Title: "The Bare Derriere Affair" INT. POST-APOCALYPTIC COUNTRYSIDE - DAY The ever-stalwart sniper known as 10K (real name Thomas), with his dirty-blond hair matted to his forehead and a crossbow slung over his back, wanders through the desolate landscape. The sun beats down mercilessly as he spots his salvation: a small, pristine pond amidst the chaos of Z Nation. 10K, sweating buckets and alone, glances around. Seeing no zombies or fellow survivors, he decides it's time for a much-needed wash. With a wry smile, he begins to disrobe. His slender but muscular physique bears the scars of survival, each telling a story of close encounters with the undead. As he peels the last vestiges of his clothes off, his butt finally sees the sunlight, pale as a full moon in contrast to the rest of his tanned skin. It's a mix of lean muscle and the necessity of living a life on the run; The kind of rear end that looks like it could crack walnuts but would prefer to be sitting on a comfy couch somewhere far away from brain-eating monsters. Naked as the day he was born, 10K steps into the pond with a sigh of contentment, the cool water caressing his skin. He wades to waist-depth, then sits down, submerging himself up to his shoulders, his butt nestled in the muddy bottom of the pond. A contented smile plays on his lips. 10K leans back, floats a little, and closes his eyes, adopting a Zen-like tranquility. The soft warbling of birds and the gentle lapping of water against his skin invite a sense of peace. It's short-lived, however, as the calm surface of the pond is suddenly disturbed. 10K's eyes snap open, his face contorting in an all-too-familiar pre-release tension. CUT TO: 10K from underwater with bubbles streaming up from his lower half. The camera then zooms to the surface as an elongated, seismic bubble breaches with a soft "ploop." CUT BACK TO: 10K's face as he lets out a long, monstrous fart, which seems to echo against the desolation of the world itself. His eyes crinkle, and a sheepish grin replaces the tension as he feels the sweet release of pent-up gas. Once the spectacle (or specter) of flatulence has dispersed, an unexpected casualty appears. A few unfortunate fish float to the pond's surface, bellies-up, victims of the toxic gas assault. 10K sits up, mock aghast, as he glances at the floating fish with faux solemnity. 10K (shrugging) My bad, fish bros... But as a true survivor, he doesn't let the opportunity go to waste. He plucks a plump, lifeless fish from the water and winks at an imaginary audience. 10K (laughing) Looks like I caught tonight's dinner with my bare butt. With renewed vigor (and still naked as a jaybird), 10K strides from the pond with a fish in hand, determined to stoke a fire and have himself a little cookout. The (rear) end. FADE OUT.