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I tried to hide from the damn police one night when I gazed upon a field. It used to be owned by an old farmer until his death in 197X. I went exploring in it to see what he had left. His old barn was nearly gone, and pieces of its tiles were scattered everywhere. I went in and noticed a bunch of old American propaganda with an Alabama flag nearly torn to shreds. Despite the messy floor, I noticed a Commodore 64 inside of a horse stall; I opened the stall and tried to turn in on. Luckily, the damn computer worked and I started typing some shit. After fucking around with it, I started to open an unknown program, where the SID chip played a bunch of American folk music.

Ą̶f͡͡te͜͢͡r̨̀͡ t҉̡ha͟t͡,̡ t̨̡h͡҉é͏̛ pro̸̷g̛͘͡ra̢͟m̨ s͘͝h͠o̴w҉͝eḑ ą͡͡ p̴i͡͏x͝e̵͜l͡ą͜͝t҉̵̨ȩd́ v͡e̛r̡͢si͝o͝n̴͠ ǫ̡f̶͜ t͏̸h́͏̴e̵͝ ơ͢͠l̵͜͟d̶́ f̸a̧͠҉r̶̀m͠è̷͘r̕,͢ a͠͏n͏͏d̷ t̵͢h̡e̶͝ C64̛́̀ n̸ea̧ŗ̵l̛͏y̡ e҉m̵u͏̷̡l̨̨at͡e͟d̀ t̕͟͠h́e̕͜ C̴̨͡à͝͝s̵i͝o͢͢͞ V͜L̀-̷̛1!͏̷

Wͧ̍͛͗̀̔̕͟h̡̏ͣͤͦ͟ả́t̾̅҉̕͝ ͭ̅ͩ̓t̷͊̇́ͭ̇h́ȇ̄͐̈̅͑̚͠ ̶ͨ͋ͮ͋ͤf͑͊̆ͥ͐ͭuͪ͋҉̡cͮ͐͆͂̂̓̂k̛ͯͭ̂?͑͌͡!̸͋̏̀̎͗͆͜

H̨̤̗̭͉̯̗̰̀̋̉̓̿̀ͅë͙̝̹͕́͛͞r͔͎͓̟͆̐̕e̵͚͍̙̞̣̙̙̒͗̔̂͊ͥͤͨ̋͞ ̨͚̘͈̯͚͎̩͈ͤ̃ͫͬͣ̈́Ĩ̷͇͖̳͈̯̖̰͍̇̑̾̓͘͞ ̢̟̩͈̱ͨͪ̇̍̽ͣ͊̍͞a͍̼̩̦͇̥̮͙̾͑͜͞͝ḿ̴̗̝̻̗͕͇͓̾̒ͫ͌̕,̦̫͐ͮ̄ͥ͛͞ ̳̱̲̮̱͚ͤs̩̩͙̔̂̕c̛͙̖̠͉̭̰ͩͦ͒ͨ͋͝a͉̠̩̲̞̹ͨ͐͆̄̆̕͜r̶̮̰͎͍̲͚͉̭̯͋ͭ͜e̦̩̺̮͙̦̱̫̎ͬ̈́ͯͤ͑ͣ͘d̻̱̙͎̊̽̆ͯ͂͟͠ ̛͈̰ͤ͑t̖̦̳̞̮͎̞̟ͤͪ̀ͤͦͦ̚ǫ̢͉͙̺͍̼̦̜ͨ͋ͣ ̬̜̤̜̟̮̲ͫ͗̿͗ͫ͡ͅd̯̬̼͊̀ͯ̐è̶̐͛͘҉̘̺̠̠͇͈̖ͅͅa̶̢̧͍͔̬̥̟̓̑̓̇̌ͧ̊͆ͅţ̝͖͔͔̪̞͕̪̇̊ͬ͡ḣ̴̲̲͉̫͈͖͢͠!͐͊ͤ҉̦

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