Fishermancore Emojis & Text

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡿⠛⣉⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⢁⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡟⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⣀⣀⣹⣿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡆⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡟⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⣁⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⠋⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⡀⣴⣿⠹⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣠⣴⡙⣿⠈⠿⠀⠘⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣦⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⢿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⢀⡈⠃⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡈⠻⣠⣴⢀⡴⠀⣀⠀⣰⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⠟⠁⠀⠠⠴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣈⠁⠾⢇⡼⠿⠞⠛⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⠇⠈⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣶⠖⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⡾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡄⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠿⠆⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢹⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠾⢻⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⣴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢿⠋⠀⣆⠈⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠋⢦⠀⣷⣀⣿⣧⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⠈⠙⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⢷⣼⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠟⠋⡿⢋⣿⠿⣿⠏⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡇⣠⣾⣿⣟⣋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣾⣁⡸⢃⣀⣡⣤⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⣸⣷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠉⣩⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

| © Generally Gothic 𝕺𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖞 No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries; For shade to shade will come too drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine; His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung. – John Keats, 1820

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷.𝟶𝟼ᴋ At the Neptune Medical Center, Karen parks the car and goes with her husband Plankton into the building after an injury to his antenna. "I still don't see why you didn't press charges against Krabs, Sheldon," Karen sighs, as they walk through the gleaming, sterile corridors of the medical center. "Karen I'm not gonna give him the satisfaction." Plankton's antenna now hangs limp and damaged. The doctor had assured him it was a simple repair job, yet Plankton's nerves were as frayed as the antenna itself. They enter the reception area, the automatic doors whispering shut behind them, as if sealing off the outside world's chaos. The smell of antiseptic fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of fear and hope. The receptionist, a young squid with a friendly smile, looks up from her computer screen. "Mr. Plankton, your appointment is with Dr. Marlin, the antenna specialist," she says, her tentacles typing efficiently. "You can go straight to the third floor, room 304." The elevator ride is silent, save for the rhythmic ding of each passing floor. Karen notices his distant gaze and squeezes his arm reassuringly. "You'll be fine, Sheldon," she whispers. Plankton nods. They arrive at room 304, and Karen opens the door, revealing a state-of-the-art examination room. Dr. Marlin, an octopus with a gleaming scalpel in one tentacle and a clipboard in another, looks up from his notes. "Ah, Mr. Sheldon Plankton, right on time," he says, his eight eyes blinking in unison. "I understand you've had a bit of an injury?" Plankton nods, his voice tight. "Krabs... he... snapped it." Dr. Marlin's tentacles twitch in concern. "Mr. Eugene Krabs, eh? He's had his share of accidents around here." He scribbles something on the clipboard. "Well, let's get you fixed up. I've seen worse, and you're in good hands." The doctor leads Plankton to the examination chair, which is surprisingly comfortable for someone so tiny. He adjusts the chair's height and angles the light to shine on the antenna. Plankton winces as the doctor gently prods the damaged area. "It's definitely snapped," Dr. Marlin says, his voice calm and professional. "But the good news is, it's not to far gone. We can repair it with a simple procedure." "You'll need to be under for this," he explains. "It's nothing to worry about. You'll be out Before you know it." Plankton's heart races as he lies back in the chair, the cold metal pressing against his back. He glances at Karen, who gives him a forced smile, her screen filled with concern. The doctor notices and pats his shoulder reassuringly. "It's just a little sleep," he says. "You'll be back in no time." Karen reaches for his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. The anesthesiologist, a bluefish with a gentle demeanor, enters the room, pushing a trolley with a variety of bottles and tubes. She introduces herself as Nurse Bella and explains that she'll be administering the anesthesia for the surgery. Plankton swallows hard, eye darting from her to Karen's screen and back again. Karen's gaze follows the anesthesiologist, Nurse Bella, as she meticulously prepares. "Ready? Count as high as you can," she asks, her voice as soft as a lullaby. Plankton nods, his grip on Karen's hand tightening. "One... two... three..." Plankton's voice starts strong, but the medicine's effect begins to take hold. His eyelid grow heavy, and the numbers begin to slur. Karen watches as Plankton's count descends into a whisper. "Five... six... sev..." His tiny hand relaxes in hers, and his body goes slack. She watches the rise and fall of his chest slow as he succumbs to the anesthesia. Karen squeezes his hand one last time. The door to the exam room opens again, and Dr. Marlin's head pokes out. "Everything's gone well," Dr. Marlin says, peering over his mask. "We're to halt anesthesia." "You're okay," Karen whispers, her voice cracking. "You're okay." "He's doing great," the nurse whispers. "You can talk to him if you'd like. Sometimes they can hear you." Karen leans closer, her voice low and soothing. "Hey, Plankton, it's Karen. You're safe now. They've fixed your antenna. No more pain, okay?" Her thoughts are interrupted by a soft groan from the bed. Karen's screen snap to Plankton, who's beginning to stir under the blankets. "Shh," she whispers, stroking his arm. "You're safe." "K...Karen?" His eye opens. "Yes, it's me. You're okay, you're in the hospital. They've fixed your antenna." "Karen... antenna... Krabby Patty... wait, what?" He giggles, the words jumbling together in a way that makes no sense. Plankton's eye widen with childlike excitement. "Oh, right! The antenna!" He tries to touch the bandage but ends up nearly slapping himself in the face with his own arm. "Oops!" He giggles again, the sound echoing through the quiet room. He tries to sit up, but cannot. "Whoa, Nelly!" "Easy," Karen laughs. "I'm the king of the jellyfish prom! They got no flair!" Once in the car, Karen buckles him in with care, double-checking the seatbelt. "Remember, no funny business," she warns. Plankton's eye droop, and his head lolls to the side. "You're going to sleep, aren't you?" she says, her voice a mix of amusement and exhaustion. "M'not sleeping," Plankton mumbles, his eyelid fluttering, his voice fading into a snore. The drive home is peaceful, with Plankton snoring lightly beside her. As they approach their place, she gently shakes him awake. "We're home, Sheldon," she says, her voice gentle. "Can you wake up for me?" Plankton's eye blink open, and he looks around in confusion. "Home?" he mumbles. "Already?" Karen nods with a smirk. "Yeah, you slept through the whole drive. Came out of it just in time." They get out of the car, and Plankton wobbles slightly on his legs, the after-effects of the anesthesia still lingering. Karen wraps an arm around his waist, supporting him as they make their way to the front door. With a chuckle, Karen helps him inside, the warm light of their living room washing over them. Plankton's snores become more pronounced as they move through the hallway. "Come on, you need to get to bed," she says, leading him to their bedroom. The room is cozy, with a large bed that seems to swallow Plankton whole as he collapses into it. Karen carefully pulls the covers up to his chin. "Rest now," she whispers, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──── 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 3 ──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──── ♱16♱ 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.✞ ♱17♱ 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮.✞ ♱18♱ 𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥’𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘰𝘯.✞ ♱19♱ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵: 𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭.✞ ♱20♱ 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥.✞ ♱21♱ 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥.✞ ──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──── 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 3 ──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────

c. 1847 A man named John MONAGHAN of about 45 years of age, was killed by a blow of a small stone thrown by a little boy about 14 years old in the town of Kells on Sunday morning last. An inquest was held, verdict--accidental death, caused by the blow of a stone. ~

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM v (Autistic author) SpongeBob picks up his cards and looks for any twos. "Got any twos?" he asks, trying to keep the peace. But Plankton's focus has shifted, his eye no longer on the game. "Fish," he says again, his voice desperate. Sponge Bob's patience snaps like a dry twig. "Plankton, enough with the fish!" he exclaims, tossing his cards down onto the floor. The sudden movement startles Plankton, and his antennas retract slightly. "What's wrong with you!" Sponge Bob asks, his voice shaking with frustration. "You're not the same, Plankton." Plankton's antennas wobble, and his eye darts around the room, unable to meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Fish," he whispers, his voice lost. SpongeBob's frustration was palpable in the tense air of the Chum Bucket, his eyes wide with confusion. He had always known Plankton to be a master of manipulation and cunning wit, so seeing him in such a repetitive state was unsettling. He didn't understand why his friend's world had narrowed down to a simple game of Go Fish and the repeated question for more of the same card. "Plankton, I don't get it," Sponge said, his voice tight with the effort to stay calm. "What's with all the fish?" Plankton's antennas drooped further, his eye cast downward. "Fish," he mumbles again, his voice deflated. "Need more fish." Sponge Bob's mind races to understand the change in Plankton's behavior. He's known Plankton for so long, they've had countless battles over the Krabby Patty formula, but this, this is different. The way Plankton's voice echoes his own words, how he can't seem to let go of the word "fish," it's almost as if he's a different person entirely. "Plankton, please," Sponge Bob pleads, his voice cracking. "Why do you keep saying that?" Plankton's antennas lift slightly, his expression a mix of confusion and sadness. "Fish," he repeats, his voice a mere whisper. "Need fish." "I told you Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice strained with patience, "I don't have any more twos, so I can't give you any fish." Plankton's antennas droop, his eye sad. "No fish," he whispers. Sponge Bob's at his wit's end. "Look, Plankton," he says, his voice firm. "This isn't fun anymore. Why do you keep asking for fish when I don't have any?" Plankton's antennas shoot up again, his eye widening in surprise. "Fish?" he asks, as if the concept has just been introduced. Sponge Bob's patience snaps like a rubber band. "Yes, fish!" he yells, his spongy body trembling with frustration. "But I don't have any!" Plankton flinches at the loudness of Sponge Bob's voice, his antennas retreating into his body. "Fish?" he whispers, his eye wide with fear. Sponge Bob's frustration remains. "Why do you keep asking for fish?" he asks. "What's happening to you, Plankton?" Plankton's antennas twitch erratically, his expression a mix of pain and confusion. "Don't know what's happening to you Plankton." Plankton says. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his voice shaking. "I just want my friend back," he whispers. "I don't know what happened to you." Plankton's antennas drop, his eye filling with sorrow. "Friend," he repeats, his voice small. "Sponge Bob friend." Yet Sponge Bob doesn't understand. He only sees his friend acting strange and distant, and he can't stay calm anymore. "Why can't you just be normal!" Sponge Bob exclaims, his voice shaking with emotion. Plankton's antennas tremble, and his eye fills with uncertainty. "Fish?" he whispers, his voice shaking. But SpongeBob's frustration was only growing. "I can't do this," he says, his voice shaky. "You're not my friend like this, Plankton. I don't know what happened to you, but I need you to snap out of it!" Plankton's antennas wilt at Sponge Bob's anger, his eye filling with a sorrow that seems to mirror Sponge Bob's own. "Fish," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Need fish." Sponge Bob's heart aches as he watches his friend's distress. He's so tired of the echoing words, the endless loop of "fish." With a sigh, Sponge Bob gathers the scattered cards, his movements deliberate and careful. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice gentler now. "But we can't keep playing this way." Plankton's antennas droop as he watches Sponge Bob clean up. "Fish?" he asks, his voice small and hopeful. Sponge Bob turns, his face a mask of anger and hurt. "No, Plankton," he says firmly. "We're not playing anymore; I'm tired of it!" Plankton's antennas wobble at the harshness of Sponge Bob's tone. "No fish?" he asks, his voice small and trembling. Sponge Bob cannot hold back anymore, as his frustration won't let up. "Plankton," he says, his voice tight with emotion, "I don't have any more fish! Can't you understand that?" Plankton's antennas quiver, his eye welling up with tears. "Fish," he whispers, his voice shaking. That's the last straw. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears of anger and frustration. He's had enough of Plankton's strange behavior, his incessant echoing of words. "You're not listening!" he yells, slamming the cards down on the floor. "I don't have any more fish Plankton, so just stop it!" Plankton's antennas shiver at the harshness of Sponge Bob's words, his body shrinking under the weight of the accusation. "Fish?" he asks again, his voice cracking. Sponge Bob's fists clench, his knuckles turning white. "No more fish!" he says, his voice shaking with anger. "I've had enough of you and your fish!" Plankton stops but Sponge Bob's anger still burns bright. He doesn't know what's happening to Plankton, but he can't tolerate this strange behavior any longer. "What's wrong with you?" Sponge Bob yells, his eyes wide with desperation. "Why can't you just play normally, huh? How hard is it to just ask for a card without all the fish nonsense? I didn't come here to play your weird games!" Plankton's antennas quiver, his eye swelling with unshed tears. "Fish," he whispers, his voice barely audible. Sponge Bob's anger continues to build, his frustration spilling over like boiling water. "You're not even trying!" he accuses, his voice rising. "What happened to you, Plankton?" Plankton's antennas droop, his body slumping. "Fish," he mumbles, his voice broken. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart aching for his friend. "I don't understand," he says, his voice cracking. "What's wrong with you?" Plankton's antennas barely move, his expression a mask of sorrow. "Fish," he whispers, his eye searching Sponge Bob's. Sponge Bob's anger grows, his voice raised. "You're just saying the same thing over and over! Why can't you talk to me normally?" Plankton's antennas flatten against his head, his eye welling up with tears. "Fish," he says again, his voice shaking. Sponge Bob's fists clench tighter, his knuckles white with frustration. "I don't know what's going on with you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "But this isn't how we talk to each other. We're friends!" Plankton's antennas barely twitch, his expression lost. "Fish," he whispers, his voice desolate. Sponge Bob's anger reaches its peak, his eyes flashing. "I don't have any fish!" he yells, his spongy body quivering with rage. "Why can't you just talk to me?" Plankton's antennas lift slightly, his eye wet with unshed tears. "Fish," he murmurs, his voice a plea. Sponge Bob feels like his patience has been stretched to its breaking point. "I can't do this," he says, his voice shaking with the effort to control his emotions. He turns away, his back to Plankton. "We're not playing anymore," he declares. "We're not playing anything until you start making sense! So you can either stop acting weird and talk to me like a normal being or, I'm leaving!" He kicks the cards, and then Karen decides to intervene. Her voice is firm but kind. "Sponge Bob," she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Plankton's not doing this on purpose. Plankton can I tell Sponge Bob?" Plankton nods slowly, his eye never leaving Sponge Bob's back. "Sponge Bob," Karen continues, her voice soothing, "Plankton had a bad accident, and..." Her words hang in the air, but Sponge Bob doesn't turn around. "What?" he asks, his voice small and defeated. Karen's voice is soft but steady. "Plankton hit his head and it affected his brain," she explains. "He has something called Autism now." Sponge Bob turns, his eyes wide with shock. "What's that?" he asks, his voice trembling. "It's a condition," Karen says gently, her gaze meeting Sponge Bob's. "It makes it hard for him to understand certain things, like how to play games without getting stuck on one word." She gestures to Plankton, who's shedding tears rolling down his cheeks. Sponge Bob's anger evaporates, replaced by sympathy. "Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice full of sadness. He steps towards his friend, his hand reaching out. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." Plankton's antennas wobble as he looks up at Sponge Bob, his single eye brimming with tears. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to get so mad." Plankton's antennas lift slightly, his eye meeting Sponge Bob's with gratitude. "Fish," he whispers, but it's not a demand this time. It's more of a statement of understanding.

BUTLER, John R., b 1840 Oct 2 .....d 1903 Aug 26; heart failure; GAR; Champion cem, B1-L8; Cct 1903 Aug 28; RF m 1910:Valley#44

1878 NOV On Thursday evening, at, it is supposed, about seven o’clock, a carpenter named John LARKIN was deceased near Lisdoonvarna by a fall from a bicycle. Death was caused by the sharp end of a file which he carried in his pocket entering the goin and wounding the famoral (sic) artery. No one was near to help, and the poor fellow passed on the road side.

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