In the post-apocalyptic world of "The Last of Us," where the solemnity of a ruined civilization meets the absurdity of nature's unchecked whimsy, there wandered an au naturel Clicker, humorously out of place in the natural serenity of a forest clearing. This wasn't your average Clicker; oh no, this one had somehow managed to retain a fair amount of bloated, pasty physique, evoking less the fear the infected normally inspired and more a kind of bewildered amusement. Let's call him Click McBubbles, for reasons that will soon become abundantly clear. As Click McBubbles waddled closer to a tranquil pond, his grotesque, hallucinogenic fungi-infected head bobbing rhythmically with his stride, the clicking noises that emitted from his mouth--somewhere between a monstrous purr and the world's least effective sonar--echoed softly across the water. His large butt, an unintended comical spectacle, glistened under the sunlight as it wobbled, contrasted sharply against his lean and oddly muscular legs. Deciding the water looked inviting, McBubbles stepped into the pond, the cool embrace of the liquid enveloping him up to his waist. The serenity of the moment, however, was about to be spectacularly disrupted. "Ahhhh," Click McBubbles seemed to sigh, if such expressions of relief were within the Clicker lexicon, relaxing into the pond. Suddenly, an uproarious bubbling commenced at the surface just behind him. A series of farts, magnificently vile, erupted, producing bubbles that brought a grimacing twist to even his fungal-infected visage. The fish, previously meandering carefree in the pond's gentle embrace, now found themselves embroiled in a battle against the noxious assault. One by one, they succumbed to the horrifying stench, floating lifelessly to the surface with an expression that screamed, "We didn't sign up for this!" McBubbles, intrigued by the fish's tragic demise, reached back awkwardly, snatching one of the unfortunate creatures from the water. Holding it before his distorted, fungal visage, he examined it with what passed for curiosity. "Glglgrll," he muttered, which we could only hope was Clicker for a moment of respectful silence (or perhaps just indigestion). Without another thought, he tossed the fish into the gaping maw that was his mouth, crunching away with a sound that was part squelch, part crunch--a culinary critic he was not. As more fish capsized in the wake of his flatulent onslaught, McBubbles turned slightly to watch, a twisted semblance of pride lighting up his grotesque features. "Blgrll grlgl," he commented again, possibly remarking on the efficiency of his fishing technique, or perhaps just remarking on the pleasant weather. And so, in the serene clearing that had once been a haven amidst the chaos of a world undone, Click McBubbles, the au naturel Clicker, found a moment of peace and reprieve. In an absurd tableau that could only exist in such a deranged ecosystem, humor and horror converged, reminding anyone who might stumble upon this scene that, in the end, nature always finds a way--even if that way involves flatulent fishing techniques and a Clicker who, against all odds, just enjoyed a moment under the sun.