Photography By Jac Chandross

People dressed up as people.

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Strange and wonderful creatures.

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Dese are things. Things? Ya know, things. Oh, right. Things.

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"I was channeling Bub [from Day of the Dead] when he realizes that Dr. Logan is dead." — Bill, the Working Stiff

Bill helped me with my makeup. He, Father Latexia, and I took a cab downtown. When I got out two of my (deliberately) smashed cameras—I was Zombierazzi, the paparazzi bitten by a celebrity and turned into the living dead—were knocked off. While I was putting one back on I asked Bill to hold the other. In a manner of seconds he'd turned it into a totally hilarious prop amusing everyone the entire night.

Nobody does a zombie like Bill. He's got the look, the stagger, the eye contact, and the mannerisms down pat. When we were walking to the East Village after the parade some urban youth looked at us and muttered, "Crazy white folk" as they passed.

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Zombies are people too! (Well, they were once.) If you cut us do we not bleed? (Actually, we don't. It's a metaphor.) Zombies don't make the dead; we make the dead better!

Undead Pride!
Support the Pro-(Un)Life Agenda!
Zombie Rights Now!

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I went to the parade with Father Latexia and Working Stiff. People were shocked by the good father's drinking holy water and staggering about, and many refused to confess their sins even though he was offering absolution free until midnight. (Then the rates went up.) But the dominatrixes and Lorena Bobbit loved him dearly.

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Strange aliens from faraway places came to share, if not wisdom, a flash of tittie.

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These policemen weren't there to prevent or preserve disorder; they were there to have a rockin' good time.

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