Are they dead?
Deadish.

One of the most distinct things about the horror movie genre, I think, is the fact that when you find one that’s good, you want to go around telling everyone not to see it, because you think you’re doing their well-being and peace of mind a favor.
This isn’t so with anything else I can immediately think of.
You don’t tell people that a comedy was too good to see.
You don’t warn them that it’s just so fucking funny, that for the next three weeks, you’ll think you see people jumping around every corner telling jokes.
No. You don’t warn people not to see a heartfelt drama because it is too warm and touching for you to be able to take.
You don’t tell people that a drama was so good, they will immediately start preparing the actions that they should take, should something else so touching and heartwarming should suddenly break out and move us all.
You don’t wake up in cold sweats from an awesome scene in an action/adventure movie, then completely convince yourself that the actors are under your bed, waiting to continue to be awesome and x-treme, but then dismiss that thought because you know if they were, they would have already been death-defying and involving themselves in a car chase or jewel heist.
I’m getting away from my original point, but I think it’s come across enough.
Felicia and I have been terrifying each other on an almost daily basis.
She does an AWESOME inadvertant impression of a zombie.
I am talking of course, about the greatest film ever to be made, Dawn of the Dead, that none of you should ever see, because you won’t be able to take it.
Much like Jesus died for your sins, I have watched this movie for your peace of mind, and my Bible only has one sentence: “I am terrified of zombies.”
Felicia likes sleeping. Like a lot.
Like, I come home from work at 5, and she’s still asleep.
But every day is another fun game.
IS she asleep? Or did she DIE and is now a zombie waiting to eat my brains?
As was mentioned in the Action/Adventure synonym, I generally come to a peace after a while, knowing that if she WERE the undead, she would have killed me by now.
The great thing about zombies is that they don’t HIDE to scare you.
They’re not ABOUT scaring you; they’re about EATING you.
The scary thing is the mere VOLUME and FREQUENCY with which they appear.
Like, I imagine the movie Prey will be like, if they don’t fuck Michael Crichton’s creation right in the ass like so many other perfectly good books.
I wake up in a cold sweat, wondering if I’ve locked the door, and if any of my cute, rollerblading neighbors are coming to bite my neck out.
I can’t shower, I can’t walk to my garage, I can’t go to the mall…
Why do we do this to ourselves?
Man. What a crazy thing these horror movies do to us.
I actually thought, without ANY joking manner or acknowledgement of absurdity as I walked past my bedroom window yesterday, “Yeah, I could probably survive a fall out of that if I had to escape suddenly during a zombie attack in my room.”
It was only a few seconds later that I realized I was actually RATIONALIZING an escape plan in the event of a ZOMBIE ATTACK.
Brett, bless his little Cuban heart, has tried to console me, as I fear he feels guilty for reawakening my terror of zombies by force-feeding me the cult classics, that at the end of the day, zombies don’t really exist, and even if they did, they couldn’t escape from their coffins six feet underground.
HELLO?!? What about Night of the Living Dead the remake?! It was the RECENTLY deceased, buddy.
You didn’t have to even be BITTEN, you just had to keel over.
Or Resident Evil and Return of the Living Dead? What did they just BREATHE IT?!
Well, now that I am thouroughly convinced that there is an entire legion of zombies in my apartment, I will leave you with these words:
I really wish Felicia were home right now.