I don't know about that. I'd call it nice, if usin it wouldn't be such a pain in the ass. Like somethin you'd see in a museum.

[He considers the stove for a second longer, then twists around to look again at the flour he tossed away. He does find it but it's actually not that interesting, compared to the thing it knocked over when he threw it. Hank has to stretch out to reach for the bottle, far enough that he just gives up and flops over on his side, but soon enough he's got it and he raises it in the air over his head, triumphantly.]

Guess you won't have to have those big words after all. I mean, unless they were good words, in which case go right ahead, but- [He shakes the bottle with a smile. He's got wine; he doesn't need the end of his sentence.]