Due to a contrived set of circumstances I’m too lazy to make up, you find yourself in a house besieged by a herd of Walking Dead-type zombies. All your friends are dead, you’re out of ammunition, and you’ve lost your axe. From the sound of things, the walkers will have battered their way in in about ten minutes. Luckily, you have your hyperspace cell phone, so you call Rhymer Enterprises for help. Max from TWO BROKE GIRLS (working at RhE on a temp job) answers.
“This is the Evil Enterprises help desk,” Max says. "Hold on, I gotta put these cupcakes in the oven. Okay, what’s up?
“I am about to be fucking eaten by fucking zombies, that’s what’s fucking up!” you reply. “But I won a coupon for one free rescue in the last hypo thread for my effulgent praise of Skald’s brownies, so teleport my ass outta here!”
“Happy to,” Max says, sticking an index finger into some leftover batter and swirling it around. “Problem is, all those undead are screwing with my transporter lock, so you’ll have to get out of the house first.”
“If I could get out of the house without becoming zombie chow, I wouldn’t need help! HONOR MY COUPON!”
Max pauses to lick batter off her fingers. “That’s gonna be a problem. The Boss is off making sure it looks like the Titanic sank 'cause it hit an iceberg instead of–well, never mind–and all the tactical teams are busy either looting the ship or sinking lifeboats. But tell you what: there’s some do-gooders who owe us favors. I can send Ahsoka Tano from Clone Wars to save your ass–or, if you prefer, the Burn Notice team–Michael, Fiona, Sam, and Jesse. That’s OR, not AND, by the way. You got a preference?”
By this point, you figure you’ve got five minutes before the zombies break in. What’s your answer?