Quitters never win—and also run the risk of having their brains eaten

Morris: “Mommy, when I use my spoon like this I’m shooting bombs at you.”

He puts his spoon in his mouth, points the handle at me, and starts making high-pitched squeaking sounds.

Me: “Are you shooting me now?”

He nods and takes the spoon out of his mouth. “Now you’re dead.”

Me: “So how do you feel, having killed your own mother?”

Morris: “Bad… But now you’re a zombie!”

Me: “Braaaaaains… Braaaaaaains…”

He puts the spoon in his mouth and starts making those high-pitched squeaky sounds again.

Me: “Missed me!”

Morris: “No, I didn’t!”

Me: “Yes you did.”

Morris: “I DON’T WANT TO PLAY ANYMORE!”