"Oliver has a bad knee, and I'm like a hundred and eighty pounds of dude," Jack retorted, scoffing. "And Freddy had knives for hands and murdered people in their dreams. You should've said....Sharon Stone, or something, I dunno. And you were like a full foot away. My hand-eye coordination isn't that shitty. You're being a real drama queen right now."
He could hear the faint sound of the furby again, but couldn't quite tell which direction it was going now, so he reached to start grabbing his "tools" to follow it. "I'm gonna get it. I don't care if it's dumb."