**Title: The Great Unwashed: A 10K and Citizen Z Adventure** Once upon a time, in the post-zompocalyptic wasteland of former America, our valiant sharpshooter, 10K, with his trusty sidekick Citizen Z, embarked on a perilous quest of great importance: scavenging for provisions in the urban jungle known as Spokane. "Don't worry," 10K had said, with the confidence of a man who had downed zombies at 100 yards. "I can hit a can of beans from 50 paces." Citizen Z, nee Simon Cruller, rolled his eyes skyward. "It's not the food I'm worried about, it's the 'Poupon Vite,' the quick-moving mustard-colored zombies. They're relentless." The duo had encountered several mustard-colored zombies, each dispatched with the precise punctuation of 10K's homemade spear-gun. "You got more poke than Facebook in 2009," Citizen Z quipped, his jokes as outdated as his reference to social media. As the day waned, their packs surfeit with looted treasures, 10K caught a familiar scent on the breeze. "Is that... soap?" he sniffed, puzzled. Following his nose like a bloodhound, 10K discovered the Holy Grail of hygiene: an outdoor shower, miraculously still connected to some unforgotten aquifer. With a whoop of delight that was profoundly out of character, 10K stripped with the fervor of a mannequin at a half-price sale, flinging his clothes aside like rose petals at a zombie wedding. In the buff, his physique was the epitome of post-apocalyptic fitness- lean, sinewy muscles carved from the granite of survival. His butt was a testament to the miles trekked and squats performed in the name of zombie evasion. Meanwhile, Citizen Z--never exactly a portrait of athleticism--sidled up, his eyes wide through the round spectacles perched on his nose. "Well, damn, 10K. If there were an Olympic event for dystopian derrieres, you'd take the gold." "Are we really going to objectify my...assets right now, Z?" 10K asked, a coy smile playing on his face as he turned to allow the water to cascade down his chiseled chest. "Sorry," Citizen Z shrugged, "I'm just saying--if we printed a calendar, morale would skyrocket. For me. I mean...y'know...everybody." As 10K scrubbed energetically under each armpit, discussing their haul and pondering the meaning of life in an undead world, Citizen Z kept stealing glances, admiring how the water droplets hugged each curve of muscle. "So what's on the agenda when we get back?" 10K asked, rinsing the suds from his hair. Citizen Z was briefly lost in thought, then snapped back to reality. "Uh, right--agenda. First, to figure out what to do with fifteen pounds of Spam. Second, sanitize our hands for the twentieth time today. And third--maybe teach you how to knit. Could be useful." "Knitting," mused 10K, shutting off the water and reaching for a towel that wasn't there. "Sure, I've taken down scores of Z's, but can I make a comfy scarf? The true test of post-apocalyptic manhood." With their banter fading into the distance and spirits high, our heroes slung their bounty over their shoulders. Despite the disarray and uncertainty of the world, for a brief moment, life felt almost normal. Until, of course, the 'Poupon Vite' reared their mustard heads once more. But that? That's a story for another day.