“Can I name your sword?” “No.” I pull out a pair of jeans that might fit and one sock. “Why not?” “Already has a name.” I continue digging through the pile for a matching sock. “What is it?” “Pooky Bear.” His friendly face suddenly becomes serious. “You’re naming your collector’s-item, kick-ass sword that’s made to maim and kill, specifically designed to bring your ginormous enemies to their knees and hear the lamentation of their women—Pooky Bear?”
