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报告翻译问题
If you are a beautiful strong black woman, someone will put this in your comments.
╚════════════════════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════════════════════╝
淘宝网致力于推动“货真价实、物美价廉、按需定制”网货的普及，帮助更多的消费者享用海量且丰富的网货，获得更高的生活品质；通过提供网络销售平台等基础性服务，帮助更多的企业开
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠄⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠄⢀⣠⡔⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣰⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣻⣟⣿⣿⡿⣟⣛⣿⡃⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣾⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣟⣿⣿⠺⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡝⠻⠵⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣧⠈⣛⣛⣿⣿⡿⣡⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⠄⠙⠛⠛⢁⣴⣿⣿⣷⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
If you are a beautiful strong black woman, someone will put this in your comments.
╚════════════════════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════════════════════╝
Don spoke strong and confidently. His voice echoed through the awe inspiring hall where the thirty most intelligent human beings in the world were there to hear it. Then the hall erupted with laughter. It was humiliating.
Don's findings were rejected. His recovered script describing the afro was confiscated by church authority and promptly incinerated. It all made so much sense to him. The afro was the missing variable, the thing that hooked it all together. Perhaps the world was millions of years old, perhaps the Afro came before the Glazic.
In the end, it did not matter. The world would continue on, leaving the past behind. In time, even Don forgot all about it.
"I suppose It's true then."
"The afro never existed."
"But Sky Light did...."
Then it was discovered. Hidden between the lines, far into the old script, the missing variable became known. A few lines, barely legible, described a creature with black skin and disgusting features. It described what was known as a 'afro.' Don read every old script, every Glazic tale from the start and finish of the thousands year war.
Never before had he ever read of something known as a 'afro.'
"This debate is now in session. Penmaster Victus Don, present your findings."
Don had spent his entire Sol in the study hall. It was the inconsistencies, the missing variables. The stories, the scripture, everything. Something was horribly wrong.
"Quite fine indeed. Not a single person to be seen, as expected."
"Have you finished your thanks to the Glaze, perhaps?"
Don had no time for faith. He was the top of his class, a man of pen and paper. He did not slave away in the fields like the Gores, he sought intellect. Still, the pestilent dreadlord persisted. He knew the Glaze would not help him.
"Not now. Have you summoned the scholars?"
"Hm? Yes, they are soon to arrive. Personally, I think this is a waste of time. This debate will prove nothing."
There it was again. Don was being deceived. These beings call themselves intellectuals, yet they rely on outdated scripture. He was surrounded by fools.