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6/11/2018 6:02:46 AM
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ꓕμԍu μԍ qᴉԍq·
ꓕμԍ ƨou uoqqԍq ɑuq ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ მʁᴉbbԍq μᴉƨ μɑuq ϝᴉმμϝԍʁ· ˌˌI-ˌˌ ϝμԍ ƨou ƨϝɑʁϝԍq ɑuq ƨɑϝ nb ɑ pᴉϝˋ ƨʍɑɼɼoʍᴉuმ ʍᴉϝμ ɑ qʁλ wonϝμ· ˌˌI- I-ˌˌ
ˌˌИoʍˋ wλ qԍɑʁԍƨϝ ƨouˋ ɑbbɼԍ oɻ wλ ԍλԍˋ ϝʁԍɑƨnʁԍ oɻ wλ ɼᴉɻԍˋ bɼԍɑƨԍ ϝԍɼɼ wԍ ʍμɑϝ λon qᴉq ʍᴉϝμ ɑɼɼ ϝμoƨԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨˋˌˌ ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʁԍdnԍƨϝԍq·
ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλˋ ɼԍƨƨ ϝμɑu ƨnʁbʁᴉƨᴉuმɼλˋ uo bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ conɼq pԍ ɻonuq ᴉu ϝμԍ ƨouˌƨ μoƨbᴉϝɑɼ ʁoow·
ꓕμԍ ƨou uoqqԍq ʍԍɑĸɼλ·
ˌˌƧouˋ I ɼԍɑʌԍ ϝμԍƨԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ʍᴉϝμ λon ɑuq ƨμɑɼɼ cowԍ pɑcĸ ϝowoʁʁoʍ ϝo ɑƨĸ oɻ λon ʍμɑϝ λon μɑʌԍ qouԍ ʍᴉϝμ ɑɼɼ ϝμoƨԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·ˌˌ
ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ϝμonმμϝ ϝμɑϝ ʍɑƨ ɻɑᴉʁ ԍuonმμ ɑuq ϝμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλ pʁonმμϝ μᴉƨ ƨou ϝμԍ ϝԍu ɑƨĸԍq ɻoʁ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ· ꓕμԍ ƨou ƨwᴉɼԍq ʍԍɑĸɼλ pnϝ ƨԍԍwԍq ϝoo ʍԍɑĸ ϝo ϝɑɼĸ·
ˌˌΛԍʁλ ʍԍɼɼˋ ɻɑϝμԍʁˋ pnϝ bɼԍɑƨԍ ᴉuqnɼმԍ wԍ ɻᴉʁƨϝ· I ʍᴉɼɼ ϝԍɼɼ λon ʍμɑϝԍʌԍʁ λon ʍᴉƨμ ϝo ĸuoʍ ɑɻϝԍʁ λon μɑʌԍ მᴉʌԍu wԍ ϝμԍ ϝԍu bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·ˌˌ
ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ μԍɼq μᴉƨ ƨouˌƨ μɑuq ϝᴉმμϝɼλ· ˌˌMμɑϝԍʌԍʁ λon ʍᴉƨμ wλ ƨouˋ pnϝ I μɑʌԍ ϝo მᴉʌԍ λon ouԍ couqᴉϝᴉou· Eʌԍu ᴉɻ ᴉϝ wɑλ pԍ ԍwpɑʁʁɑƨƨᴉuმˋ I wnƨϝ ĸuoʍ ʍμɑϝ λon qᴉq ʍᴉϝμ ɑɼɼ ϝμoƨԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·ˌˌ
Mԍɑĸɼλˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ƨɑϝ nb ᴉu pԍq· ˌˌԷɑϝμԍʁˋ qԍɑʁԍƨϝ ɻɑϝμԍʁˋ მʁɑuϝ wԍ ϝμᴉƨ ʍᴉƨμ; ๅnƨϝ ouԍ ϝԍubɑcĸ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·ˌˌ
Hᴉƨ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʌᴉƨᴉϝԍq ϝμԍ λonuმ wɑu ᴉu μoƨbᴉϝɑɼ· ˌˌWλ qԍɑʁ ƨou¡ Cɑu I pʁᴉuმ λon ɑuλϝμᴉuმ ϝo wɑĸԍ λon ɻԍԍɼ pԍϝϝԍʁƾˌˌ
∀ ɻԍʍ qɑλƨ pԍɻoʁԍ μᴉƨ 50ϝμ pᴉʁϝμqɑλˋ μoʍԍʌԍʁˋ ϝμԍ ƨou μɑq ɑ ϝԍʁʁᴉpɼԍ ʁoɑq ɑccᴉqԍuϝ ɑuq ʍɑƨ ϝɑĸԍu ϝo ϝμԍ μoƨbᴉϝɑɼ·
ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ woʁuᴉuმˋ uoϝ ɑ ƨᴉuმɼԍ oɻ ϝμԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ conɼq pԍ ɻonuqˋ pnϝ ϝμԍ ƨou ʍɑƨ μɑbbλ·
ˌˌԷɑϝμԍʁˋˌˌ ϝμԍ ƨou ƨɑᴉqˋ ˌˌ⅄onˌʌԍ wɑqԍ wԍ ʌԍʁλ μɑbbλ λԍϝ ɑმɑᴉu·ˌˌ ꓕμɑϝ uᴉმμϝˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ƨbԍuϝ ou poɑʁq ϝμԍ ϝɑuĸԍʁ·
ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλˋ ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ϝooĸ μᴉƨ ƨou ϝo ϝμԍ μɑʁpoʁ ɑuq ƨμoʍԍq μᴉw ɑ μnმԍ ϝɑuĸԍʁ ɑuq ϝoɼq μᴉƨ ƨou ϝμɑϝ ϝμԍʁԍ ʍԍʁԍ wᴉɼɼᴉouƨˋ pᴉɼɼᴉouƨˋ ϝʁᴉɼɼᴉouƨ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ᴉu ϝμԍʁԍ·
ˌˌԷɑϝμԍʁˋ λon μɑʌԍ wɑqԍ wԍ ʌԍʁλ μɑbbλ ϝμԍƨԍ ɼɑƨϝ λԍɑʁƨ ɑuq ϝμᴉƨ λԍɑʁ I ɑƨĸ oɻ λon ɑ ƨμᴉbɼoɑq oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ᴉɻ ɑϝ ɑɼɼ boƨƨᴉpɼԍ·ˌˌ Iϝ ʍɑƨ boƨƨᴉpɼԍˋ ᴉɻ ouɼλ pԍcɑnƨԍ ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ μɑq pλ uoʍ ponმμϝ ԍɑcμ ɑuq ԍʌԍʁλ ɻɑcϝoʁλ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ᴉu ϝμԍ conuϝʁλ·
ꓕμԍ ɻoɼɼoʍᴉuმ λԍɑʁˋ ouԍ qɑλ pԍɻoʁԍ ϝμԍ ƨouˌƨ Ɩმϝμ pᴉʁϝμqɑλˋ ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ pʁɑcԍq μᴉwƨԍɼɻ ɻoʁ ɑuoϝμԍʁ ʍɑʁԍμonƨԍ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ· Hԍ ɑƨĸԍq μᴉƨ ƨou ʍμɑϝ μᴉƨ qԍԍbԍƨϝ qԍƨᴉʁԍ ʍɑƨ ɑuq μԍ μɑq uoϝ pԍԍu ԍuϝᴉʁԍɼλ ʍʁouმ·
Ouԍ oɻ ϝμԍƨԍ λԍɑʁƨˋ μᴉƨ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ϝμonმμϝˋ I ƨμonɼq მԍϝ ϝo ϝμԍ poϝϝow oɻ ϝμᴉƨ· Hoʍԍʌԍʁˋ μԍ qԍcᴉqԍq ϝo μnwoʁ μᴉƨ ƨouˌƨ ʍᴉƨμ· ∀ϝ ɼԍɑƨϝ μԍ μɑq pԍԍu ʍᴉƨԍ ԍuonმμ ϝo pnλ ƨμɑʁԍƨ ᴉu ɑ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼ ɻɑcϝoʁλ· ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ʍɑƨ მᴉʌԍu ϝμԍ ɑqqʁԍƨƨ oɻ ɑ ʍɑʁԍμonƨԍ ʍμԍʁԍ ɑɼɼ μᴉƨ uԍʍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ʍԍʁԍ ƨϝoʁԍq· ꓕμԍ ƨou ʍɑƨ qԍɼᴉმμϝԍq ɑuq qԍcᴉqԍq ϝo ƨbԍuq ϝμԍ uԍxϝ uᴉმμϝ ᴉu ϝμԍ ʍɑʁԍμonƨԍ ʁɑϝμԍʁ ϝμɑu ɑϝ μowԍ· ꓕμԍ ɻoɼɼoʍᴉuმ woʁuᴉuმˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ƨϝԍbbԍq onϝ oɻ ϝμԍ ʍɑʁԍμonƨԍˋ pnϝ ᴉϝ ƨԍԍwԍq ϝo pԍ ԍwbϝλ oϝμԍʁʍᴉƨԍ· ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ μɑq ɑ cɼoƨԍʁ ɼooĸ ɑuq ᴉuqԍԍqˋ ɑbɑʁϝ ɻʁow ԍwbϝλ cɑʁqpoɑʁq poxԍƨˋ uoϝμᴉuმ ʍɑƨ ɼԍɻϝ ᴉuƨᴉqԍ ϝμԍ ʍɑʁԍμonƨԍ· Иo bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ʍԍʁԍ ɼԍɻϝ·
ꓕμԍ cɑʁϝou oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨˋ μoʍԍʌԍʁˋ ʍɑƨ uԍʌԍʁ ƨԍԍu ɑმɑᴉu· ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ λԍɑʁˋ ᴉϝ ʍɑƨ cɼԍɑʁ ϝμɑϝ ϝμԍ ƨou ʍonɼq მԍϝ ɑ cɑʁˋ pnϝ ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ɻԍɼϝ ϝμɑϝˋ bԍʁμɑbƨˋ μᴉƨ ƨou ɑɼƨo μɑq ƨowԍ oϝμԍʁ ʍᴉƨμ ɑbɑʁϝ ɻʁow ϝμԍ opʌᴉonƨ· Ƨoˋ ouԍ qɑλ pԍɻoʁԍ ϝμԍ ƨouˌƨ Ɩ8ϝμ pᴉʁϝμqɑλˋ ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ɑƨĸԍq μᴉw ʍμԍϝμԍʁ μԍ μɑq ɑ ƨbԍcᴉɑɼ ʍᴉƨμ ɻoʁ μᴉƨ pᴉʁϝμqɑλ· ˌˌDԍɑʁԍƨϝ ɻɑϝμԍʁˋˌˌ ϝμԍ ƨou ƨϝɑʁϝԍqˋ ˌˌI μɑʌԍ ԍʌԍʁλϝμᴉuმ ɑ λonuმ wɑu conɼq boƨƨᴉpɼλ ʍɑuϝˋ pnϝ ϝμԍʁԍ ᴉƨ ouԍ cʁɑʌᴉuმ ᴉu wԍ· I ʍonɼqˋ woʁԍ ϝμɑu ɑuλϝμᴉuმˋ ʍɑuϝ ɑ ʍɑʁԍμonƨԍ ɻnɼɼ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·ˌˌ
ꓕμԍ ƨouˋ μoʍԍʌԍʁˋ ʍɑƨ ʁԍɼncϝɑuϝ ϝo ϝԍɼɼ μᴉw· ˌˌbɼԍɑƨԍ μnwoʁ wԍˋ qԍɑʁ ɻɑϝμԍʁ·ˌˌ
ˌˌDԍɑʁ ƨouˋˌˌ ƨɑᴉq ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁˋ ˌˌI wnƨϝ ɑƨĸ uoʍˋ ʍμɑϝ qo λon qo ʍᴉϝμ ɑɼɼ ϝμoƨԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨƾˌˌ
ꓕμԍ poλ ʍɑƨ qԍɼᴉმμϝԍq ɑuq ϝooĸ ϝμԍ cɑʁϝou ϝo μᴉƨ ʁoow· ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλˋ wᴉʁɑcnɼonƨɼλ (ɑƨ ᴉɻ pλ wɑმᴉcˋ ԍʌԍu) ϝμԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ μɑq ɑɼɼ qᴉƨɑbbԍɑʁԍq·
∀uq ƨoˋ ϝμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλˋ ϝμԍ poλ ʍɑƨ მᴉʌԍu ɑƨ μᴉƨ pᴉʁϝμqɑλ bʁԍƨԍuϝ ɑ cɑʁϝou oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·
ˌˌI cɑuˌϝ nuqԍʁƨϝɑuq λonʁ ɻɑƨcᴉuɑϝᴉou ʍᴉϝμ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨˋˌˌ ƨɑᴉq ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁˋ ˌˌpnϝ ᴉɻ ᴉϝ ᴉƨ ɑ cɑʁϝou oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ϝμɑϝ λon ʍɑuϝˋ ᴉϝ ᴉƨ ɑ cɑʁϝou oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ϝμɑϝ λon ƨμɑɼɼ μɑʌԍ·ˌˌ
ˌˌ∀ cɑʁϝou oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨˋˌˌ ϝμԍ poλ couɻᴉʁwԍq·
ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʍɑƨ pԍλouq ƨnʁbʁᴉƨԍˋ pnϝ qԍcᴉqԍq ϝo wɑĸԍ ƨnʁԍ μԍ μɑq uoϝ wᴉƨμԍɑʁq· ˌˌ∀ cɑʁϝou oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨƾˌˌ
ˌˌԷɑϝμԍʁˋˌˌ ƨɑᴉq ϝμԍ ƨou ϝo ϝμᴉƨˋ ˌˌI μɑʌԍ ԍʌԍʁλϝμᴉuმ ɑ poλ conɼq ʍᴉƨμ ɻoʁˋ pnϝ ouԍ ϝμᴉuმ ʍonɼq wɑĸԍ wλ μɑbbᴉuԍƨƨ cowbɼԍϝԍ· I ʍonɼq qԍɑʁɼλ ʍɑuϝ ɑ cɑʁϝou oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·ˌˌ
ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ λԍɑʁˋ ɑ qɑλ pԍɻoʁԍ μᴉƨ Ɩ˩ϝμ pᴉʁϝμqɑλˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ʍɑƨ ɑƨĸԍq pλ μᴉƨ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʍμɑϝ μԍ ʍonɼq ɼᴉĸԍ ɻoʁ μᴉƨ pᴉʁϝμqɑλ·
ꓕμԍ poλ ϝooĸ ϝμԍ ϝԍubɑcĸ oɻ pɑɼɼƨ ϝo μᴉƨ ʁoow ɑuq ϝμԍ uԍxϝ woʁuᴉuმˋ uoϝ ɑ ƨᴉuმɼԍ pɑɼɼ ʁԍwɑᴉuԍqˋ wԍʁԍɼλ ϝμԍ ԍwbϝλ μnƨĸ oɻ ϝμԍ ϝԍubɑcĸ· ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʍouqԍʁԍq ʍμԍʁԍ ϝԍu bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ wᴉმμϝ qᴉƨɑbbԍɑʁ ϝoˋ pnϝ qԍcᴉqԍq uoϝ ϝo ƨɑλ ɑuλϝμᴉuმ· ꓕμԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨˋ μoʍԍʌԍʁˋ ʍԍʁԍ uԍʌԍʁ ƨԍԍu ɑმɑᴉu·
∀uq ƨoˋ ϝμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ʍɑƨ მᴉʌԍu ɑƨ μᴉƨ pᴉʁϝμqɑλ bʁԍƨԍuϝ ɑ ϝԍubɑcĸ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·
ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʍɑƨ woʁԍ ƨnʁbʁᴉƨԍq ϝμɑu ϝμԍ λԍɑʁ pԍɻoʁԍˋ pnϝ ĸԍbϝ μᴉƨ cnʁᴉoƨᴉϝλ ɑϝ pɑλˋ ɻoʁ μԍ ĸuԍʍ ϝμɑϝ μᴉƨ ƨou μɑq ɑ ʁᴉმμϝ ɻoʁ bʁᴉʌɑcλ· μԍ ƨɑᴉq ϝμԍʁԍɻoʁԍˋ ˌˌIɻ ᴉϝ ᴉƨ ɑ ϝԍubɑcĸ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ ϝμɑϝ λon ʍɑuϝˋ ɑ ϝԍubɑcĸ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ λon ƨμɑɼɼ μɑʌԍ·ˌˌ
ˌˌԷɑϝμԍʁˋˌˌ ʁԍbɼᴉԍq ϝμԍ ƨouˋ ˌˌI μɑʌԍ ԍʌԍʁλϝμᴉuმ ɑ poλ conɼq boƨƨᴉpɼλ ʍᴉƨμ ɻoʁˋ pnϝ ϝμԍʁԍ ᴉƨ ouԍ ϝμᴉuმ I ʍonɼq ʁԍɑɼɼλˋ ʁԍɑɼɼλ ɼᴉĸԍ· I ʍonɼq ɼoʌԍ ϝo μɑʌԍ ɑ ϝԍubɑcĸ oɻ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼƨ·ˌˌ
ꓕμԍ poλ ϝooĸ ϝμԍ pɑɼɼ ϝo μᴉƨ ʁoow ɑuq ϝμԍ uԍxϝ woʁuᴉuმ ϝμԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼ ʍɑƨ მouԍ· ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʍɑƨ wᴉɼqɼλ ƨnʁbʁᴉƨԍq pnϝ qԍcᴉqԍq uoϝ ϝo ƨɑλ ɑuλϝμᴉuმ· ꓕμԍ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼˋ μoʍԍʌԍʁˋ ʍɑƨ uԍʌԍʁ ƨԍԍu ɑმɑᴉu· ꓕμԍ uԍxϝ λԍɑʁˋ ɑ qɑλ pԍɻoʁԍ μᴉƨ Ɩϱϝμ pᴉʁϝμqɑλˋ ϝμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ɑƨĸԍq μᴉƨ ƨou ʍμɑϝ μԍ ʍonɼq ɼᴉĸԍ ɻoʁ μᴉƨ pᴉʁϝμqɑλ·
ꓕμԍ ɻɑϝμԍʁ ʍɑƨ ʁɑϝμԍʁ ɑƨϝouᴉƨμԍq ɑϝ ϝμᴉƨ ʍᴉƨμˋ pnϝ ƨɑᴉqˋ ˌˌIɻ ᴉϝ ᴉƨ ɑ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼ ϝμɑϝ λon ʍɑuϝˋ ɑ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼ λon ƨμɑɼɼ μɑʌԍ·ˌˌ ∀uq ƨoˋ ϝμԍ uԍxϝ qɑλˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ʍɑƨ მᴉʌԍu ɑƨ μᴉƨ pᴉʁϝμqɑλ bʁԍƨԍuϝ ɑ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼ·
∀ qɑλ pԍɻoʁԍ μᴉƨ Ɩ૨ϝμ pᴉʁϝμqɑλˋ ϝμԍ ƨou oɻ ɑ ʍԍɑɼϝμλ ɻɑwᴉɼλ ʍɑƨ ɑƨĸԍq pλ μᴉƨ ɻɑϝμԍʁˋ ˌˌMԍɼɼ wλ ƨouˋ ʍμɑϝ ʍonɼq λon ɼᴉĸԍ ɻoʁ λonʁ pᴉʁϝμqɑλƾˌˌ ꓕμԍ ƨou μԍƨᴉϝɑϝԍq ɑ wowԍuϝ ɑuq μᴉƨ ɻɑϝμԍʁˌƨ ϝμonმμϝƨ ɼԍɑbϝ ɑμԍɑq ϝo ɑ uԍʍ cowbnϝԍʁ ɑuq ƨᴉwᴉɼɑʁ ϝμᴉuმƨ· Hoʍԍʌԍʁˋ μᴉƨ ƨou μɑq μɑq ɑ uԍʍ cowbnϝԍʁ ouɼλ ʁԍcԍuϝɼλ ɑuq conɼq μɑʌԍ ɑ uԍʍ ouԍ ɑuλ ϝᴉwԍ μԍ ʍᴉƨμԍq· Էᴉuɑɼɼλˋ ϝμԍ ƨou ƨɑᴉqˋ ˌˌԷɑϝμԍʁˋ I μɑʌԍ ԍʌԍʁλϝμᴉuმ ɑ poλ conɼq ʍᴉƨμ ɻoʁˋ pnϝ ϝμԍʁԍ ᴉƨ ouԍ ϝμᴉuმ I ʍonɼq ʁԍɑɼɼλ ɼᴉĸԍ· I ʍonɼq ɼoʌԍ ϝo μɑʌԍ ɑ bᴉuĸ bᴉuმ bouმ pɑɼɼ·ˌˌ
English
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ll’I timda m’i depmuts. tahW seod ti yas?
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A day before his 15th birthday, the son of a wealthy family was asked by his father, "Well my son, what would you like for your birthday?" The son hesitated a moment and his father's thoughts leapt ahead to a new computer and similar things. However, his son had had a new computer only recently and could have a new one any time he wished. Finally, the son said, "Father, I have everything a boy could wish for, but there is one thing I would really like. I would love to have a pink ping pong ball." The father was rather astonished at this wish, but said, "If it is a pink ping pong ball that you want, a pink ping pong ball you shall have." And so, the next day, the son was given as his birthday present a pink ping pong ball. The boy took the ball to his room and the next morning the pink ping pong ball was gone. The father was mildly surprised but decided not to say anything. The pink ping pong ball, however, was never seen again. The next year, a day before his 16th birthday, the father asked his son what he would like for his birthday. "Father," replied the son, "I have everything a boy could possibly wish for, but there is one thing I would really, really like. I would love to have a tenpack of pink ping pong balls." The father was more surprised than the year before, but kept his curiosity at bay, for he knew that his son had a right for privacy. he said therefore, "If it is a tenpack of pink ping pong balls that you want, a tenpack of pink ping pong balls you shall have." And so, the next day, the son was given as his birthday present a tenpack of pink ping pong balls. The boy took the tenpack of balls to his room and the next morning, not a single ball remained, merely the empty husk of the tenpack. The father wondered where ten pink ping pong balls might disappear to, but decided not to say anything. The pink ping pong balls, however, were never seen again. The next year, a day before his 17th birthday, the son was asked by his father what he would like for his birthday. "Father," said the son to this, "I have everything a boy could wish for, but one thing would make my happiness complete. I would dearly want a carton of pink ping pong balls." The father was beyond surprise, but decided to make sure he had not misheard. "A carton of pink ping pong balls?" "A carton of pink ping pong balls," the boy confirmed. "I can't understand your fascination with pink ping pong balls," said the father, "but if it is a carton of pink ping pong balls that you want, it is a carton of pink ping pong balls that you shall have." And so, the next day, the boy was given as his birthday present a carton of pink ping pong balls. The boy was delighted and took the carton to his room. The next day, miraculously (as if by magic, even) the pink ping pong balls had all disappeared. "Dear son," said the father, "I must ask now, what do you do with all those pink ping pong balls?" The son, however, was reluctant to tell him. "Please humor me, dear father." The carton of pink ping pong balls, however, was never seen again. The next year, it was clear that the son would get a car, but the father felt that, perhaps, his son also had some other wish apart from the obvious. So, one day before the son's 18th birthday, the father asked him whether he had a special wish for his birthday. "Dearest father," the son started, "I have everything a young man could possibly want, but there is one craving in me. I would, more than anything, want a warehouse full of pink ping pong balls." One of these years, his father thought, I should get to the bottom of this. However, he decided to humor his son's wish. At least he had been wise enough to buy shares in a pink ping pong ball factory. The next day, the son was given the address of a warehouse where all his new pink ping pong balls were stored. The son was delighted and decided to spend the next night in the warehouse rather than at home. The following morning, the son stepped out of the warehouse, but it seemed to be empty otherwise. The father had a closer look and indeed, apart from empty cardboard boxes, nothing was left inside the warehouse. No pink ping pong balls were left. The following year, one day before the son's 19th birthday, the father braced himself for another warehouse of pink ping pong balls. He asked his son what his deepest desire was and he had not been entirely wrong. "Father, you have made me very happy these last years and this year I ask of you a shipload of pink ping pong balls if at all possible." It was possible, if only because the father had by now bought each and every factory of pink ping pong balls in the country. The next day, the father took his son to the harbor and showed him a huge tanker and told his son that there were millions, billions, trillions of pink ping pong balls in there. "Father," the son said, "You've made me very happy yet again." That night, the son spent on board the tanker. The next morning, not a single of the pink ping pong balls could be found, but the son was happy. A few days before his 20th birthday, however, the son had a terrible road accident and was taken to the hospital. His father visited the young man in hospital. "My dear son! Can I bring you anything to make you feel better?" Weakly, the son sat up in bed. "Father, dearest father, grant me this wish; just one tenpack of pink ping pong balls." The father held his son's hand tightly. "Whatever you wish my son, but I have to give you one condition. Even if it may be embarrassing, I must know what you did with all those pink ping pong balls." "Very well, father, but please indulge me first. I will tell you whatever you wish to know after you have given me the ten pink ping pong balls." The father thought that was fair enough and the next day brought his son the ten asked for pink ping pong balls. The son smiled weakly but seemed too weak to talk. "Son, I leave these pink ping pong balls with you and shall come back tomorrow to ask of you what you have done with all those pink ping pong balls." The son nodded weakly. The next day, less than surprisingly, no pink ping pong balls could be found in the son's hospital room. "Now, my dearest son, apple of my eye, treasure of my life, please tell me what you did with all those pink ping pong balls," the father requested. The son nodded and the father gripped his hand tighter. "I-" the son started and sat up a bit, swallowing with a dry mouth. "I- I-" Then he died.
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Jesus Christ... [spoiler]Guess that’s checkmate[/spoiler]
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Lol yup
