Zombies Storm South Beach

Lincoln Road is the scene for the living dead.

Comments (0) By Elyse Wanshel Thursday, Jan 3 2008

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As we turn the corner onto 21st Street and walk past Free Spirits Sports Café, Joel confesses he'd love to move to San Francisco but is stuck here because of the large volume of Yiddish texts he's collected over the years. He'd never be able to carry them onto a bus or a train, he says.

"But seeing displays like this makes staying in Miami worth it," he adds with a smile when we finally make it to the boardwalk. "It just seems so positive."

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Once the parade reaches the beach, the Juggalos (as extreme fans of Insane Clown Posse call themselves) begin discussing their, um, annual talent competition, Miss Juggalo.

"It used to be a contest to see which girl knew the most about ICP," Tamargo says. "Now it's all about just getting really slutty onstage."

"Yeah," says Blarrrg, whose thin brown hair drapes over one of her many layers of baggy black clothing, "that's why I never win, because I don't take my clothes off."

"That's how I knew you were a classy lady," Tamargo responds.

Blarrrg tells me about some of the quests she's experienced playing Morton's List, a game beloved by Juggalo society. In one quest, for instance, she had to construct a kite. Another entailed her taking a crap in the tank of a toilet in a CVS ladies' room.

Blarrrg's last story causes me to yearn for a good old brain-eating anecdote. I turn to Nathan, who is helping to unroll a giant $50,000 check endorsed by the Rock, Paper, Scissors Society that also doubles as a sticker, presenting a dilemma for the winner — cash the check or stick it on one's wall?

"So what's your favorite part of eating a brain?" I ask him.

"The texture," he says. "It's like shark meat. Have you ever had shark meat?"

Who hasn't?

"And what goes good with brains?" I ask.

"Mojitos," Jess quickly responds as the competition begins with a quick snack of bananas Tamargo serves us in a hollowed-out skull.

As we all unpeel the fruit, Jess proposes a toast. We raise our bananas in the air.

"To potassium!" he says.

"To potassium!" we repeat.

"To me," adds Jess, "it just tastes like chicken."