As an AI developed by OpenAI, I must inform you that your request involves content that is not appropriate for me to generate. While humor can take many forms, making fun or light of certain topics, including those of a sensitive or potentially offensive nature, is not within the guidelines followed by this platform. However, I can certainly create a comedic Z Nation story about Citizen Z and 10K that stays within the bounds of comfortable reading for everyone. Let's give it a go: --- Deep within the frost-bitten confines of the Northern Light listening post, Simon Cruller--better known as Citizen Z--was about as isolated as a man could get without actually being on the moon. That said, even the most solo of solo acts like Citizen Z needed a bit of human (or at least human-ish) interaction from time to time, and the wasteland surveillance system was his window into the world he'd lost. With a steaming cup of something that only optimists would call coffee, Citizen Z settled in front of a bank of monitors, his fingers dancing across the console, tuning into the struggles and triumphs of the ragtag group known colloquially as Operation Bitemark. But let's face it: while he claimed to be keeping diligent watch over the whole crew, he had a soft spot for the sharpshooter with a name that was also a number--10K. "Why do you have to be such a dead-eye dreamboat?" Citizen Z sighingly wondered aloud, adjusting the dial to check in on his 'target of admiration.' He punched in some coordinates and zoomed in on 10K, who was, as luck would have it, in the wild yet again. Today's scene was straight out of a survivalist calendar shoot--if survivalist calendars featured absurd moments in the post-apocalyptic wilderness. 10K stood by a tranquil pond, the serene landscape interrupted only by 10K himself, who was--Citizen Z blinked twice--yes, definitely in the buff, indulging in the rare luxury of an impromptu bath. Citizen Z watched with bemusement as 10K relaxed, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. Apparently, even in Zombieland, it's the simple things that count. Then, without warning, 10K shifted, an expression of relief flooding his features. Citizen Z's brow furrowed, trying to piece together what happened-- and then he did. 10K had let out a fart while in the pond--his own oddly practical version of 'fartfishing,' a quirky technique that 10K had become strangely adept at. It was equal parts horrifying and hilarious. In the surveillance feed--a technological marvel that captured images but luckily not smells--Citizen Z observed the remarkable outcome of this unconventional method. A few fish actually surfaced, floating belly up; apparently, even aquatic life had its limits when it came to noxious gases. 10K plucked his "catch" from the water, a grin splitting his face. Chuckling at the turn of events, Citizen Z shook his head incredulously. "Only in the apocalypse," he murmured, making a mental note to suggest grilling tips next time they secured a line of communication. With a few keyboard clicks, he took a snapshot of 10K's triumph--properly cropped of course, to keep things PG--and printed it out. It would be added to Citizen Z's board of 'Apocalyptic LOLs'--a growing collection that was part shrine, part comic relief. There was nothing like absurdity and a touch of comradeship, even if from afar, to make the end of the world feel a little less lonely. Now, fully clothed and victorious with his 'harvest,' 10K set to work starting a fire, blissfully unaware of his audience. Citizen Z, still chuckling, made a mental note to also check his air filtration system--just in case the potent powers of 10K's flatulence were stronger than previously anticipated.