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Berkchode finally snapped. He barged in, covering his nose.
“Chris, when was the last time you stood up? Or showered?”
Chris shrugged, strumming his guitar.
“Rock stars don’t clean.”
Without a word, Berkchode unplugged Chris’s ethernet cable.
“HEY!” Chris spun around in horror. “I was about to 4K!”
Berkchode raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, you’re about to 4K your hygiene. Shower. Now.”
An hour later, the room sparkled, and Chris’s hair was squeaky clean. He played a fresh riff.
“Smells weird,” he said.
Berkchode rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and your hair’s not a greasy slip ‘n slide anymore. Welcome back to the land of the living.”
⠸⡇⠀⠿⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢄⣠⠾⠁⣀⣄⡈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠁⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠂⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡿⢿⣆
⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⣁⣀⠀⠴⠂⠙⣗⡀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠭⢤⣴⣦⣤⣹⠀⠀⠀⢀⢴⣶⣆
⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣽⣾⣿⣥⣴⣿⣿⡿⢂⠔⢚⡿⢿⣿⣦⣴⣾⠸⣼⡿
⠀⢀⡞⠁⠙⠻⠿⠟⠉⠀⠛⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⢤⣼⣿⣾⣿⡟⠉
⠀⣾⣷⣶⠇⠀⠀⣤⣄⣀⡀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠉⠈⠉⠀⠀⢦⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣽⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣽⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣶⣮⣭⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃
Signed By Shrek
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