Britta awoke to see that Jeff had left her a voicemail.

A forty-minute voicemail.

"So look, I am reeeally into Michelle, and I don't want to screw it up. She's a perfect girlfriend, and I want you to be as happy as me, because you're like my favorite friend! So… Hahaha. I'm sorry. Abed just made a turtle face."

Turtle face had devolved into a ten-minute discussion of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles during which Jeff and Abed argued furiously over whether it was technically bestiality for one of the turtles to hook up with April the reporter if they were turtles with humanoid intelligence and characteristics.

Britta almost hung up after Jeff shouted, "They're named after RENAISSANCE PAINTERS!" for the third time. She is so very glad she didn't.

Because the renaissance painter comment led them into a seven-minute discussion of

Bob Ross's painting style and afro. Mainly the afro.

"How did he do that?!?!"

"When I try to make happy little clouds, it comes out looking like the Stay Puft marshmallow man."

"What? Not painting, Abed! How does he do that to his hair?!?!"

"He had an afro beard too. An af-reard."

She could have hung up then and there, happy to add a fabulous new word to her community college lexicon (along with 'Cheermaphrodite.' Thank you Greendale Cheer Squad). She is, again, so thankful that she resisted the urge to click 'end.'

Because the mention of Stay Puft leads to a fifteen-minute conversation about Ghostbusters. Most of that conversation was actually Abed and Jeff singing the Ghostbusters theme song in various musical styles (Britta's personal favorite was gangsta rap, complete with Abed beat boxing).

When they got to reggae, Britta almost hung up, because Jeff was violently off key by that point. She is so incredibly, overwhelmingly pleased that she did not.

Because the reggae version of the theme song led to the following exchange.

"Wait, wait, wait!"

"We ain't afraid of no ghosts, mon!"

"Abed, STOP!"

"It's 'cut,' Jeff. Say 'cut.'"

There was a long pause.

"CUT."

"What is it, Jeff?"

"Reggae is stupid. It's the stupidest most stupid…ly stupid type of music. It sucks, Abed. It totally sucks."

"Right."

There was another long pause.

"Why does it suck again?"

"Because Vaughn's stupid band pretends to be reggae!"

"I thought they were more ska than reggae."

"Damn it, Abed, this is serious!"

"You're right, Jeff. Nothing could be more serious than Vaughn's community college band."

"You forgot to inflect again, Abed."

"Oh, right. Nooooothing could be more serious than Vaughn's community college band. It's a matter of national security!"

"Good job, buddy."

"Thanks!"

This was followed by a six-minute monologue by Jeff about Vaughn's tiny nipples, questionable spirituality, and general lack of hygiene."

"And another thing! He's always calling everyone his bro. It's like, 'Hey bro, I'm not your bro, bro!'"

And as much as Britta enjoys listening to a good bout of Vaughn-bashing, she's feeling pretty ready to end this trip into Jeff's drunken subconscious. She is utterly and incredibly thankful that she did not.

Because Vaughn-bashing leads to a discussion of the hippie's relationship with Annie.

"What can she possibly see in him?"

"Annie likes Vaughn because he's an attractive older man who lavishes her with attention and makes her feel appreciated and special."

"Well, she should feel special! She's amazing."

There was another pause.

"Plot twist."

"What?"

"Britta's character was originally set up as the perfect foil and romantic interest for you, but now I see that Annie is a much better foil."

"Don't call her a fool! She's making a mistake with Vaughn, but Annie Edison is no fool."

"Foil, Jeff. She's your opposite. Whereas you represent a handsome slacker who has always taken the path of least resistance but still managed to charm his way to the top, Annie is the naïve overachiever with a heart of gold who can't stop getting in her own way. You're the perfect rom-com couple."

"She's so pretty."

"Hmm."

"She's so young."

"Hmm."

"What's 'hmm'? I thought you were supposed to be directing me! Wait… is my phone still on? Who was I calling?"

"Calling? Annie is your calling, Jeff. It's all so clear now."

"Right. Annie. Annie? Are you there? This must be your voicemail. So, uh… look, I am reeeally into Michelle, and I don't want to screw it up. I mean, it's perfect. She doesn't make any demands, she doesn't cramp my style, she doesn't expect... anything. Anything at all. Unlike you. You're so demanding, you know? You're always trying to make me a better person, and it's so… annoying. And awesome. You're awesome. You think deep down I'm this really great guy. Slater doesn't think that. She thinks I'm a sweet enough guy who's great in the sack, which is TRUE, by the way. Very, very true. But you… Annie, you…"

"TELL HER SHE COMPLETES YOU!"

"Oh my GOD, Abed! Way to ruin the moment!"

"Like in that movie, you know? The one with the girl who squints a lot. Squinty face. And that short actor who's in that cult. Oh god. What's happened to me?"

"Annie, I'm drunk! I'm soooo drunk right now. But I just want you to know that you're awesome, and you deserve so much better than Tiny Nipples. And stay away from Starburns too. And maybe, you know, one day you and I can—"

"BEEEEEEEP! Your mailbox is full. Please delete old messages."

"Oh... My… Disbelief in God," Britta blurted out.

She snapped her phone shut as if it bit her, and sat up ramrod straight in bed. This was huge. This was unbelievable. Jeff and Annie. Annie and Jeff.

Britta paused. Should she be feeling… heartbroken? If Shirley was here, she'd be offering Britta warm brownies to heal her aching soul, and yet—nothing. Well, surprise, obviously. And shock. But no disappointment.

In fact, it felt oddly freeing, knowing that there really was no future for Jeff Winger and herself. It was always too much work, toeing that fine line between fighting and flirting. Not really Britta's style. But Jeff and Annie… that was interesting.

Very informative.

An evil smile crossed Britta's lips. If Abed was present (which if he was in Britta's bedroom would be a ridiculous plot twist) he would tell her to tone down the evil villainess thing a bit.

Ignoring her inner Abed, Britta threw open her closet and found her sexiest dress. Tight, red, and slutty. Perfect.

She was going to put this information to good use. Eventually she would use it for the forces of good. But for now, she was going to have some fun.

Because Britta knows as well as anyone: Knowledge is power.