Rude Cancutter stood in front of the impossibly massive gate into his city. He was tough enough to carry all the groceries inside in less than one trip, yet here he was being defeated by a stupid door.

“Eh, yo! Open the hell up already. This leather jacket ain’t doing so well for me in the heat! Frankly, it was a very poor choice to wear today!” Rude Cancutter flung his jacket open in a show of bravado.

“What’s the password?” came a meager and timid scream from over the wall.

“Come on, Ronny. I told you the password before I left. How come you forgot what it was already?” Rude Cancutter shouted back at Ronny, the settlement’s most useless citizen.

“But, uh… But, sir that’s… Wait, what? You give me the password, then I ask ya when ya get back, right? Then if ya don’t know the password, you can’t come in.” Ronny shouted back, confused.

Rude Cancutter didn’t feel like admitting how stupid what he just said was, especially not to Ronny. “Hey Ronny, why ya gotta be a dick? Just open the gate already, otherwise I’m gonna have to give you the ol’ one plus two equals four, if ya know what I mean.” Again, Rude fluttered his jacket. 

Moments later a small crowd of people were pushing the gate open and Rude was happy to be out of the sun. His clothes had become so stuck to his skin that they might as well have been a piece of American cheese slapped onto a linoleum floor. He did not look forward to peeling them off like a second skin later, but his leather jacket still looked cool as shit.

Walking through the city, Rude looked upon the huddled masses that were his people. There was Eric on the corner, a fat guy with the world’s most amazing hair. Rude didn’t mean he was overweight. He meant the guy was fat, like he was actual fat, not representative of fat. Not so much a man who happened to have fat on him, but more like a lump of bulges, blobs, and folds somehow learned to walk and talk, forging a pale attempt to be like the human who had created it. For some reason, this shitty guy always wanted to walk around without a shirt on, too. Like, of all people in this desolate future, he would be the one best suited for the job. Great guy though. Even helped Rude move once despite having already made other plans.

Rude tried his best to make small talk with everyone he passed. He was their leader, but he wanted them to know he never put himself above them. That seemed like something only a total dick would do, and he refused, above all things in life, to be a dick.

“Would you like to buy some onions I have in this sock?!” screamed a crazy old woman. She had one eye that was slightly larger than the other, and was dressed in rags so torn they would be jealous of the paper shreds at the bottom of a hamster cage. She had an odor like a garbage bag filled with toilet water and stale coffee.

“Eat mud, ya creepy old hag!” Rude screamed back and he dragon kicked the old woman straight into the ground.

With his outburst done, Rude made his way to the great hall in his city’s capitol building. Even being generous, it was maybe a few square feet larger than any other building. He leaned casually against a wall and listened to the meeting already in progress.

“So, it’s settled then. Despite our best efforts to prove otherwise, it seems as if llamas do not eat meat,” said an authoritative voice.

“It’s a pity. That completely ruins the smear campaign we were going to run against them,” another milder voice said.

“But don’t we all already hate them? So, who exactly was it we were trying to convince?” The last question was met with furious glances. No one wanted to admit what a waste of time the endeavor was.

“Well then, on to the matter of molting,” came the authoritative voice.

“I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news.” Rude Cancutter cut in, interrupting the meeting. He didn’t want to be impolite, but it was a rather pressing matter. The entire crowd turned to look at him with dire faces.

“I take it you didn’t find any food?” the authoritative voice asked. It belonged to Cory Steelpockets, but most people just called him Cuddles.

“Worse, Mr. Cuddles. Not only was there no food in the city ruins, but the llamas found and raided our farms.” Rude Cancutter would have cried if it weren’t for the support he was getting from his leather jacket.

“Mr. Cuddles was my mother, thank you, and that is greatly upsetting news.” Mr. Cuddles’ frown was feeling all too familiar as of late. “The pinecone harvest is usually the only thing that can get us through the winter.”

Pinecones, while requiring a lot of jaw strength, were still a more favorable food option than fruit cocktail. There were so many extra cans laying around that people had started using them for construction. An added bonus to the pinecones was their ability to act as a natural toilet paper on the way out. Rude’s city had not seen actual toilet paper in over 35 years.