My birthday gift to Quitter: Re-Writing her short story with zombies. You’re welcome, Quitter.
FUTURE QUITTER: S’up
PRESENT QUITTER: (Highly alarmed) Sons a bitches! You gotta duck! I gotta shoot that zombie! (BANG!)
FUTURE QUITTER: What the?
PRESENT QUITTER: Keep your voice down! Do you want more of those sons a bitches to show up?!
FUTURE QUITTER: Oh crap. I came back to zombie apocalypse time when we were 46, didn’t I? Damn it! I forgot we went through that. Spoiler alert: You don’t totally screw things up. We do survive the zombies.
PRESENT QUITTER: Did you really just say “spoiler alert?” That’s still a thing?
FUTURE QUITTER: Not really. I’m just trying to talk your lingo.
PRESENT QUITTER: Can we just get on with whatever it is you have to tell me? I have to go around and start burning corpses. It’s Tuesday. Tuesday is my day to burn corpses.
Future Quitter proceeds to pull out a small mouse who is wearing a mesh tank top and cargo shorts.
PRESENT QUITTER: What the hell is that?
FUTURE QUITTER: It is your key to ending the zombie apocalypse before your annoying nemesis Christine beats you to it. We still hate her, don’t we?
PRESENT QUITTER: Always.
FUTURE QUITTER: This little trailer trash mouse is the answer. Use him wisely.
PRESENT QUITTER: Let me get this straight. In the future, I’ve clothed a mouse in what I’m guessing occurred during one of our tripped out cupcake session with our cousin and in the process, we decided all of our problems, future and past, could be answered with this mouse.
FUTURE QUITTER: Yes. All of what you just said.
PRESENT QUITTER: Give me the mouse.
As Future Quitter gently passes the mouse to Present Quitter, Present Quitter proceeds to take it in her hand and whip it over a nearby fence in anger.
FUTURE QUITTER: You’re going to regret that, Me.
PRESENT QUITTER: Why…because….AHHHAAHAHAHAHAH!!!!
At that moment, a 12 pack of zombie’s proceed to swarm and devour Present Quitter.
FUTURE QUITTER: I never liked her.