I’d Only Kill You If…

Even though I’m a pretty unflappable early riser, I never assume that anyone else wants to be awake before dawn. My family back in Colorado get up wicked early–like 4:30 a.m. every day. Maybe on the weekends they sleep until 7:00 a.m., but that’s probably a gross overestimation. Every weekday at 6:00 a.m PST, I receive a text from at least one of the immediate members of my family. I assume that as soon as my baby nephews are old enough to text, they too will make sure that I’m not lazing it up by sleeping through the sunrise.

When I suggested that my writing partner meet me at 9:30 a.m. for a power breakfast, I thought he’d balk by saying, “I’m young! I have a life! I live it up on a Saturday in Los Angeles! Breakfast is for squares. Brunch is for cool kids like me.” So I softened by the blow by broaching the subject in an email with the subject: “You’re gonna kill me.”

Much to my surprise, he agreed to said power breakfast and politely told me,

“I’d only kill you if you had turned into a zombie, joined the Nazi party or married a Republican.”

Seeing as I’m an honest Pippa (that’s a new phrase I’ve coined–feel free to use it [trademark Gia Mora 2013]), I had to break the news of my recent life events.

“Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you what I did this weekend. I was at this rave when a crazy guy started making out with me and then bit my lip off. I was like, woah. People in LA are so rude. Then at the guy at the coat check hands me back my Pierre Cardin with this weird red armband on it. It’s got this, like, tribal symbol on it, which is kind of cool, I guess. And then that guy who bit off my lip told me that the government is going to take away all our guns. Well, he didn’t actually say that–it was more like, “Aaarrghg, blaaaarg, paaaaatrioooooot, eeek, secoooond ammmmmmmendment, grrrrr, ooooobaaaaamaaaa suuuuucks.” And was like, “Oh my god. What can I do to stop this madness?” And he groaned, “Maaaaarrry meeeeee. Grrrrrr.” So of course I did. If I can’t have a large magazine assault rifle to protect my family, then there’s just no point in living at all.

“Seriously, I had a busy weekend.”

But, smart whippersnapper he is, my writing partner countered my anti-gun argument with–of all things–logic:

“You realize of course that the existence of face eating fascist zombies is an argument IN FAVOR of owning a gun. Please bring your new husband to Starbucks tomorrow. We can discuss this in more detail. I promise will not shoot you in the head or set you on fire.”

Still not trusting him fully, I inquired:

“Can you kill me by setting me on fire? I somehow missed that in SHAUN OF THE DEAD. Documentary of my people, my ass…

“And guns don’t kill zombies. People kill zombies.”

Just wait. Our first feature will make millions.

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