Jerry couldn't help but blink a few times in an attempt to ward of the confusion. "That should have hurt like a MF" he noted, to no one in particular.

"Well, it did, duh" said someone in a familiar voice. It didn't sound like his voice but like listening to a recording of it. The missing bass was probably the reason. Did he really sound this tinny to other people?

"Uhm, sorry? You said something?" Jerry asked, snapping out of being worried about how he sounded.

"It hurt like a MF. It hurt like two MF. At least!" the voice stated, while another, almost identical voice joined in: "Nah, I think the car crash at age twelve had hurt like a MF. This was a zero point two on the MF scale". "What's a MF?" asked a younger sounding variant of the voice which was drowned out in the ongoing discussion suddenly filling the silence.

"Hey! How the hell do you know my MF scale!" Jerry complained while throwing his hands up in the air. At least, he tried to throw his hands in the air, but the sensation of lifted Hands failed to manifest itself. "It always gets you the first time. Don't worry, you will learn to ignore the feeling" yet another slightly different version of the voices before explained.

Jerry spent a second or two being brain-dead, waiting for his consciousness to catch up with his thoughts. "Who the hell are you people?" he asked in dawning comprehension. "Well. We are you, or maybe you are us?" mumbled a distant  jerry-esque voice menacingly. There was more to the sentence, but a chuckle cut it short: "I always wanted to say that. Do Vader next!"

A groan of frustration was more felt than heard, and Jerry had to force himself not to join in. All the emotions felt vague and undefined. As if he was just working off the memory instead of the real thing.

"We are all dead Jerrys. You are dead as well. But we are stuck in another Jerry until he does something stupid to kill himself." clarified a female voice. "Wait. Who was that?" shouted someone demanding an answer. "That was Jerry." answered Jerry in something akin to a reflex and was immediately irritated about himself.

Another groan and some more, almost silent chuckling.

He became aware of his eyes and as he opened his mind to the influx of information, he began to see what he felt was himself. "Wait, why am I back home? I just started to change that light bulb at work!" he protested.

"Sometimes we manage to don't kill ourselves for quite a while. That Light bulb took, like, what. Twelve?" a different, grizzly sounding Jerry stated matter-of-factly. A distinctly french-accented Jerry reported: "treize. That means thirteen for you uneducated pieces of cabbage.". "Thirteen what? Hours? Watermelons? Tennis rackets?" snarled Jerry, imitating Math teachers from all over the world almost verbatim. "Minutes." expanded the French sounding Jerry with audible distaste for a word that was almost the same in both languages.

"Ah yes, thank you. Baron Stinky Cheese." snarled a Jerry and took over on the explanation front: "We don't seem to get much else beside the last few seconds before our death. We keep a tally of the most interesting deaths. We can masturbate for three hours or eat two full pans of lasagna. Also, some of us have worrying fondness of drain cleaner. Better not talk to Jerry about that." "Which one?" the Jerry to which the explanation was addressed asked to get only groans and laughter for an answer.

Returning to the impression of seeing eyes, Jerry watched himself walking to the fridge and reaching inside. "No! Don't drink that! That's the almost three-year-old bottle of orange juice you keep putting of throwing away!" he started to shout while watching himself taking big swigs of crumbly beverage.

A vague sensation of taste and smell seemed to march through the ranks of Jerries causing a shuddering sound like autumn leaves in the wind.

Suddenly, there was a positive plop sound, like swiftly retracting a wet finger from a wine bottle. There was another voice: "Huh. Odd. Could've sworn I just had a bottle in my hand." Jerry asked himself. Then a familiar voice mentioned: "Pretty sure that amount of vomiting hurt like a MF" to which Jerry replied "Hey! How the hell do you know my MF scale?"