March 6th, 2005

(no subject)

Zombie March.

Getting prepared for this Saturday night out was not what you would expect it to be. Tonight it involved blood-sucking, tattered clothing, and rising from the dead. It involved assorted classic rock cassette tapes and a tiny half-broken boom box. Getting ready this time didn't involve making ourselves look more lively and beautiful, but as disgusting and dead as we possibly could. You see, every once in a while in the cold city of Boston, the dead rise and they march the streets.

It happened again last night. We herded the Danger Crew from all sides of the city and met at the peak of the Prudential Center, where our festivities as the deceased began. We walked with limps and grunted while we banged on the windows of every store and screamed violently at the living. We danced to our hearts content as we marched down the streets, mile after mile of a desire for further infection and lower inhibitions. We had raised from the underground, hiding whiskey in our coke bottles, rum in our backpacks, and courtesy in our asses. We cared for no one. We terrorized town and demanded attention. We drank, we stumbled, we wrestled in sidewalk brush. We sang, we danced, we openly discriminated against the living. We died, we rose, we marched.

This was not normal. We were not stupid, we were fascinating. We were not boring, we were obnoxious. We were not ugly, we were fashionable. We were not lenient, we were demanding. The amount of laughs we received under our darkened eyes was far too many to count, and the number of times we stared down a threat for arrest was beyond our unruliness. We were not your average zombies. We were zombies that knew every lyric to Bohemian Rhapsody. We were zombies that gave living and breathing good looks a run for their money, rocking out harder than any zombies with gimpy legs and meat cleavers, and living up a Saturday night better than any healthy, non-blood-sucking white trash human being could ever dream of.

For a night, death was hot. It was an opportunity to flaunt abnormality in the most obvious way possible: Living versus dying. We could tell anyone to Get Dead and Rule, because we were in the process of proving how easy it was to get every crowd to split and let us through. People are always wondering what life after death is like. Well, if it's anything like the drunken Saturday night streets of Boston, it's fucking awesome.

I'll post pictures of the monsterfest soon.