[ Okay, look, once his phone's buzzing suspiciously, he's going to pour the booze out on it, like, to try to make it short-circuit.
Which means now there's vodka-coated wasps. And while Jeff could set them on fire, that would involve him either singing faster than they can fly, or getting his guitar from across the room and plucking out a tune while he runs--
--neither of which is really a viable solution.
So he opts for the simplest move, out of pure instinct: he runs and slams the door behind him. ]
no subject
Which means now there's vodka-coated wasps. And while Jeff could set them on fire, that would involve him either singing faster than they can fly, or getting his guitar from across the room and plucking out a tune while he runs--
--neither of which is really a viable solution.
So he opts for the simplest move, out of pure instinct: he runs and slams the door behind him. ]
Oh fuck, oh shit, fuck!
[ You win this round, Ren! ]