Sans? Remember…rember…about the frog? The frog- The one that, um, that--[jesus, SansWhoIsn'tHereRightNow, can't you just follow his thinking on this?] --YOU KNOW THE FROG.
[Does Rosen think he’s actually talking to Sans? Was he maybe trying to call Sans? Its unclear and as he is going to proceed either way, we may never know.]
What the fudge does the frog do when its half, um, half fudging boiled, hm? Does it realize whats going to happen? Or is it stupid and f…fluffing blind until the bitter freighting end?
[Rosen’s mind is reaching for the word ‘fucking’ but keeps landing just off mark. Even in his drunken haze he’s sensing he’s not getting the word he’s looking for, and the annoyance of that can possibly be sensed in the increasing agitation in his voice. That, coupled with what distinctly sounds like a glass bottle, or several, rolling across a table or, in this case, a floor.]
Flick the frog.
[Closer, but no cigar. At least he got the F, a vowel, and the ‘ck’ in there. Points for trying? Rosen feels like he gets points for trying.
[Rosen’s voice is now serious. Contemplative.]
Can someone be the frog, the fr’pan, and the dick who has a frog and a frying pan all at the same time?
[A long, labored sigh]
I think m’doing it.