To put us in the Halloween Spirit, I told my interns to book a couple of guests with connections to Zombies. Who doesn’t love Zombies, right?
The way the show works is two guests with a vague connection join me on the front porch of The House on the Hill. They get to ask each other one question, while I listen in and keep the peace.
Tonight’s guests are Rick Grimes, everyone’s favorite dispatcher of Zombie justice, and Michael Jackson, everyone’s favorite Zombie dancer.
Sheriff Grimes, who sat to my left, asked the first question. “Michael, I think you know where I stand on the subject of Walkers. Basically, the only good Zombie is a dead one. So how was it that you decided it would be okay to teach a bunch of them to dance?”
Rick had a smirk on his face, but he patted the gun on his right hip to signal that he was serious and wanted a straight answer.
“No one had tossed out the term Zombie Apocalypse yet. Everyone just wanted to dance, be cool, and have an adventure.”
“If you want, I can teach you a few really easy dance moves you can take back to the prison so you can turn your Walkers into Dancers.”
Rick stunned me by getting up and waving Michael over to his side of the porch. The crowd went wild and serenaded my guests with a rousing rendition of “Thriller” while the creator of the Moonwalk taught the Southern Sheriff how to strut his stuff and shake it like he meant it.
It was awesome. I had to join in on the standing ovation. I was laughing so hard that I thought I was going to lose my breath.
Finally, my guests returned to their chairs and some sense of order was restored. I opened a second Snapple and urged Michael to ask his question.
“You really know how to move, Rick,” he began, a little out of breath from all the dancing. “I never would’ve guessed you had it in you. So now that we’ve bonded and become fast friends, if you came across me in Zombie form, would you still put a bullet in my head?”
The crowd gasped, and Michael appeared to be genuinely stunned.
“You’ve got to understand, Mike, that the safety of my family, my friends, and the people who’ve come to depend on me always comes first,” Rick answered in a raspy, tired voice as if the explanation wore him out a little. “Walkers are a threat. I killed my best friend. My boy had to kill his Mom. I know you’re the King of Pop and all, but once you’ve been turned, you’re just another Zombie to me.”
“No offense, buddy, but it’s just the way it has to be. So stay the hell away from the Walkers and I won’t have to put a bullet in your skull. Deal?”
Michael agreed to those terms, and then begged Rick to teach him how to fire a gun. That set off some alarms in my head, so I got to work finding something else to keep the new friends occupied.
What do you think, Modern Philosophers? If Zombie Michael Jackson approached you would you kill him, or let him go if he showed you a few dance moves? And did you have any idea Sheriff Rick had the moves like Jackson?
Thanks for joining us on the porch. I promise to have you over again real soon…