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The scene: The communal WFG apartment, a little past three in the morning. The pubs have just closed and a drunken Putin and shellshocked Ravi have just stumbled home.

Duckie stands in the door. "Where have you meanie-pantses been?" he jeers. "It's already dead hours."

Ravi replies only with an Arabic slur of some kind. Duckie recoils in disgust. Putin laughs loudly then suddenly stops to sob.

As Ravi reaches out a big brown bear arm to grab Duckie by the neck, Duckie turns to run inside. "No!" he yells. "Walmart! Help me!" Unfortunately for Duckie, footage revealed that he'd been stealing oranges and walmart had banned him from the premises.

Backed into the kitchen and facing the two grinning terrorists, Duckie begins shaking his head and muttering incoherently. He contines backing, and for a brief moment looks nercously over his shoulder as his plump thirteen year old arse hits the counter. "G-guys, I'm going to filter you not. I-if you come any c-c-closer I'm sending out my pokegenned Moltres. Guys? GUYS?"