Goonhub
10-21-2019, 09:18 AM
(This post was last modified: 10-21-2019, 04:47 PM by Sundance. Edited 2 times in total.
Edit Reason: Minor fix/grammar/zalgo
)
(excuse me, killing time in work)
NAME: Maxwell Feely
AGE: 44
ALIAS: N/A
OCCUPATION: NanoTrasen Security Operative
BIRTHPLACE: Solar-mars
BACKGROUND: [Classified]
==Transmitting logs==
WARNING: CLASSIFIED INFORMATION
LOG #063
STATUS LOCATION: PROXIMA CENTAURI X79Y21Z54
Maxwell here. The geniuses at Nanotrasen have done it again. In my hands holds the AK-47 of the future. A sleek navy gun that's light as a thimble but packs a punch like no other. The name is rather everyday; in their great humbleness it's donned the name "Energy Rifle" but let me tell you now what this baby can really do.
On one mode, it fires a taser bolt, which to the uninitiated may seem like the standard neuromuscular incapacitation but those scientists made it so that it actually acts as a neurological dampener - disabling the connection between the brain and heart to the outer most extremities. What this means for us vets is that it is a 99.2% non-lethal take down, the fucks drop like flies when hit and can't sue for shit. Perfect for the rabble of the outer colonies and processing those commie bastards.
The other mode, fires a heated plasma stream that carbonizes the skin upon contact, completely ignoring conventional armor. Wonderful.
But let's get real. Laser technology ain't nothing new, but what's different about this is the intentions. It's designed to have no ricochets thus minimal damage to the external environment, perfect for galactic interventions.
The real kicker? No recoil. That's right. None. So anyone, whether they be the degenerates from the outer colonies or the hard-boiled veterans from my regiment, all who fight for NT will be able to handle this baby smoother than any imported DD whiskey. No recoil! Can you believe it!?
I think I'll call mine Betty.
LOG #067
STATUS LOCATION: OMICRON PERSEI X63Y43Z80 EN ROUTE
Maxwell, logging in. Finally, I was growing impatient. NT has transmitted an important mission, and i'm ready to bust heads. I'm to lead our regiment to [REDACTED], a station surrounding a neutron star which is collapsing in itself and periodically regurgitating strange quark matter, which when hit by any debris gets converted into that fuel we all know and love - Plasma. This [REDACTED] just over a month ago had a loyalty index of 8.6, these guys work hard for the NT and greater humanity. But something happened, their R&D were researching into [REDACTED] and now...
Well... now there's nobody on the station anymore, to put it loosely. By nobody I mean roughly two dozen crewmembers, but they're all monoclones: Clones from a single individual - a direct contravention to NT law.
They're all Sundance. They called themselves "The Society of Sundance", which I assume by nomenclature was the initial sad fuck who got caught up in this mess. They have three demands, for which they'll relinquish production of plasma if:
1. Freedom of expression and religion is upheld. They worship "harmonic" pagan gods originating in the deep space area of [REDACTED], and wish to do so in peace. I'll free their fucking heads from their necks.
2. An incredulous increase of 0.4% stake in profits.
3. 4 dozen boxes of DD Peanut-Butter Icecream to be delivered. Fuckers can't even eat right.
I'm to pose as an envoy and locate the originator Sundance, incapacitate him with my shiny fresh-out-the-box Betty and then order my regiment to cleanse the station of remaining Sundances.
Then we'll get one of our scientists to flick the switch on the cloner and it'll pop out the original crewmembers with no trace of us ever being there, and everything will be cyclical again just like the reruns of F.R.I.E.N.D.S
It will be glorious.
LOG #084
STATUS LOCATION: [CLASSIFIED]
THOSE FUCKS. THOSE FUCKING REPROBATES. THEY TOOK MY BETTY. AND WHAT DID THEY GIVE ME!?
A FUCKING CLOCK 188! MY GRANDMOTHER'S FUCKING SPIT WOULD DO MORE DAMAGE TO A TARGET!
I see what they're doing, those bastards at NT. Don't take out the trash, let the trash take out itself. Clearly my past is too much for them, my crimes at the orphanage at [REDACTED], the purging of [REDACTED], the [REDACTED] at [REDACTED]...
But it takes a real man to do what I did, I got guts. This regiment and the hard working men are the wheels of this corporation, no degenerate clones will replace us.
We don't know how many are armed on this station, it may very well be a bloodbath seen as how little we're armed. But I tell you now, we'll complete this suicide mission and I'll shove that fucking Sundance's head so far up administration's ass he'll be tasting their breakfast.
LOG #085
STATUS LOCATION: [CLASSIFIED]
..pride comes before the fall. In our shallow pursuit to unify man in the galactic order, we spread ourselves wafer thin across space that we've become blind to the rips and tears. We learned nothing from the great empires of the past... nothing.
They were all armed, with their own self replicating energy rifles. None of them were trained in the art of war, but ha... no recoil, one could say. Toy soldiers, all of them. And when we snuffed one, well, here's the thing about clones.. they're expendable. My men were not.
The men that entered in the starboard side got leveled by it. Nothing left. Just a twisted mesh of burnt hair and organs, vomit from that creature. The smell. It's the smell of it that blasts into the back of the mind, like a spotlight ... And it answers to them. They chant and it stumbles forth, limbs upon limbs draping over each other.
They have me now and...they showed me it...what they found. Made me watch. Couldn't look, but I couldn't look away. This shifting contorting thing in the shadows. Nothing like the thing at that ice planet at [REDACTED]...this.. this...
..Jamie didn't need to die like that. Driven mad from the sight of it, then shot in the back when he attempted to flee, his fleshed cracked from the heat of the projectile. His gaze met mine... before being transfixed upon that primordial horror, that horrid miasma that loomed above him. He may of screamed as it rended him to nothing.. but I could neither see nor hear as my senses were... paralyzed by that putrid odor.
They've strapped me to a medical chair now. They're preparing needles. Nanotrasen, if you're listening.. I hope you'll get an ounce of what I receive.
LOG #1436
HEYO! It's Sundance here. I know, you're probably getting real sick of me by now, but as you can see, I've made you all a Macaroni art which I hope you'll appreciate. I hate to bother you, but i'd really appreciate that DD Peanut-butter Icecream as requested some time ago. We try to make it ourselves, but monkey milk tastes icky!
We're real sorry about the first shipment. They weren't very friendly to the mother! .
.
T̜̩̫̙͖̎̇̂̈́͒͂́͝h̦̖̬͔̜͍̭͖͈͍̀̃̋̀͝͞e̘̟̗̯͙͑̀̽̾̋̊̉̓͞y̧̧̯͓̦̰̭̏͒̋͗͐̕̕͜ ŵ̷̥͉͇̘̯̬͎̤̫̌͊̾͌e̩̪͇̬̬̾̏͛̿͐̈́̂̚̕͜r̶̪̫̮͈̖̮͚̻͇̙̀̔̍̒̀̀̓͐̚͘e̵̩̠̝̣̹̩͋̏̓̌͋͋̊̎ f̧̬͔̳̰̭̄̇̄̈́̈́͊̈̈́̿͡o̸̩̠̯̼͆̎̈̃̚͜͠o̳̲͖̭̱͈̞̞͓̓̌̾̽̈l̛̩͉̰̳̭̲͓̗̘̖͂͆̈̃͡s̷͎̮̲̪̲̜̣̔̅̑̓̏͘͟ ṭ̜̗̙̻̤̦̈́̀̽̌̊̓͘͟͠o̴͕̠̣̦̺̺͇̥̐̈́̀͌́̔͘̕͜ t̸̜̦̫̱͉̑̽́̑͝ͅh͈͎̬̮̳̟͕̳̻̋͑̌͒̏̋̓̌͢ȩ̮̟̮̮̠̲̻̲͒͐͌̍͋ͅ f̴̦̹͉̪̈́͗̃̿͒̋̕̕͟͢ī̥̳̞̱̺̽́͋̅́r̷̛̦̞̪̺̼̀̍̊̆̓͞ȅ̸̘̞̣̦̞̖̠̬̋̄͑̇͢,̸̡̜̰͖͔̣̥̀̀̈̇̏̊̉͒͞ f̢̱͔̫̰̥̫͎̥́̑̎̏̑̂͋̌͛̑͜ō̧͎͔̲̟̣̱͉̊̒̕͘͝r̴̤̲̰̦͕̲̭̐͋͌́̈́̌ w̰̠̠͓̦̤̣͙͋͂̍̋͒̀̚͞͝͠ͅë̴͍͕̺̞͉̬͓̳̺̂̅̓̓̒̅́͘ a̙̼̦̜̭͂̌͂͛̕͘r̡̧͙͖͉͈̈́̉̏̊̒̌̈͆e̴͍͎͍͍̠̞̓͛̐̅̾͝ t̸͈̖̠̠͎̒́͒̄̃̇̑̓̇͡h̡̧͚̗̰̪̪̔̏͆͛̔͌͐̽ͅe̡͉͚̬͇̖̳͇͊̀̀̀̃̓̑̓͘͜͠ s̯̥̭̹̳̾̈́̓̔͑̒͠͞ͅu̬̜̠̪͎͗́̌͒͐̉̌̒̚͟c̴͎͍̦͙̮̻͉̦̠̓͛͗͒̚̚͜k̶͚̣̹̰̠̺̔̿̌̀͊̽̏͘͜͞͞l̵̡̼̥̜̖̪̩̔̀͊̿͒͂̊e̛̥̞͖͈̘̓̋̓͑͌͆r̢̝̫̯͓̗̫̰̮̉́́̑̾̿̄̓͆͝s̗͖͍̻̗̠͆̅̿͗͋̾̒͟ ơ̴̢̠̳̹̭̭̾̔̀͒͜͝f̵̢̨͚͍̠͈͓̪̣́́̓́̒̆ t̵̨̢̥̖̝̩̪̟͎̊̉̽̐͠͠h̟͎͈̭͈̩̲̺̺̓́̈́̑̍̀̃̑̌͋͟e̸̗͙̺̝̲͍̗̿͌̈̾̕͟ h̸̬̰͈̠̋͑͆͛̌̀͢͝͡ͅo̷̲̞̪͓͚̽́͗͆̕̕̚r̴̯̫̘̥̼͓̎͑͐̇̏͐̿̄ȑ̷̘̪̤̤̜͒͗̔͌̈́͒͡í̸̥͓̞̪̙̀̓̇͠ḑ̴̺̺͙͇̲̤̰̀͒͑͆͘ ţ̛͔̻̦̪̦͍̰̳̖̅̿̃́e̢͓̲̜̹̗̝͐́̃̋͌͊̕͡͝ā̰͙̝͍̲̩̂̅͘͠ṯ͍̓͋̿͊͛̀͜͟ͅ,̸̛̪̭̳͔͎͑́̑͗̂̚̚ d̢̳̗̞̞́̂͌̈́̓̚̚ͅe̛̫͙̘͈͓̔̓̃͞v̷̛̻̮̖͈͖̻͚̳͉͑͗̄͊͗̚͡ǫ̢͍͈̱͖̐̓̎͐̒̾͊́͢͢͠͝ų̶̨̠̙͇́̍̎͋̓̽͒̔͐̕͢ͅr̵͈̹̤̥̮͈̰͑̎̄̍͌̽͘ē̡̜͕̻̲̪͋̏͆̇͊r͔͕̥̹̬̫͕̮̗̽͆̏̈͑͘͠s̴̨͇͖̪̭͓͖̽͆́̓͆̂͝͠ o̵̦͕̣͉͍̞̲͚͓̅̒̽̐͌͌̆͊͡f̷̢̰͇͇͓̻̦̘̳́̌̆͋̓͊̍̓͝ t̛͎̫͖̮̙̩̋͛͆̿̊̔̽͘͟͝ơ̶̡̺̠̬͖̙̂͑͒̒̆͒̎̚͟n̯̠̎̎̎͑̚̕͟͜͜͞g̵̡̛͓̳͉̠̪̞̊͋́̎̄̚͜ͅu̷̩̫͎̠̖͖̩͆͆̄͛̐́͆̀͌͋͟è͙̩̳̼̯̦̓̔́̈͐͡s̵̨̳̦̓͒̅̒̀̒̍̊͟͢͡ͅ ḁ̷͙͇͎͔̭̳͈̱͐͆̌̎̈́̍͂͆̄n̢̡̻̠̻͔̫̬͚̈̒̌̊̓͜d̙̲̠̹̺̻̗̫̹̃̿͐̌̚͜͡ f͚̗͔͚̻̮̈́͐͑̃͛͌̽̌̇̂͜ͅỏ̸̫̰̯̩͈̗̖͂̿̌̀̐͆͘͢͝ͅų̶̹͈̮̭̰̓̋̈́̅͝ͅn̵̝͙͇̥̼͈͈̮̄͋͊̏̚͞͡͠͡͡ͅd͈̪̞͉̠̋͊̋͒̋̚͠͝e̴͉̫̮̯͇̼̠͋͑̋̇̀͆̕͝r̠̹̺͚̰̗̉̈́͂͌̆̒͟ş̴̡̘̬̮̭͚̥̿̑̃̆̊͑́͜͡͝ ǫ̼̹͈̟̭̫̓͗̂͛̒̀ͅf͚̞̮̝̭̰̣̘̓͒̽̏̋͜͝ t̛͙̣̯̯̗̤̟̀̎͌͐͛̋̊͟͞͠h̷̡̲̘̹̣̅̓̽̉̊́̆͗͞e̷͔̺̺̪̔̔̋̌̌͢͠ͅ n̴̢̮̝̯͑̏̀̃̃͜͞͞ò̧̩̳͔̤͔͇̳͚̀̇̊̒́͛̓̕͟ņ̨̛͉̩̬͌͐̋̀͊̌͘̚ é̼͉̩̼͎͖̬͖̆͛́̈̅̿͜u͇͈̺̯̟̞̍̅̓̃̀̌̐͛̚͢͠ͅc̴̼̙͕͚͖͇̓̉̃̕͜͠l̵̪͕̟͈͚̞̿͊͆̅͊͑̕͡ị̰͙͚͍̮̖̹͗͐̉̑́̀͒̚̕͢͠ͅd̷̢̼̬̗͖̳͇͚̙̊̅͑̓̋̕̚ę̭̘͇̥͚̀̓̀̏̍̀̕̕͝a̶̡͓̠̝̞̘̅̈́̿̑̑͑n̢̮͎̪̻̜̺̊̏̄͋̚͝ w̴̨̧̡̲̖̭̤̬̱͂̓̆̈̉̊ͅa̡͉͇̳̺̰̹̱͆̂̊́͡y̧̩͔̟͔͑̅͆̅̓́͗̀.̱̯͚̮̫̫̰̀̄̾̆͊͟͡
Anyhoo, I hope everything is dandy over at NT. We're doing swell over here apart from the lack of iced goods (hint hint). Don't be a stranger and pop on by!
Toodles!
Yours,
Sundance Feely
NAME: Maxwell Feely
AGE: 44
ALIAS: N/A
OCCUPATION: NanoTrasen Security Operative
BIRTHPLACE: Solar-mars
BACKGROUND: [Classified]
==Transmitting logs==
WARNING: CLASSIFIED INFORMATION
LOG #063
STATUS LOCATION: PROXIMA CENTAURI X79Y21Z54
Maxwell here. The geniuses at Nanotrasen have done it again. In my hands holds the AK-47 of the future. A sleek navy gun that's light as a thimble but packs a punch like no other. The name is rather everyday; in their great humbleness it's donned the name "Energy Rifle" but let me tell you now what this baby can really do.
On one mode, it fires a taser bolt, which to the uninitiated may seem like the standard neuromuscular incapacitation but those scientists made it so that it actually acts as a neurological dampener - disabling the connection between the brain and heart to the outer most extremities. What this means for us vets is that it is a 99.2% non-lethal take down, the fucks drop like flies when hit and can't sue for shit. Perfect for the rabble of the outer colonies and processing those commie bastards.
The other mode, fires a heated plasma stream that carbonizes the skin upon contact, completely ignoring conventional armor. Wonderful.
But let's get real. Laser technology ain't nothing new, but what's different about this is the intentions. It's designed to have no ricochets thus minimal damage to the external environment, perfect for galactic interventions.
The real kicker? No recoil. That's right. None. So anyone, whether they be the degenerates from the outer colonies or the hard-boiled veterans from my regiment, all who fight for NT will be able to handle this baby smoother than any imported DD whiskey. No recoil! Can you believe it!?
I think I'll call mine Betty.
LOG #067
STATUS LOCATION: OMICRON PERSEI X63Y43Z80 EN ROUTE
Maxwell, logging in. Finally, I was growing impatient. NT has transmitted an important mission, and i'm ready to bust heads. I'm to lead our regiment to [REDACTED], a station surrounding a neutron star which is collapsing in itself and periodically regurgitating strange quark matter, which when hit by any debris gets converted into that fuel we all know and love - Plasma. This [REDACTED] just over a month ago had a loyalty index of 8.6, these guys work hard for the NT and greater humanity. But something happened, their R&D were researching into [REDACTED] and now...
Well... now there's nobody on the station anymore, to put it loosely. By nobody I mean roughly two dozen crewmembers, but they're all monoclones: Clones from a single individual - a direct contravention to NT law.
They're all Sundance. They called themselves "The Society of Sundance", which I assume by nomenclature was the initial sad fuck who got caught up in this mess. They have three demands, for which they'll relinquish production of plasma if:
1. Freedom of expression and religion is upheld. They worship "harmonic" pagan gods originating in the deep space area of [REDACTED], and wish to do so in peace. I'll free their fucking heads from their necks.
2. An incredulous increase of 0.4% stake in profits.
3. 4 dozen boxes of DD Peanut-Butter Icecream to be delivered. Fuckers can't even eat right.
I'm to pose as an envoy and locate the originator Sundance, incapacitate him with my shiny fresh-out-the-box Betty and then order my regiment to cleanse the station of remaining Sundances.
Then we'll get one of our scientists to flick the switch on the cloner and it'll pop out the original crewmembers with no trace of us ever being there, and everything will be cyclical again just like the reruns of F.R.I.E.N.D.S
It will be glorious.
LOG #084
STATUS LOCATION: [CLASSIFIED]
THOSE FUCKS. THOSE FUCKING REPROBATES. THEY TOOK MY BETTY. AND WHAT DID THEY GIVE ME!?
A FUCKING CLOCK 188! MY GRANDMOTHER'S FUCKING SPIT WOULD DO MORE DAMAGE TO A TARGET!
I see what they're doing, those bastards at NT. Don't take out the trash, let the trash take out itself. Clearly my past is too much for them, my crimes at the orphanage at [REDACTED], the purging of [REDACTED], the [REDACTED] at [REDACTED]...
But it takes a real man to do what I did, I got guts. This regiment and the hard working men are the wheels of this corporation, no degenerate clones will replace us.
We don't know how many are armed on this station, it may very well be a bloodbath seen as how little we're armed. But I tell you now, we'll complete this suicide mission and I'll shove that fucking Sundance's head so far up administration's ass he'll be tasting their breakfast.
LOG #085
STATUS LOCATION: [CLASSIFIED]
..pride comes before the fall. In our shallow pursuit to unify man in the galactic order, we spread ourselves wafer thin across space that we've become blind to the rips and tears. We learned nothing from the great empires of the past... nothing.
They were all armed, with their own self replicating energy rifles. None of them were trained in the art of war, but ha... no recoil, one could say. Toy soldiers, all of them. And when we snuffed one, well, here's the thing about clones.. they're expendable. My men were not.
The men that entered in the starboard side got leveled by it. Nothing left. Just a twisted mesh of burnt hair and organs, vomit from that creature. The smell. It's the smell of it that blasts into the back of the mind, like a spotlight ... And it answers to them. They chant and it stumbles forth, limbs upon limbs draping over each other.
They have me now and...they showed me it...what they found. Made me watch. Couldn't look, but I couldn't look away. This shifting contorting thing in the shadows. Nothing like the thing at that ice planet at [REDACTED]...this.. this...
..Jamie didn't need to die like that. Driven mad from the sight of it, then shot in the back when he attempted to flee, his fleshed cracked from the heat of the projectile. His gaze met mine... before being transfixed upon that primordial horror, that horrid miasma that loomed above him. He may of screamed as it rended him to nothing.. but I could neither see nor hear as my senses were... paralyzed by that putrid odor.
They've strapped me to a medical chair now. They're preparing needles. Nanotrasen, if you're listening.. I hope you'll get an ounce of what I receive.
LOG #1436
HEYO! It's Sundance here. I know, you're probably getting real sick of me by now, but as you can see, I've made you all a Macaroni art which I hope you'll appreciate. I hate to bother you, but i'd really appreciate that DD Peanut-butter Icecream as requested some time ago. We try to make it ourselves, but monkey milk tastes icky!
We're real sorry about the first shipment. They weren't very friendly to the mother! .
.
T̜̩̫̙͖̎̇̂̈́͒͂́͝h̦̖̬͔̜͍̭͖͈͍̀̃̋̀͝͞e̘̟̗̯͙͑̀̽̾̋̊̉̓͞y̧̧̯͓̦̰̭̏͒̋͗͐̕̕͜ ŵ̷̥͉͇̘̯̬͎̤̫̌͊̾͌e̩̪͇̬̬̾̏͛̿͐̈́̂̚̕͜r̶̪̫̮͈̖̮͚̻͇̙̀̔̍̒̀̀̓͐̚͘e̵̩̠̝̣̹̩͋̏̓̌͋͋̊̎ f̧̬͔̳̰̭̄̇̄̈́̈́͊̈̈́̿͡o̸̩̠̯̼͆̎̈̃̚͜͠o̳̲͖̭̱͈̞̞͓̓̌̾̽̈l̛̩͉̰̳̭̲͓̗̘̖͂͆̈̃͡s̷͎̮̲̪̲̜̣̔̅̑̓̏͘͟ ṭ̜̗̙̻̤̦̈́̀̽̌̊̓͘͟͠o̴͕̠̣̦̺̺͇̥̐̈́̀͌́̔͘̕͜ t̸̜̦̫̱͉̑̽́̑͝ͅh͈͎̬̮̳̟͕̳̻̋͑̌͒̏̋̓̌͢ȩ̮̟̮̮̠̲̻̲͒͐͌̍͋ͅ f̴̦̹͉̪̈́͗̃̿͒̋̕̕͟͢ī̥̳̞̱̺̽́͋̅́r̷̛̦̞̪̺̼̀̍̊̆̓͞ȅ̸̘̞̣̦̞̖̠̬̋̄͑̇͢,̸̡̜̰͖͔̣̥̀̀̈̇̏̊̉͒͞ f̢̱͔̫̰̥̫͎̥́̑̎̏̑̂͋̌͛̑͜ō̧͎͔̲̟̣̱͉̊̒̕͘͝r̴̤̲̰̦͕̲̭̐͋͌́̈́̌ w̰̠̠͓̦̤̣͙͋͂̍̋͒̀̚͞͝͠ͅë̴͍͕̺̞͉̬͓̳̺̂̅̓̓̒̅́͘ a̙̼̦̜̭͂̌͂͛̕͘r̡̧͙͖͉͈̈́̉̏̊̒̌̈͆e̴͍͎͍͍̠̞̓͛̐̅̾͝ t̸͈̖̠̠͎̒́͒̄̃̇̑̓̇͡h̡̧͚̗̰̪̪̔̏͆͛̔͌͐̽ͅe̡͉͚̬͇̖̳͇͊̀̀̀̃̓̑̓͘͜͠ s̯̥̭̹̳̾̈́̓̔͑̒͠͞ͅu̬̜̠̪͎͗́̌͒͐̉̌̒̚͟c̴͎͍̦͙̮̻͉̦̠̓͛͗͒̚̚͜k̶͚̣̹̰̠̺̔̿̌̀͊̽̏͘͜͞͞l̵̡̼̥̜̖̪̩̔̀͊̿͒͂̊e̛̥̞͖͈̘̓̋̓͑͌͆r̢̝̫̯͓̗̫̰̮̉́́̑̾̿̄̓͆͝s̗͖͍̻̗̠͆̅̿͗͋̾̒͟ ơ̴̢̠̳̹̭̭̾̔̀͒͜͝f̵̢̨͚͍̠͈͓̪̣́́̓́̒̆ t̵̨̢̥̖̝̩̪̟͎̊̉̽̐͠͠h̟͎͈̭͈̩̲̺̺̓́̈́̑̍̀̃̑̌͋͟e̸̗͙̺̝̲͍̗̿͌̈̾̕͟ h̸̬̰͈̠̋͑͆͛̌̀͢͝͡ͅo̷̲̞̪͓͚̽́͗͆̕̕̚r̴̯̫̘̥̼͓̎͑͐̇̏͐̿̄ȑ̷̘̪̤̤̜͒͗̔͌̈́͒͡í̸̥͓̞̪̙̀̓̇͠ḑ̴̺̺͙͇̲̤̰̀͒͑͆͘ ţ̛͔̻̦̪̦͍̰̳̖̅̿̃́e̢͓̲̜̹̗̝͐́̃̋͌͊̕͡͝ā̰͙̝͍̲̩̂̅͘͠ṯ͍̓͋̿͊͛̀͜͟ͅ,̸̛̪̭̳͔͎͑́̑͗̂̚̚ d̢̳̗̞̞́̂͌̈́̓̚̚ͅe̛̫͙̘͈͓̔̓̃͞v̷̛̻̮̖͈͖̻͚̳͉͑͗̄͊͗̚͡ǫ̢͍͈̱͖̐̓̎͐̒̾͊́͢͢͠͝ų̶̨̠̙͇́̍̎͋̓̽͒̔͐̕͢ͅr̵͈̹̤̥̮͈̰͑̎̄̍͌̽͘ē̡̜͕̻̲̪͋̏͆̇͊r͔͕̥̹̬̫͕̮̗̽͆̏̈͑͘͠s̴̨͇͖̪̭͓͖̽͆́̓͆̂͝͠ o̵̦͕̣͉͍̞̲͚͓̅̒̽̐͌͌̆͊͡f̷̢̰͇͇͓̻̦̘̳́̌̆͋̓͊̍̓͝ t̛͎̫͖̮̙̩̋͛͆̿̊̔̽͘͟͝ơ̶̡̺̠̬͖̙̂͑͒̒̆͒̎̚͟n̯̠̎̎̎͑̚̕͟͜͜͞g̵̡̛͓̳͉̠̪̞̊͋́̎̄̚͜ͅu̷̩̫͎̠̖͖̩͆͆̄͛̐́͆̀͌͋͟è͙̩̳̼̯̦̓̔́̈͐͡s̵̨̳̦̓͒̅̒̀̒̍̊͟͢͡ͅ ḁ̷͙͇͎͔̭̳͈̱͐͆̌̎̈́̍͂͆̄n̢̡̻̠̻͔̫̬͚̈̒̌̊̓͜d̙̲̠̹̺̻̗̫̹̃̿͐̌̚͜͡ f͚̗͔͚̻̮̈́͐͑̃͛͌̽̌̇̂͜ͅỏ̸̫̰̯̩͈̗̖͂̿̌̀̐͆͘͢͝ͅų̶̹͈̮̭̰̓̋̈́̅͝ͅn̵̝͙͇̥̼͈͈̮̄͋͊̏̚͞͡͠͡͡ͅd͈̪̞͉̠̋͊̋͒̋̚͠͝e̴͉̫̮̯͇̼̠͋͑̋̇̀͆̕͝r̠̹̺͚̰̗̉̈́͂͌̆̒͟ş̴̡̘̬̮̭͚̥̿̑̃̆̊͑́͜͡͝ ǫ̼̹͈̟̭̫̓͗̂͛̒̀ͅf͚̞̮̝̭̰̣̘̓͒̽̏̋͜͝ t̛͙̣̯̯̗̤̟̀̎͌͐͛̋̊͟͞͠h̷̡̲̘̹̣̅̓̽̉̊́̆͗͞e̷͔̺̺̪̔̔̋̌̌͢͠ͅ n̴̢̮̝̯͑̏̀̃̃͜͞͞ò̧̩̳͔̤͔͇̳͚̀̇̊̒́͛̓̕͟ņ̨̛͉̩̬͌͐̋̀͊̌͘̚ é̼͉̩̼͎͖̬͖̆͛́̈̅̿͜u͇͈̺̯̟̞̍̅̓̃̀̌̐͛̚͢͠ͅc̴̼̙͕͚͖͇̓̉̃̕͜͠l̵̪͕̟͈͚̞̿͊͆̅͊͑̕͡ị̰͙͚͍̮̖̹͗͐̉̑́̀͒̚̕͢͠ͅd̷̢̼̬̗͖̳͇͚̙̊̅͑̓̋̕̚ę̭̘͇̥͚̀̓̀̏̍̀̕̕͝a̶̡͓̠̝̞̘̅̈́̿̑̑͑n̢̮͎̪̻̜̺̊̏̄͋̚͝ w̴̨̧̡̲̖̭̤̬̱͂̓̆̈̉̊ͅa̡͉͇̳̺̰̹̱͆̂̊́͡y̧̩͔̟͔͑̅͆̅̓́͗̀.̱̯͚̮̫̫̰̀̄̾̆͊͟͡
Anyhoo, I hope everything is dandy over at NT. We're doing swell over here apart from the lack of iced goods (hint hint). Don't be a stranger and pop on by!
Toodles!
Yours,
Sundance Feely