Yesterday I stumbled upon Raki crying in the woods. I attempted to cheer him up by letting him borrow my finest female erotica magazine. Disappointed that there weren’t any men in it, Raki threw my magazine in the river. How dare that bastard waste my porn! I angrily stomped on the ground, creating a rift in the earth that would’ve swallowed Raki had Clare not jumped to his rescue.
Pointing her sword at my throat, Clare demanded to know why I was picking on Raki. I told her that Raki called Teresa fat. Clare got pissed off and started throwing rocks at him. I quipped that all those rocks were making Raki look kind of rocky. Clare laughed at my questionable pun. Then she started humping me. Unsure whether she’d reached the age of statutory consent, I asked Clare to proffer two forms of government-issued photo ID. All she had was an expired driver’s license, so I firmly rejected her. Clare understood.
Meanwhile, Raki died. Clare panicked because Claymores aren’t allowed to kill humans. Confessing that humans aren’t allowed to kill humans either, I offered to help Clare dispose of the body. We ultimately fed Raki’s corpse to a desert crocodile.