I'm t̶̘̪͉̎̋̚̚h̴̛̤̹̝̞̆̆̇e̵͍̽̂͠s̸̡͍̹̖̔̓́e̶̚͜ ̴̢̘͕̼̽̓͘á̴͎͍͠r̴̡̦͋̊̒̃ę̸̗͓̖̿̈́̽ ̴͚̂͠t̸̡̯͔͌̀͝h̵̖͕̀̑̕ȇ̷̫͉͈̹͊̆͝ ̶̟͗̅̃̄f̵̦͕̻́̀̊͝i̸̡̯̘̓̒n̷̙̜̄͊̊g̵̠̊̽e̴̥̙̽ṙ̷̜̌͘s̶͕͆́ ̷̡̜̰̊Ỉ̶̯͙͔͝'̴̨̡̙̺̾v̸̱̦͔̰̂̎ȩ̶̝̂̌͝ ̸̬̗̭̍͝a̷͔͇̍͒̎͂ŝ̴̭͈̬͐̅͝š̶̜̭̙͝i̶̜̋̂̍͝m̵̹̫̬̥̏̄͐i̵̡̢̬̥̒͑͝l̵̜͖̓a̵͚̼̟̾̀̀͋t̴͎̄͒e̷͈͗͘d̷̨͖̟͛̂ years old today.
I'm in Chicago and the Canadian wildfire smoke swept through here making it look all sepia toned, and I thought yeah this is fair. We deserve to look like everything's made out of brown.
Writers: how can we propogate Irish suffering into the 24th century?