"Jazz is dead."
The Zombie Sicaria
If you or anyone you know are jazz, beware the zombie sicaria.
As a rehearsing archaeologist, decoding urban hieroglyphics is one of my hobbies. It is particularly easy when the declarations chiseled into the clouds of colored bugspray are made in clear English. "Jazz is dead" is a statement of perfect intent and clarity.
What isn't clear is whether or not the sicaria is herself a zombie, or is a sicaria of zombies. When wandering the streets of any given postapocalyptic lunar latino wasteland, how does one determine the liveliness of the zombies in one's midst?
The answer is obvious to any student of fictional mythology. If the zombie sicaria in question was herself composed of jazz, the hieroglyphics of the street would read "Jazz is un-dead," not just dead. The declaration of the moribund condition of the genuine art form indicates that the sicaria is herself probably a zombie, and if you are in any way related to jazz, you had best be on your guard. In all likelihood, you are in a great deal of musical danger.
In order to combat the influx of zombie sicarias, it may be necessary to join a gang of actual sicarias, to preserve the culture of improvisational violence that is vital to our way of life. Las Panteras (pictured above), or "The Panthers," patrol the streets of actual music with gold-plated AKs, in search of any latino money-pop zombies who think they're going to auto-tune their way into our lives.
According to Radio Formula MX, Las Panteras "were in charge of corrupting authorities and acted in shootings such as the San Fernando massacre. The hitmen were trained in the use of weapons and did a job of “public relations:" they contacted police, municipal presidents and the military to make agreements. They also guarded safe houses and victims, and were dedicated to money laundering. And, when their contacts refused to cooperate with the cartel, they murdered them."
All of which is code for teaching people to shred on the tuba like a master jazz sicaria. Anyone who can shred on the tuba is not only ready to go toe-to-toe with John Coltrane in a backalley tuba battle for control of the cracked, concrete "Giant Steps" upon which the kings of the street loiter in a state of musical excellence, but is also ready to become a hardened zombie assassin.
"Jazz is dead," you say?
Not in this town, you undead bastardito, you.
p.s. Future historians believe that the "90s" written in blue bugspray above the words "zombie sicaria" in the photo at the top of this article was placed there after the fact, and that while it is certainly possible that the zombie sicaria is an undead Millennial, it isn't required. The inconsistencies in both coloring and font indicate that perhaps the "90s" was put there as an insult, perhaps by a Zoomer, or a Gen-X commander of some leather-clad panther quartet, or was written by an undead friend of the zombie sicaria to throw zombie assassins off her trail.
Theories abound, but the truth is unknown.
