sittin' out on my porch, I'm in disbelief Clarence has been typing at 150 WPM since he was eleven years old. Eleven. 11. While other kids were outside touching grass, Clarence was in Type Racer demolishing grown men in typing races. Undefeated. Infinite aura. Unspoken rizz. Spoken about only in whispers. And what did he get for it? Nothing. No trophy. No parade. His mother did not care at all. His classmates bullied him. He told a girl at a party once and she said "oh cool" and then went and talked to a D1 basketball athlete. He put "fast typist" on a CV once. A man in a suit looked at it and said "right" and then proceeded to ask him where he saw himself in five years. Fifteen years of elite hand speed and the only thing it ever won him was being the fastest person in the group chat to say "first" Meanwhile the universe is handing out money to people who can throw a ball into a hoop. A hoop. It's like we are still in the stone age. Clarence can type the entire opening of Don Quixote before you finish reading this post and society said "yeah but can you dunk" Well. Type Racer is live. 1v1. for money. Fifteen years, Clarence. Fifteen years. Get your money. And you know what? maybe I am the Clarence in question. it's my time to shine, probably gonna cut off all my day 1's and go hollywood Let me rephrase I WILL forget ALL OF YOU, duel is calling out my name. I am being summoned and will take all of your $$ expect me. like you expect death.