Zombie Idols– it gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “graven image”, doesn’t it, Jazz Fans?
But since the National Guard has seen fit to invade NYC, and since the foraging parties have proven so brutal, and since zombies eat foraging parties as hungrily as they eat the rest of us, zombies have become everyone’s heroes. Lovestruck girls put pictures over their beds of the zombies under their beds. Guys dress up in Zombie wear, tearing holes in their jeans and smearing their designer shirts with brains. The Sham Punk clubs are exploding with members. Religious extremists are even offering their own bodies on the altar to zombies, in the hopes that zombies will develop a taste for human flesh that can be used against the National Guard. Personally, I think that horse has left the barn, but whatever. You can lead a horse to martyr– (not sure how to end that one…)
The one person I thought would be immune to all of this zombie worship is J-Bo. She always had a way of seeing the skull beneath the skin of any smiling face, as well as a talent for getting to the heart of her victims. But here I am in the studio, with J-Bo and her heart throb, Casey, a zomb-boy band singer, and he’s oozing all that magnetism and pus, and her eyes are rolling back in ecstatic bliss, and there’s nothing between them but a thin wall of sound proof glass and me. Kids today! Back in my day, zombies were for killin’, not for kissin’!… And movies were five bucks.