Please my children (arma group) are starving

I feel dissapointed.

WHERE IS FIXXX?!

of all the things you could've done, you ruined my life.

He poisoned our water supply, burned our crops, and delivered a broken bikey unto our server!

Plz halp the deprived gamers. We can not hodl any moore.

引用自 Scofer：

He poisoned our water supply, burned our crops, and delivered a broken bikey unto our server!

HE DID??

THIS GUY STIIIINKS

my parents are getting a divorce cuz the bikeys don't work.

☻/ This is bob. Copy and paste him so he can take over youtube.
/▌
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引用自 WaffleTime：

引用自 Scofer：

He poisoned our water supply, burned our crops, and delivered a broken bikey unto our server!

HE DID??

No! But are we gonna wait around until his does? (He did)

Today marks the second week of my desperate wait for salvation. I've taken refuge in this decrepit old thread deep in the woods, hoping against hope that someone will come to my rescue. The storm outside rages on, its howling winds and pounding rain serving as a constant reminder of my isolation. But I hold onto the belief that the "bikey" will come, as promised. They said they'd find me, that they'd bring me to safety. I have to believe it.

To stay sane, to keep the ember of hope alive even as the cold seeps into my bones. The threadbare blankets are barely enough to fend off the chill, and food is running low. Each creak and groan of the old structure sends a shiver down my spine, echoing the fear that gnaws at me relentlessly. Someday we'll get the bikey. Someday.

Week 4...I can feel myself slipping away, both body and mind consumed by the relentless onslaught of hunger and cold. The walls of the thread press in on me, suffocating me with their silent condemnation. I no longer bother to look for the "bikey," for what use is hope in the face of such overwhelming despair? My only solace lies in the darkness that surrounds me, offering a final respite from the agony of existence.

Five long weeks have passed since I first huddled in this forsaken thread. The meager supplies I brought with me are dwindling, and the bitter cold seeps into my bones. I spend my days peering through the fogged-up windows, scanning the horizon for any sign of the "bikey's" arrival. But there's nothing, just the endless expanse of trees, mocking me with their silent indifference. Doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind, but I push it away. They'll come. They have to.