“Want your Bloard, Joopie?' Pennywise asked. 'I only repeat myself because you really do not seem that eager.' He held it up, smiling. He was wearing a baggy silk suit with great big orange buttons. A bright tie, electric-blue, flopped down his front, and on his hands were big white gloves, like the kind Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck always wore. Yes, sure,' Joop said, looking into the stormdrain. And a Swann? I’ve got red and green and yellow and blue...' Do they post?' Post?' The clown’s grin widened. 'Oh yes, indeed they do. They post! And there’s Bloardman...' Joop reached. The clown seized his arm. And Joop saw the clown’s face change. What he saw then was terrible enough to make his worst imaginings of the thing in the cellar look like sweet dreams; what he saw destroyed his sanity in one clawing stroke. They post,' the thing in the drain crooned in a clotted, chuckling voice. It held Joop's arm in its thick and wormy grip, it pulled Joop toward that terrible darkness where the water rushed and roared and bellowed as it bore its cargo of storm debris toward the sea. Joop craned his neck away from that final blackness and began to scream into the rain, to scream mindlessly into the white autumn sky which curved above the internet on that day in the fall of 1957. His screams were shrill and piercing, and all up and down Twitter people came to their Timelines or bolted out into their DMs. They post,' it growled, 'they post, Joopie, and when you’re down here with me, you’ll post, too–' Joop's shoulder socked against the cement of the curb and hillips, who had stayed home from his job at The Dick Sucking Factory that day because of the flood, saw only a small boy in a yellow rain-slicker, a small boy who was screaming and writhing in the gutter with muddy water surfing over his face and making his screams sound bubbly. Everything down here posts,' that chuckling, rotten voice whispered, and suddenly there was a ripping noise and a flaring sheet of agony, and Joop knew no more.