Infinitely Retarded: The Clown Cult From Detroit (ICP)

The Great Plains states, that is to say from the Dakotas to Oklahoma, those which were once home to herds of giant buffalo, are now home to a different stampeding wild beast, one which similarly isn't particularly bright, and when assembled together in large groups can be just as dangerous and destructive. And although they've been known to roam the Midwest and its neighboring states, there are those who say they are everywhere. I of course am referring to the insane and infinitely retarded evolution of human life known as the juggalo.

Juggalos are douches, often teenagers (though their retardation does not age discriminate, so there are indeed much older juggalos,) who have horrible taste in everything. Most of them suffer from an inferiority complex, feeling as if the world has shut them out and labeled them unsavory. . . And what better way to further bastardize yourself in the eyes of society than to load yourself up from head to toe in ICP gear and paint up your face like a Ronald McDonald twisted on far too many horrible drugs? As a whole, they try to be unique by dressing up like everyone else in their group (other juggalos.) They all of course listen and actually enjoy the music of the Insane Clown Posse, a rap group made up of two guys from Detroit, who wear clown make up, but only in white and black.

Cult members Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J.

Juggalettes are female versions of juggalos, and are therefore also douches who suffer from an inferiority complex. They however differ in that they feel all their woes result from them having a vagina. Naturally they are bitchy, fat, and ugly, and are made even uglier when they wear their ICP paint. Some are even slutty, and don't mind sleeping with dudes who wear wife beaters, even if they have an uncanny resemblance to a member of their family. . . Some are all three: bitchy, ugly, and slutty. They too enjoy the music of the Insane Clown Posse, and don't mind that the group refers to woman as "bitches," straight to their "bitch-ass" faces.

But tonight:

But tonight one group of juggalos is running through the fields, through the recently wet fields of Savannah, Illinois, weaving through the tall grass like snakes in the night. They cannot be seen, but they can be heard.

Listen:

Whoop Whoop

Listen. . .

Whoop Whoop

All throughout the tall grass, calling to one another, the juggalos cry. Its animalistic and its more prominent then any other outdoor sounds - no crickets playing the tune of the waking night, no owls hooting their wisdom out to anyone willing to listen. Silence, nothing but the grass and the sounds of the hidden feet running, and that damned juggalo cry - whoop whoop. They're so chatty because tonight they're recruiting another member into the Family - that collective dark sinister carnival all juggalos talk about but most have never really seen (because it doesn't exist.) Its a sort of metaphorical family, where all juggalos are said to be safe, and free from persecution, despite the fact that juggalos often turn on one another and degrade one another, just as much as their enemies do (haters.)

They cut through the grass and don't stop till they make it to their destination, a hidden location where juggalos can be free from the watchful eye of normal people (haters.) It is here that the cult assembles, it is here that the ritual begins. Somewhere ICP raps:

Come here man and check it out,
You know they're laughing at you man,
Fuck them man, you know what I'm saying come down here man,
And join the carnival man.

The carnival assembles, its leader lit by a flood light, his arms go out, and he stands, like a scarecrow with the face of a clown. The air is still, the wind blows cold, everywhere is the smell of cow shit. Somewhere ICP raps:

Well hello boys and girls, c'mon in seen the show,
Its the mystical, magical, great Dark Carnival,
Don't bother looking for parking, get rid of it,
It aint like you ever coming back, you fuckin' idiot!
The Carnival emerges only when you about to die,
Now muthafucker you are up in the sky,
So come and put your soul and the Murder go Round,
And we'll strap you down, and swing you into oblivion.

The newest victim is brought out, the newest juggalo. He's wearing ICP and he's already been "painted up," the process through which normal looking retards paint up their faces and take on the juggalo persona. The boy looks ecstatic, he looks like he has found himself some little place to call his own, safe in the busom of the dark Carnival. He smiles, the bottles of Faygo open, and the newest cult member is baptized in the soda, one which boasts such appetizing flavors as cotton candy, champagne cola, and a puzzling flavor simply called "Frosh."

Faygo, the official drink of Juggalos: If you spot someone you know purchasing or especially drinking Faygo, proceed with caution, they may be a juggalo/lette.

The music is turned up, it blares out through the open air and bounces off dying trees. The cult gets to dancing, the buffalo are stampeding once again. Faygo fills the air, you can smell the lack of nutritional value, it combines with the smell of sweating white trash.

But listen:

Somewhere far off an army is marching across the Great Plains, a rumbling thunder across the land, increasing steadily in speed. The juggalos, oblivious to its sound continue to dance, in ritual and retardation. The army draws closer, and peaks up over a hill. Its a young army, of youth and rock n' roll - men in long rows, with faces painted white and black, their uniforms made of thick leathers and studs, spikes and steel. They stand, waiting for their commanding officer, the face of this upcoming violence. . . The air grows still, as if even nature itself is waiting for the rumble to start up again and rip across the face of the earth.

"The army is assembled sir." The cat, a sergeant says.

"And there are more reserves waiting in the wings, sir." The star, a corporal says.

"Then we will attack, post-haste." The demon, a general says. He raised his eyes to the juggalos below, like ants in his eyes, he wanted to squish every last one of them. "You ripped us off motherfuckers!" He says, Mr. Gene Simmons himself, leading an army of KISS followers, they too donned in white and black paint. "We're the only freaks in black and white from Detroit!"

His arm swings forward, the army descends like a flood upon the juggalos, who only now notice they are about to be swept up in the tide. Fighting ensues, bone and flesh, high heels and platformed shoes stomp legs and shatter knees, juggalo face paint smears with blood, a red white and black mess. The cries of juggalos fill the air, as they are slain one by one in the dead of night. And the KISS army does not stop until they are all dead, so that Gene may place his platformed boot upon the dead body of a juggalo and raise his arm in victory. . . as the true freak from Detroit City.

"But we are not done boys, off to Hot Topic!"

iR.

FURTHER RETARDATION

Juggalo Julez:

Juggalo Julez is a juggalette who gained certain fame on the internetz after posting several videos in an attempt to seek publicity after the death of her baby, who died 13 minutes after it was born. A tragedy yes, but the real tragic part was that Julez blamed it on the hospital, even tried to raise money to hire a lawyer and sue the bastids - the only thing was that she failed to mention that she was using drugs while pregnant with her child, but that didn't have anything to do with it right?

Juggalo Julez is also an important person in the juggalo scene because she has clearly shown, time and time again, that this all loving "family" that juggalos talk about and consider themselves apart of, is far from an understanding place "where people don't talk shit." One day she called a radio station, to talk about her dead daughter and use her tragedy to get free merchandise, and proceeded to get flogged by her heroes, two other juggalos, who called her a dude and did nothing but just that: talk shit.

A loving family? Bullshieeet.

As you can see this is only part 1. . . it goes on. . .

ICP Lyrics/Songs:

"Death always comes at a shitty time."

"The bitch slap master, I slap your train wreck face."

In My Room - About love in Shaggy 2 Dope's bedroom with an underage girl, when their secret is found out, he proceeds to kill those who know, including a young kid.

Mr. Johnson's Head - About both Posse members and their days in school, they kill their teacher Mr. Johnson, because they are bored in his class and don't want to learn the "shit he's teaching."

At a signing Shaggy 2 Dope was filmed asking a 12 year old if his "nuts have dropped yet," and then encouraged the same kid to go out and commit a crime, because "when you're older they don't fuck around with that shit."

At the same signing, Shaggy asked another 14 year old if he "does drugs," and when the kid replied with the negative, Shaggy encouraged him "Well go home and smoke some shit."

So you Wanna Be a Juggalo?