµƒ ᵇᵉ į¶œįµƒŹ³įµ‰į¶ įµ˜Ė” ⁿᵒᵗ įµ—įµ’ įµ‰įµƒįµ— ⁱᵗ įµ—įµ’ į¶ įµƒĖ¢įµ— ˢᵒ ᵃˢ įµ—įµ’ ⁿᵒᵗ įµįµ‰įµ— ᵐᵘᶜʰ Ė¢įµ˜įµįµƒŹ³ Ź³įµ˜Ė¢Ź°ā€§ā€§ā€§" ᔆᵗⁱ˔˔ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµˆā±įµ›įµ‰Ė¢ ⁱⁿ⸓ ⁿᵒᵗ Ź°įµ‰įµ‰įµˆā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ Ź·įµƒŹ³āæā±āæįµā€§ "ᓓᵉʸ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Źøįµ’įµ˜'ʳᵉ įµ‰įµƒįµ—ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ į¶ įµƒĖ¢įµ—!" į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ Ė¢įµƒā±įµˆā€§ ᓬᶠᵗᵉʳ į¶ ā±āæā±Ė¢Ź°ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ Ė¢įµ˜āæįµˆįµƒįµ‰ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᶠᵒʳ Ė¢įµ‰į¶œįµ’āæįµˆĖ¢ā€§ "ᓹʸ ā±į¶œįµ‰ā»į¶œŹ³įµ‰įµƒįµ!" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ‰Ė£į¶œĖ”įµƒā±įµįµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓺᵒ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᶠᵒʳ Źøįµ’įµ˜!" "į“°įµ’ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź·įµƒāæįµ— ᵐᵉ įµ—įµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµƒāæįµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³?" "ᓺᵒ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæįµĖ¢ į“¾įµƒįµ—ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµįµ‰įµ–įµ— įµā±įµįµĖ”ā±āæįµ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ Ė¢įµ˜įµįµƒŹ³ Ź³įµ˜Ė¢Ź°ā€§ "ᓵ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢įµ˜įµįµƒŹ³Ė¢ įµįµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ ᵗᵒ‧‧‧" "į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ'Ė¢ ᵐʸ ā±į¶œįµ‰ā»į¶œŹ³įµ‰įµƒįµ?" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ā±āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³Ź³įµ˜įµ–įµ—ā±āæįµ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ ᓵ įµįµ‰įµ— ᵃ įµ‡įµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° įµ’į¶  įµŹ³įµƒįµ‡įµ‡Źø įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—ā±įµ‰Ė¢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ?" "ᓵ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ʷᵉ Ė¢Ź°įµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆ ᶜᵃ˔˔ ⁱᵗ ᵃ āæā±įµŹ°įµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" "į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ʰᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ā±į¶œįµ‰ā»į¶œŹ³įµ‰įµƒįµā€§ā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸓ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— įµ—įµ’ įµˆā±Ė¢įµ’Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ—įµƒāæįµˆ įµ˜įµ–Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— įµ—įµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— įµ—įµ’ ⁱᵗ‧ "Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ'įµ— įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµā±āæįµ Ė¢įµ—Ź³įµƒā±įµŹ°įµ—!" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ˢᵃʸˢ Ź·ā±įµ–ā±āæįµ įµˆŹ³įµ’įµ’Ė” įµ’į¶ į¶  į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ "į”†įµ—įµƒŹø ˢᵗⁱ˔˔!" "ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— Ź·įµƒāæįµ— įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹø ˢᵗⁱ˔˔!" "ᓵ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ᓵ'ᵐ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµįµ’āæāæįµƒ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰ ʰⁱᵐ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµāø“ į“¾įµƒįµ—ā€§" "ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— Ź·įµƒāæāæįµƒā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ į¶œįµƒįµ˜įµŹ°įµ— į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ Ė¢įµ˜įµˆįµˆįµ‰āæĖ”Źø į¶ įµƒĖ”įµ—įµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ ⁱⁿ įµ‰Ė£Ź°įµƒįµ˜Ė¢įµ—ā±įµ’āæā€§ "į”†įµ—įµƒŹø ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ ⁿᵒʷ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ Ź·įµƒāæįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵃˢ ᵐʸ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆāø“ ⁿᵒᵗ į“¾įµƒįµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµāæįµ‰Ź· ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢įµ˜įµįµƒŹ³ ᶜʳᵃˢʰ įµįµƒįµˆįµ‰ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ⁿᵒᵗ įµƒį¶œįµ— Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ ʰⁱˢ āæįµ’Ź³įµįµƒĖ” įµ‡įµ‰Ź°įµƒįµ›ā±įµ’įµ˜Ź³āø“ Ź°įµƒįµ›ā±āæįµ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵃʸ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ įµˆįµ’į¶»ā±āæįµ ᵒᶠᶠ‧ "ᔆᵒʳʳʸ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµƒ įµįµ’ į“¾įµƒįµ—ā€§" "ᓵᵗ'Ė¢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ⸓ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— ʷᵒʳʳʸ‧ ᔆᵉᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜!" į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ Ź·įµƒįµ›įµ‰įµˆā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ į¶œįµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ—ā€§ ᓓᵉ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµƒā±āæįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ‰įµ›įµ‰Ź³Źøįµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ᶠʳᵒᵐ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ įµ’įµ˜įµ— į¶œįµ’Ė”įµˆā€§ to be cont. Pt. 2
ᵀⁱᵐᵉ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ pt. 4 ā½Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ Ź·įµƒŹ³āæā±āæįµ ᶠᵒʳ ᵛⁱᵒ˔ᵉⁿᵗ, įµ˜įµ–Ė¢įµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ "ᓵ'˔˔ Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ—įµ’ įµ—įµƒĖ”įµā€§" ᵀʰᵉ ᶜ˔ⁱⁿⁱᶜⁱᵃⁿ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ įµ—įµ’ ᶜᵃ˔˔ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæā€§ "ᔆᵒ⸓ ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź· Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė” ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ⸓ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ᵖʳᵒᵖᵉʳ˔ʸ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæįµ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᶠᵒʳ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—?" "ᵂᵉ˔˔ ᓵᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ įµ‰Ė£įµƒį¶œįµ—Ė”Źø Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ ⁱᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ įµ‰āæį¶œįµ’įµ˜āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢įµ‰įµƒ Ź³Ź°ā±āæįµ’į¶œįµ‰Ź³įµ’Ė¢ ʷʰᵒ'Ė¢ ⁿᵒʷ įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶻᵒᵒ‧‧‧" ᔆᵗⁱ˔˔ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµā±āæįµ įµ‡Ė”įµƒāæįµ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµāø“ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ Ė”įµƒįµ˜įµŹ°įµ‰įµˆ āæįµ‰Ź³įµ›įµ’įµ˜Ė¢Ė”Źø ⁿᵒᵗ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ įµįµƒįµįµ‰ įµ˜āæį¶œįµ’įµį¶ įµ’Ź³įµ—įµƒįµ‡Ė”įµ‰ā€§ "ᓵ įµ‡Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢įµ—įµ˜į¶ į¶ įµ‰įµˆ įµ‡įµ‰įµƒŹ³ā€§ā€§ā€§" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ˜Ź³įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ⁱᵗ ᵃˢ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓸⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ ᓵ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ ᵐᵉ Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµƒįµ˜Ź³įµƒāæįµ— ᵃⁿᵈ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź· ⁱᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ į¶œįµ’āæāæįµ‰į¶œįµ— įµ—įµƒĖ”įµ įµ—įµ’ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᓿᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʷᵉ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøįµ‰įµˆ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ įµ—įµ‰įµˆįµˆŹø? 'ā™Ŗā»ā»įµƒāæįµˆ įµ—Ź°įµƒįµ—'Ė¢ ʷʰʸ Źøįµ’įµ˜'ʳᵉ ᵐʸ į¶œįµ’įµ’įµā±įµ‰ā» Ź·įµ’įµ’įµā±įµ‰ įµ—įµ‰įµˆįµˆŹø įµ‡įµ‰įµƒŹ³!♪' ᵂᵉ'ᵈ Ė¢ā±āæįµ ⁱᵗ įµ˜āæįµ—ā±Ė” ʷᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ᵗ‧‧‧" "ᓵ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź· ᓵ'ᵐ Ź°įµ˜āæįµŹ³Źøā€§ā€§ā€§" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ⸓ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæįµā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œĖ”ā±āæā±į¶œā±įµƒāæā€§ į“¾įµ‰Ź³Ź°įµƒįµ–Ė¢ ⁱᶠ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ ⁿᵒ ᵖʳⁱᵒʳ įµāæįµ’Ź·Ė”įµ‰įµˆįµįµ‰āø“ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ—ā±āæįµ ᵒᵛᵉʳ į¶œĖ”įµ‰įµƒāæ? ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱˢ ᵉᵐᵖ˔ᵒʸᵉᵉˢ įµ—įµ’ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ įµ—įµ’ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµā€§ ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ įµįµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµāø“ ʰᵉ įµˆįµ‰į¶œā±įµˆįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ— ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ‧ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ’įµ–įµ‰āæįµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³āø“ Ė”įµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ ⁱⁿ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ ᵗᵒ‧ "ᵀʰᵉ įµˆįµ’į¶œ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ⁱᶠ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ'Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµāø“ ʰᵉ'˔˔ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ— įµ—įµ’ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ Ź·įµ‰įµ‰įµįµ‰āæįµˆā€§" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµƒā±āæįµ‰įµˆā€§ ᓓᵉ ˢᵃʷ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ‰įµƒŹ³ā€§ "ᔆᵒʳʳʸ ⁱᶠ ᓵ įµ–įµ˜įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵒᵗ Źøįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ‰Ź³įµˆįµƒŹøā€§ā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ–ā€§ "ᓵ įµįµ’įµ— ᵗʰᵉ įµ—įµ‰įµˆįµˆŹø!" ᓓᵉ Ź³įµ‰įµ–Ė”ā±įµ‰įµˆā€§ ᔆᵒ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµˆįµ‰į¶ ā±āæā±įµ—įµ‰Ė”Źø ⁿᵒᵗ įµƒį¶œįµ—ā±āæįµ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉ˔ᶠ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— ⁿᵒʷ⸓ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ⁱᵗ'Ė¢ ʰᵃʳᵈ įµ—įµ’ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ʸᵉᵗ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— ʷⁱ˔˔ Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰āæā€§ "ᓵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶠᵉᵉ˔ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§ā€§" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°įµ‰įµˆāø“ ⁿᵒᵗ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— ʰⁱˢ ʰᵒᵖᵉˢ įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’ Ź°ā±įµŹ°ā€§ "ᓓᵉ'Ė¢ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµ’įµ›įµ‰Ź³ā±āæįµāø“ ᵃⁿᵈ ᓵ įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµƒ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ; ᵇʸᵉ‧‧‧" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ‧ to be cont. Pt. 5
š–¢š–®š–¬š–¤ š–³š–®š–¦š–¤š–³š–§š–¤š–± š–»š—’ š–­š–¾š—Žš—‹š—ˆš–„š–ŗš–»š—Žš—…š—ˆš—Žš—Œ part 7 Plankton's heart leaps into his throat as the box flies open. Fidget toys spill out everywhere, each one a tiny piece of his vulnerability. "N-no, wait!" he stammers, his hand shooting out to grab the box. But it's too late. Sandy's eyes widen as she sees the collection of stim toys, the suspicion setting in. Sandy looks at him. "Plankton," she says. "You can tell me. What's going on?" "Sandy," Karen starts, her voice calm and measured. "You know Plankton's... uh... unique quirks, right?" She tries to find the right words, but Plankton's mind is racing. He can't bear the thought of being seen as weak or broken, not even by his wife's closest friend. Sandy nods, her gaze still on the fidget toys scattered across the floor. "Yeah," she says slowly. "But what's this all abou–" But Plankton can't handle the scrutiny anymore. His eye starts to twitch again, his body tense with anxiety. "It's nothing," he insists, his voice shaking. "Just some... stuff I... I collected." Sandy looks at him, her eyes filled with confusion and concern. "Plankton," she says gently. "You know you can talk to me." She's seen his quirks before, but never anything like this. Plankton's eye darts around the room, looking for a way out. He feels the familiar panic rising in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts he can't quite articulate. He stammers, trying to find the right words to explain without revealing too much. "It's... it's just... I was... uh... I was just... experimenting with... uh... new... new... new ways to... to... keep my mind... uh... sharp?" Karen watches her husband with a mix of pity and frustration. She knows his fear of being seen as different is overwhelming, but she also knows hiding it won't make it go away. "Plankton," she says gently. "It's okay." Plankton's eye stops twitching as he looks at her. He takes a deep breath, his body visibly relaxing. "I... I don't want to talk about it," he says, his voice low. Sandy looks from Plankton to Karen, then back again. She can sense the tension in the room, the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air. "Okay," she says slowly. "But if yo--" Plankton cuts her off. "Sandy, it's nothing," he says, his voice too loud, too forced. "Just... just a little hobby, you know?" He laughs awkwardly, his nervousness palpable. "Some people collect stamps. I just... I just like... uh... tinkering with these... these little things." He tries to wave it off, his hand shaking as he does so. Sandy's expression is a mix of confusion and worry. "But Plankton," she starts, picking up a fidget toy. "Whaa-" "It's fine, Sandy," Plankton interrupts, his voice strained. "It's just...just something I do to... to relax." He grabs the toy from her hand, his movements erratic. "It's not a big de-" But Sandy's eyes are still on the box, curiosity piqued. "But Plankton, why the secrecy?" she presses, her tone gentle but firm. Plankton's face reddens, his eye darting around the room. He stammers, trying to find a suitable explanation. "It's... it's just a... a surprise," he managed to get out, his voice squeaking. "For... for the Chum Bucket. A new... uh... gimmick." He laughs nervously, his hands fidgeting with the toys. Sandy looks at him, her concern clear. "Plankton, if you're going through something, you know you can talk to me." Her voice is gentle, but the question in her eyes is unmistakable. Plankton's heart squeezes in his chest, his mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation. He doesn't want her pity, doesn't want to be seen as weak. "It's... it's nothing," he repeats, his voice shaky. "Just some new... uh... merchandise I've been working on. For the Chum Bucket," he adds quickly. He tries to laugh, but it sounds forced. "You know me, always thinking of new ways to outdo Krabs," he says, trying to redirect the conversation. But Sandy doesn't buy it. "Merchandise?" she asks, her tone skeptical. "These look like... like some sort of therapy toys." Her voice is gentle, but the word hits Plankton like a ton of bricks. He swallows hard, his grip on the fidget toys tightening. Plankton's mind races, trying to come up with a lie that won't unravel. But before he can speak, Chip steps forward. "It's not for the Chum Bucket," Chip says, his voice steady. "They're dad's... uh... special toys." He looks at Plankton, his gaze filled with understanding. "He's special needs," he says, his voice unwavering. "He has... uh..." Plankton's face goes from flustered to furious. "Chip!" he snaps. "That's enough!" But it's too late. Sandy's eyes widen. Sandy looks from Chip to Plankton, her expression a mixture of shock and compassion. "What does he mean, special needs?" she asks, carefully. Plankton's face turns a bright shade of red, his hands shaking with anger. He slams the fidget toys into the box, his voice tight. "It's none of your business, Sandy," he snaps. "It's just a..." Sandy's eyes widen, surprise and concern melding together. "Plankton, what's going on here?" she asks, her voice gentle but firm. "You and Karen can talk to me. You know that." Plankton's breathing quickens, his hands shaking as he fumbles to close the box. "It's nothing," he insists, his voice tight. "Just a... a little... uh... quirky hobby." Sandy's gaze is filled with a blend of shock and concern as she looks at her friend's husband, his usual confidence replaced by a flustered mess. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "You're special needs? What's Chi-" Plankton's anger flares up. "It's none of your concern!" he snaps, his hands shaking as he pushes the box under the bed with more force than necessary. The stims scatter on the floor, each one a painful reminder of his condition. "You just stick to your treedome and let me handle my... uh... quirky habits," he says, his words clipped. Sandy's eyes are wide, taking in the scene before her. She's never seen Plankton like this, so... vulnerable. "But, oh Chip," she starts, her voice soothing. "If you're... uh... dad's going through something, I want to help. Chip, you told me he's special needs. Tell me wh-" "Because," Chip says, "Mom said she doesn't like that I know he's ret-..."
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ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘
š–¢š–®š–¬š–¤ š–³š–®š–¦š–¤š–³š–§š–¤š–± š–»š—’ š–­š–¾š—Žš—‹š—ˆš–„š–ŗš–»š—Žš—…š—ˆš—Žš—Œ part 5 Chip approached tentatively, his hand still gripping the octopus. "Hey Dad," he said, his voice gentle. "It's okay. Can you say 'octopus'?" Plankton looked up. "Oc- -topus," he repeated, the word coming out as a garbled mess. Chip couldn't help but chuckle despite the gravity of the situation. It was strange to see his dad, the master of words, stumble over something so simple. "Good job, Dad," Chip said, his voice filled with affectionate pride. "Again," he encouraged. "Oc-top-us," Plankton managed, his speech slightly clearer. Chip nodded, a soft laugh escaping. "That's it. The octopus wanted us to play together. Do you want to play?" Plankton looked at the stuffed octopus in Chip's hand, his expression still foggy. "Is?" he murmured, his eye moving slightly. "Is." Chip nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the sadness in his heart. "Yeah, Dad. It's ok." He held out the octopus. "This is the octopus. He's here to see you." Plankton's gaze focused on the octopus, his hand reaching out to touch it. "Octopus," he repeated, his tongue struggling with the word. "Octo...pus." More drool pooled in the corner of his mouth as he tried again. Karen watched the interaction, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this could be a moment of bonding for them, a chance for Chip to see his father in a new light. "Keep going," she whispered encouragingly. Chip held out the octopus further. "Dad, remember?" he prompted gently. "We talked about the octopus." Plankton's hand grasped the toy despite his confusion. He stared at the tentacles, his mind racing with a jumble of thoughts that he couldn't quite articulate. "Wh-wh-what?" he stuttered, his gaze unfocused. "It's okay," Chip assured, his voice soothing. "You're okay." He began to make the octopus wave its tentacles around playfully. "Look, he wants to be friends." Plankton stared at the octopus for a moment, his brain trying to catch up to the situation. "F-friends," he mumbled, his mouth twitching into a smile. He watched as the octopus's tentacles danced in the air, and then his own hand started to mimic the movement. "F-f-friends," he repeated, his voice gaining a bit of its usual lilt. Chip's heart swelled with relief. He had never seen his father like this before, and it was both terrifying and endearing. He knew his dad was still in there, trying to come back to reality. "That's right," he said, his tone gentle. "We're all friends here." He waved the octopus again, and Plankton's hand followed suit, the two of them playing a silent game of copycat. Karen watched, her eyes misty with tears. It was both heartbreaking and oddly sweet to see her husband like this, vulnerable and child- like in his confusion. But she knew they needed to keep the conversation simple for Plankton's sake. "Chip, ask him about the bear," she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. Chip nodded, turning his attention back to the bear. "Dad, remember the bear?" he asked, his voice gentle. Plankton's gaze flickered to the plush animal in his hand. "Be-be-be-" he started, his tongue tripping over the word. Chip waited patiently, giving his dad the space he needed to find his voice. "Bear," Plankton finally managed, his expression lighting up. "Good bear." Karen's heart swelled at the sight of the two of them playing, her son's innocence and her husband's vulnerability a stark contrast. Plankton's hand movements grew more animated, his speech still slurred but gaining clarity. "Bear...good," he said again, giggling. "Bear making octo happy." Chip couldn't help but laugh at the nonsensical words. "Yeah, Dad, the bear's making everyone happy." He watched as Plankton's hands danced with the octopus's tentacles, the bear bobbing up and down in the air. It was a sight that would have been comical under different circumstances, and Karen knew Plankton would normally feel humiliated at his inability to speak coherently. But in that moment, his confusion seemed almost endearing. "Bear, octo, happy," Plankton repeated, his words slurring together into a loop. It was like listening to a broken record, his brain stuck on the same phrase. Karen bit her lip, trying not to smile at the absurdity of it all. "Good, Plankton," she said, her voice soft. "Keep playing with the bear." Chip's eyes were glued to his father, a mix of fascination and concern. He had never seen Plankton so out of sorts, his usual sharp wit replaced by babbling nonsense. "Look, Dad," he said, his tone gentle. "The octopus is dancing with the bear." Plankton's eye lit up with a childlike wonder as he watched the two stuffed animals interact. He giggled, a sound that was both sweet and slightly eerie coming from his normally serious demeanor. "Dance," he mumbled, his hand moving the bear in a clumsy imitation of the octopus's wavy tentacles. "Dance, bear." The scene was almost comical, like a surreal play performed by a pair of silent puppets. Karen and Chip exchanged glances, their smiles tinged with sadness. They knew this wasn't the Plankton they were used to, but they couldn't help but be drawn into his bizarre world of confusion and simple joy. "Octo, bear, friends," Plankton repeated, his voice gaining slightly in clarity. His hands worked in unison, the octopus and bear engaged in a silent, stuffed dance of sorts. Karen notices his gaze sharpening a bit and knew Plankton will soon be himself again. "Good," she murmured, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. "Keep playing, sweetie." Her voice was soft. Plankton nodded, his hands moving more freely now, his speech slowly becoming less slurred. "Octo...bear," he said, his eye darting between his octopus and bear.
LEGGY i Plankton had an accident and needed surgery on his leg. SpongeBob and Patrick decided to pay him a visit. Their friend lay in the hospital bed, anesthetized, snoring softly. "Thank you," Karen said. "We appreciate it. They had to reset the bone and sew it back together. He won't feel anything now, but once the anesthesia wears off, he'll be in some pain. Your support means a lot to us.ā€ "How long does he have to stay asleep?" he asked. "Awhile," she said. "It's important for him to rest and recover. Plankton might be a bit...overwhelmed when he wakes up. He might not be able to respond right now." "What's that?" he pointed at the intravenous drip attached to Plankton's arm. "That's the anesthesia, what keeps him asleep during the surgery so he doesn't feel any pain." Patrick's eyes grew wide with wonder. "What's that like?" "Well, it's like being in a deep sleep," she began, "you don't feel anything, and when you wake up, it's like you never left your bed." His chest rises and falls with each gentle snore, a sound that echoes faintly in the quiet room. "Karen, why’s he snoring?" "It's his body's way of breathing while asleep. He’s in a deep sleep." The lead doctor came. "We're going to start bringing him out of it now. He'll be coming out of anesthesia soon." Eventually Plankton's eye fluttered open, looking up at them with a glazed expression before his pupil focused. "Wha...where...what happened?" he stuttered, his voice groggy. "Why does everything feel...so...floaty?" he asked, his voice trailing off as he tried to lift his head, and it flopped back down onto the pillow. "Whoa, ship's a-rockin'!" he exclaimed. "Weeeee!" he giggled. "A Krabby Patty...no, a Krabby Patty...no, wait, a Krabby...a Krabby...a Krabby..." His words trailed off to nonsense, and he started to giggle uncontrollably. "He'll be fine, just let him talk it out." "I need...I need...a...a...Krabby...P...P...Patty!" He giggled again, his mind still a bit foggy. "Look, friends! Look at me go!" The doctor and nurse entered the room, checking Plankton's vitals and smiling at his slurred words. "He's coming out of it normally," the doctor assured them. "You can keep talking to him, it'll help him come back to reality." SpongeBob and Patrick exchanged glances. "Krabby Patty, huh?" Sponge Bob said. "Well, I'm sure we can find you one once you're feeling better." Plankton giggled again, eye drifted to the side. "But for now, let's just focus on getting you well, okay?" The doctor nodded. "He'll be in and out of consciousness for a bit. It's perfectly normal." Patrick leaned in closer to Plankton. "You hear that, Plankton? We're here for you, buddy.ā€ He hands him some water. "Ahh," he sighed, eye fluttering shut again. "Krabby...Patty...water...good." ā€œYou just rest up, and we'll grab you a Krabby Patty when you're all fixed." Plankton's giggles turned into snores again, his eyelid drooping closed. The doctor chuckled. "It's the medication. He'll be in and out like this for a little while. Just keep talking to him, it'll help keep him grounded." The door to the hospital room creaked open, and Mr. Krabs poked his head in. "Sponge Bob! Patrick!" he bellowed. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Plankton in the hospital bed. "Heard about the accident," he said gruffly. "Thought I'd check on the little scram." Plankton's eye snapped open again, his expression shifting. "Krabs!" he hissed. "What are you doing?" Mr. Krabs waved a dismissive claw. "Just makin' sure my number one competitor is out of commission," he said with a smirk. "But it seems you're in good company." "Mr. Krabs, we're here to support Plankton. He's had a rough day." Mr. Krabs' smirk grew. "Ah, yes, the great Plankton, laid low by his own incompetence. Couldn't even steal a Krabby Patty without breaking a leg." The room grew tense as Plankton's face reddened, his tiny fists balling up the hospital sheets. "It wasn't like that, Krabs," he protested, his voice strained. "It was an accident!" But Mr. Krabs was relentless. "Always an accident with you, isn't it?" He chuckled, his tone mocking. "You're as clumsy as you are small." Sponge Bob took a deep breath, his heart swelling with hope. "Mr. Krabs, now's not the best time to tease him. Plankton's really hurting." The tension grew thicker than a Kelp Shake. Plankton's tiny frame quivered with indignation. The anesthesia, however, was playing tricks on his emotions. He could feel the tears welling up in his eye, and before he knew it, they were spilling over, down his cheeks. "Ah, don't listen to him, Plankton," Sponge Bob whispered, his own eyes growing misty. "You're not incompetent. It was just an accident." Karen's screen flickered. "Mr. Krabs, please. He's not well." "I don't need pity, Krabs!" he spat out, his voice filled with embarrassment. Karen's screen flickered again. "Mr. Krabs, he needs space. He'll be in and out of it for a bit longer, but perhaps he'd appreciate the visit when fully conscious." Mr. Krabs then left. Plankton's breathing grew even, and his eye began to droop. "I think he's falling asleep," Patrick whispers. "Alright, he's all set to go home.." They nodded solemnly, eager to get their friend back to his safe haven, the Chum Bucket. Carefully, they helped him into a wheelchair, his sleepy head lolling onto Sponge Bob's shoulder. "Mmm, Krabby Patty," he murmured, his mumbled voice trailing off into a snore. Patrick held the car door open as Sponge Bob gently maneuvered Plankton, trying not to jostle him much. He snored quietly, his body still feeling the effects of anesthesia. They buckled him into the back seat, his head lolling to the side as SpongeBob sat by him. The car's gentle vibrations and the soft hum of the engine lulled Plankton further into his slumber. His snores grew louder, echoing through the car. Sponge Bob watched him, his heart aching at the sight of his friend. He reached over and patted his arm reassuringly. "It's okay, Plankton," he whispered. "You're going to be ok." The drive to the Chum Bucket was quiet, punctuated only by Plankton's intermittent snoring and the occasional burst of slurred words. "Karen...chum...water... Krabby Patty...friend," he would murmur, his voice a gentle reminder of the person behind the villain. "Chum...Karen...Krabs...Sponge...Bob...Patrick...Krabby Patty...Karen...chum...chum...chum..." Sponge Bob and Patrick shared a look in the rearview mirror, their expressions a mix of concern and amusement. "It's like he's having a conversation with himself," Patrick whispered. "Must be anesthesia," Sponge Bob said, his voice low so as not to disturb Plankton. "He'd probably remember none of it when he wakes up." Once they arrived at the Chum Bucket, they carefully transferred Plankton to his bed, snores becoming less frequent and more rhythmic as he slipped into a deeper sleep. They left him with a glass of water and a bowl of chum for when he awoke, feeling a bit of relief knowing he was home and safe. Hours later, Plankton's snoring finally ceased, and he blinked his eye open, feeling a dull ache in his leg, Sponge Bob and Patrick sitting by his bed in his bedroom. "What’s...what happened?" he asked. "You had surgery, Plankton. Remember? You hurt your leg pretty badly." "Surgery?" he repeated, his voice still thick with sleep. "I had surgery?" He glanced down at his bandaged leg, the memory of the accident slowly coming back to him. "Oh, right." Patrick's eyes lit up. "Oh, you were out of it, buddy!ā€œ Plankton's smile faded as he took in his surroundings. "How long?" "A few hours," Sponge Bob said. "But don't worry, Karen's in the lab, just in case you need anything." Patrick leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You should've seen it, Plankton! You were snoring!" Sponge Bob playfully elbowed him. "Pat.." Patrick couldn't contain himself. "And when Mr. Krabs came in, oh boy!" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You started crying!" Plankton's embarrassment morphing into anger. "That's not funny, Patrick." he snapped, his voice sharp. Patrick nodded, with mirth. ā€œOh yeah, you were talking in your sleep, Plankton; you’re like, 'Krabby Patty...Chum...Karen...Patrick...Sponge Bob...'!" Plankton's frown deepened as he tried to sit up, only to wince in pain. "Krabby Patties?" "You'd get all excited about your latest plan, and then—just like that," SpongeBob said, snapping his fingers, as Patrick pretended to snore loudly. Plankton's eye widened. "No?" But Patrick had to prove Plankton's sleep-talking escapade. Patrick's laughter was contagious, and even Sponge Bob couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Plankton's dazed expression. Plankton's sleep-addled face, his mouth moving in a slurred chant and the occasional snort that punctuated his words. Patrick tried to mimic Plankton's slurred speech, which only made him giggle more. "You're even drooling!" he exclaimed. Sponge Bob's laughter grew quiet, feeling a twinge of pity for Plankton's embarrassment. "Patrick, maybe we should calm down," he suggested gently. "Come on, Plankton," he said. "You've got to admit, this is gold!" "Could you two at least get me something to eat?" he asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and defeat. Sponge Bob nodded, eager to change the subject. "Of course, Plankton. What would you like?" "Just...chum," Plankton mumbled, his face still flushed with embarrassment. Patrick's laughter grew louder. "Oh, come on, Plankton. You can't be serious right now!" He pretended to snore loudly, then added in a pitched voice, "Krabby Patty! Krabby Patty!" Sponge Bob couldn't help but chuckle. "Patrick, maybe we should—" But Patrick was in full jesting mode, his voice rising in pitch to mimic Plankton's. "Krabby Patty...chum...Krabby Patty...chum..."
ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ 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ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–ˆā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–“ā–ˆā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–ˆā–ˆā–’ā–’ā–ˆā–’ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–’ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–’ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–’ā–‘ā–“ā–’ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–’ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–’ā–‘ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–’ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–“ā–“ā–“ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ
r/TwoSentenceHorror 1 day ago CenturyCoal I pressed the stuffed teddy bear's chest to hear it's voice box the bear should have said 'i love you' not 'let me out'
Spoɓɢe вoв : wнαт нαppeÉ“ ιғ I тrυѕт yoĻ… ? Pαтrιĸ : тrυѕтιɓɢ yoĻ… ιѕ мy dĻ…Ń‚y , Provιɓɢ тнαт ι wαѕ wroɓɢ ιѕ yoĻ…r cнoιce
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"ᓵ įµ‡Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµį¶ įµ’Ź³įµ— įµ’į¶  Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ ʰᵒᵐᵉ‧‧" į¶œŹ³ā±įµ‰įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ā€§ įµ€Ź³Źøā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµāø“ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉ˔ᵗ įµ—įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė¢ Ė¢įµ—Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµ įµˆįµ’Ź·āæ ʰⁱˢ į¶ įµƒį¶œįµ‰ā€§ "į“¾Ė”įµ‰įµƒĖ¢įµ‰ ᵒʰ įµ–Ė”įµ‰įµƒĖ¢įµ‰ į”†Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµˆįµ’āæ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§" į”†įµ’įµ‡įµ‡ā±āæįµ ᵃⁿᵈ įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ ᵃʳᵐ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›įµ‰ ʰⁱˢ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ–įµ˜Ė”Ė”įµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ– ᵃ ᶜʰᵃⁱʳ ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ įµƒįµˆŹ²įµƒį¶œįµ‰āæįµ— įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµ˜į¶œŹ°ā€§ ᓓᵉ Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµˆ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ "ᓵ'˔˔ Ė¢įµ–įµ‰āæįµˆ ᵗʰᵉ āæā±įµŹ°įµ— ˢᵒ ʷᵉ'˔˔ ᵇᵉ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ ᵇʸ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ā€§ā€§" ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ įµįµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµƒŹ·įµ’įµįµ‰ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— ᵇʸ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ "į“³įµ’įµ’įµˆ įµįµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµ įµˆįµ‰įµƒŹ³ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ! ᓵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµįµ‰įµ— į¶ įµ‰įµ‰Ė”ā±āæįµ ᵃⁿʸ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ įµ—įµ’įµˆįµƒŹøā€§ Źøįµ’įµ˜'ʳᵉ įµā±Ė¢Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸ ᵘˢ!" į“·ā±Ė¢Ė¢ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ į¶ įµ’Ź³įµ‰Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ė¢įµƒįµ— ᵇʸ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ "ᔆʰᵒʷ ᵐᵉ ᵃ Ė¢ā±įµāæā€§ā€§ā€§" į¶œŹ³Źøā±āæįµ įµƒįµįµƒā±āæāø“ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµˆįµ‰į¶œā±įµˆįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµˆ įµ—įµ’ ʰⁱᵐ ʷʰⁱ˔ˢᵗ Ź·įµƒā±įµ—ā±āæįµā€§ "įµ‚Ź°įµƒįµ— įµ‡įµ’įµ’įµĖ¢ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ āæįµ’įµ—ā±į¶œįµ‰įµˆ ᵃ įµ‡įµ’įµ’įµ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµ—įµƒįµ‡Ė”įµ‰ā€§ "ᓬ įµ‡įµ’įµ’įµ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— āæįµ˜į¶œĖ”įµ‰įµƒŹ³ ᵖᵒʷᵉʳ‧‧" į¶œŹ°įµ˜į¶œįµĖ”įµ‰įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ—įµ’ ˢⁱᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ "ᓵ'˔˔ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ— ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ‰įµā±āæāæā±āæįµā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµįµ’įµ— ā±āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³Ź³įµ˜įµ–įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧ 'į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜? ᓵ ᵃᵐ įµƒįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ Ź°įµ’įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰ā€§ā€§' į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµƒāæĖ¢Ź·įµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ įµ’į¶  ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧ "ᓵ'ᵐ įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ—!" ᓬᶠᵗᵉʳ Ź°įµƒāæįµā±āæįµ įµ˜įµ– ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ⸓ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ʷᵉⁿᵗ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ įµ‡įµ’įµ’įµā€§ ᓓᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— įµ˜āæįµˆįµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµ—įµƒāæįµˆ ʰᵃ˔ᶠ įµ’į¶  ⁱᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ ⁱᵗ įµ–įµƒŹ³įµ—ā±į¶œįµ˜Ė”įµƒŹ³Ė”Źø ʰⁱᵐˢᵉ˔ᶠ⸓ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ʰᵉ įµįµ‰įµ–įµ— ᵒⁿ Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµˆā±āæįµ ⁱᵗ įµ—įµ’ ʰⁱᵐ‧‧ ᓾᵉᵗˢ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Ė¢įµįµƒŹ³įµ— ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉ⸓ ˢᵒ ˢᵖᵒᵗ įµāæįµ‰Ź· į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ įµ—Ź³Źøā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµįµƒā€§ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ā±įµįµįµ‰įµˆā±įµƒįµ—įµ‰Ė”Źø Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ āæįµ˜įµˆįµįµ‰ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµˆįµ‰įµ—įµ‰į¶œįµ—įµ‰įµˆ ˢ˔ᵒʷ˔ʸ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰Ė”Źø Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµ’įµ›įµ‰Ź³Źøā€§ "ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ˔ᵒᵛᵉˢ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ⸓ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒ įµˆįµ’ ᓵ‧ ᵂᵉ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— Ź·įµƒāæįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ—įµ’ ᵇᵉ ʷᵉ˔˔‧ Źøįµ’įµ˜'ʳᵉ ˢᵒ įµƒįµįµƒį¶»ā±āæįµ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ ᓺᵒ įµįµƒįµ—įµ—įµ‰Ź³ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—āø“ ⁱᵗ'Ė¢ ᵃ ᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ‧‧" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµˆ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡'Ė¢ įµ›įµ’ā±į¶œįµ‰ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–Ė”ā±įµįµ‰āæįµ—ā±āæįµ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᓓᵉ įµ—Ź³ā±įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ź·įµƒįµįµ‰āæāø“ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ įµ‡įµƒŹ³įµįµ‰įµˆ ᶠᵒʳ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠⁱⁿᵃ˔˔ʸ ˢʰᵒʷ Ė¢Ė”ā±įµŹ°įµ— ᵐᵒᵛᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒᵗ įµ‡įµƒŹ³įµįµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓸᵒᵛᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€§ā€§" ˢᵃⁱᵈ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ā€§ "ᓵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ įµ–Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµˆā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᶠⁱⁿᵃ˔˔ʸ įµƒŹ·įµƒįµįµ‰ įµ‰āæįµ’įµ˜įµŹ° įµ—įµ’ Ź·įµƒįµįµ‰āæ įµ˜įµ–āø“ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ į¶ Ė”įµ˜įµ—įµ—įµ‰Ź³ā±āæįµ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ "įµ‚Ź°įµƒįµ— įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā» ʷʰᵉʳᵉ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ ʷᵉ‧‧" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᵗʰᵉⁿ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ᶠᵉᵉ˔ ᵗʰᵉ įµ–įµƒā±āæ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ įµįµ’įµ— Ź°įµ˜Ź³įµ—ā€§ "Źøįµƒįµ’āø“ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰āæįµ‰įµˆ; Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—'Ė¢ įµįµ’ā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ‽" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ į”†įµƒā±įµˆāø“ įµˆįµƒį¶»įµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ Ź·įµ‰įµƒįµā€§ į“¶įµ˜Ė¢įµ— ᵗʰᵉⁿ⸓ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ ⁱⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ įµ‡įµ’įµƒŹ³įµˆ įµįµƒįµįµ‰ā€§ "į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ā€§" "į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᓵ įµ‡Ź³įµ˜āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ įµįµƒįµįµ‰!" į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµ–Ė”įµ’įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉ˔ᶠ įµˆįµ’Ź·āæ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ "ᶜᵃⁿ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµā±įµ›įµ‰ ᵘˢ ᵃ ᵐᵒᵐᵉⁿᵗ į“¾įµƒįµ—?" "į”†įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ā€§ā€§" į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøįµ‰įµˆ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ "ᓵ įµāæįµ’Ź· Źøįµ’įµ˜'ʳᵉ į¶œįµ’āæį¶ įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ įµŹ³įµ’įµįµŹøāø“ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶠᵉ˔˔ ᵃⁿᵈ įµįµ’įµ— Ź°įµ˜Ź³įµ—ā€§ ᶜᵃⁿ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ᵐᵉ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ?" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµ–įµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢ā±įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ ʰⁱᵐ įµ˜įµ– ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ ʷᵃˢ įµˆā±Ė¢įµ’Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµ—įµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᵀʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ įµ’į¶  Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµƒįµ˜Ź³įµƒāæįµ—'ˢ‧‧" "Źøįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ‰Ź³įµˆįµƒŹø Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶠᵉ˔˔ įµ’į¶ į¶  ᵃⁿᵈ ᓵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ā€§ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ įµƒĖ”Ė¢įµ’ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹøįµ‰įµˆ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ ᵇʸ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰āø“ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ᓵ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ʰⁱᵐ ᓵ ʷᵃˢⁿ'įµ— ʰᵒᵐᵉ įµ—įµ’ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹø ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧" "į“°įµ’ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ˢᵉᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵃˢ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ?" "ᓼᶠ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ź³Ė¢įµ‰! ᓺᵒʷ ˔ᵉᵗ'Ė¢ ˢᵉᵉ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— įµįµƒįµįµ‰ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ'Ė¢ įµįµ’įµ—ā€§ā€§" "ᓰᵒᵉˢ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹø?" "ᵂᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗʳʸ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ'Ė¢ ⁿᵉʷ įµįµƒįµįµ‰!" "ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᓵ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ā€§ā€§" "ᶜᵃⁿ ᓵ įµƒĖ¢įµ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʷʰʸ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʰᵉ˔ᵖ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§ā€§" "į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ˔ⁱᵗᵗ˔ᵉ ᶠᵃ˔˔ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµįµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ⁿᵒʷ! į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ įµįµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ—įµ’ āæįµ’Ź³įµįµƒĖ” ʸᵉᵗ ˢᵒ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— ʷᵒʳʳʸ‧‧" "ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ ʳᵒ˔˔ įµˆā±į¶œįµ‰ ᶠᵒʳ?" "ᓳᵒ įµƒŹ°įµ‰įµƒįµˆā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµāø“ ʷʰᵒ ᵗʰᵉⁿ įµ—įµ’Ė¢Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆā±į¶œįµ‰ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆā±į¶œįµ‰ įµ˜āæā±āæįµ—įµ‰āæįµ—ā±įµ’āæįµƒĖ”Ė”Źø ʰⁱᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµįµ’įµ— įµˆįµƒį¶»įµ‰įµˆ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ᵐᵒᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧ "įµ‚įµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° ⁱᵗ!" ᓓᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ Ź·įµ‰įµƒįµĖ”Źøā€§ "ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ įµįµƒįµįµ‰'Ė¢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— ⁿᵒʷ‧‧" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ—Ź³ā±įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ—įµƒāæįµˆ įµ˜įµ– įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ ⁿᵒᵗ Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµ’įµ›įµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ įµ‰āæįµ’įµ˜įµŹ°āø“ į¶ Ź³įµ˜Ė¢įµ—Ź³įµƒįµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᶠᵒʳ įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ Ź°įµ˜Ź³įµ—ā€§ "Źøįµ’įµ˜ āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆ ʰᵉ˔ᵖ?" į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ įµƒĖ¢įµįµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ "ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ ʰᵉ˔ᵖ‧‧" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢āæįµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ įµƒįµ— į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ "ᓵ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ʰᵉ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— Ź·įµƒāæįµ—Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµ’įµ›įµ‰Ź³āø“ į“¾įµƒįµ—ā€§ ᓵ'˔˔ į¶œįµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° įµ˜įµ– ʷⁱᵗʰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµƒįµ— ᵃⁿ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ!" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ź°įµ˜įµįµįµ‰įµˆ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµā€§ ᓬᶠᵗᵉʳ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³ā±į¶œįµ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ—āø“ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ʷᵉⁿᵗ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ʷᵃˢ⸓ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė¢ ʷᵉ˔˔ įµ˜įµ– ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ "įµ‚Ź°įµƒįµ— ⁱˢ Ź·Ź³įµ’āæįµā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ'įµ— ᵉᵛᵉⁿ įµįµ‰įµ— įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ˜įµ– ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµ˜į¶œŹ°!" į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ ᵗʳⁱᵖ‧ "į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ! ᓼʰ ᓵ ᵃᵐ įµĖ”įµƒįµˆ Źøįµ’įµ˜'ʳᵉ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ!" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµƒā±āæįµ‰įµˆ įµ‰įµ›įµ‰Ź³Źøįµ—Ź°ā±āæįµā€§ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱˢ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’ ʰᵉʳ‧ "ᓓᵉʸ‧‧" "ᓓⁱ⸓ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ; ᓵ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµˆ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— Źøįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ‰Ź³įµˆįµƒŹø!" "į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ᵐᵉ įµ’įµ˜įµ—ā€§ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵉ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹø ᵗʰᵉ āæā±įµŹ°įµ—?" "ᓵ Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ ʷⁱ˔˔!"
#avabearstillascuteasabuttonlovehermorethanallthestarsinthesky
July 10 death of little Anton Bear. The 6-year-old boy, his mother and his 3-year-old sister were walking down a road on the edge of the town, about 600 miles southwest of Anchorage when a grizzly ambled up in the dim dawn light. 🐻 Anton Bear, 6, male July 10, 1992 near King Cove, Alaska The six-year-old, his mother, and sister were walking down a road when they were approached by a grizzly bear. The family fled, but the boy was chased down by the bear and devoured.
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