You may have seen them lurking at your local bus stop, on dark street corners, in your parks. Faces painted black and white like evil clowns on unemployment, they roam the streets, their haunting call of “whoop whoop!” bouncing off the walls of dark alleyways. You sit in your car at the red light downtown, doors locked, thinking Why is it still red?! as they stare at you with dead eyes through your car window. You peel off, fleeing in fear the second the light turns green asking yourself what the hell were those things? My friends, meet the Juggalos.
image credit: Matt Stopera
I remember my friends playing me ICP (Insane Clown Posse) when I was in middle school. Their songs (if you can call them that; it is more like hate speech set to music) have wonderfully charming titles such as “Red Neck Hoe,” “I Stuck Her With My Wang,” and “Bugz On My Nutz.” Here, have a listen:
What I did not realize upon hearing this “music” is that there is a whole twisted subculture surrounding it. Their followers, self-deemed “Juggalos” and “Jugalettes” are some of the most diehard fans I have ever witnessed. I was equal parts enthralled and terrified by this mini documentary about the yearly Juggalo gathering. What I gathered from this documentary is that what brings these people together is their love of topless women, nitrous tanks, Faygo (their secret power source that fuels them through many a drug-induced night), dropping F bombs and of course, ICP. Many of them preach the importance of the Juggalo family and feeling like a part of something. While this may be one of the most dysfunctional families I can imagine, they do have a point. They will drag your ass back to your tent after you’ve passed out and puked all over yourself on the Scrambler.
image credit: pickelope.com
Where the disconnect happens, for me, is the contrast between ICP’s lyrics and the familial sentiments of its followers. While the angry and dark lyrics of ICP spout themes of murder, rape and hatred, the Juggalos interviewed in the documentary talk about love, togetherness and acceptance. Even the pregnant woman smoking a cigarette claimed, “It takes a village to raise a child and this is the village I want my child to be raised by.” So how did the Insane Clown Posse, through its hate speech music, manage to create something bigger than itself? A family and a place people call home? It is beyond me. I must admit, I was a bit moved when the Juggalo, freshly off dialysis with a real threat of death staring him in the face, stated, “Life is something special that you can only have one time. Enjoy the shit out of it.” This was somewhat undone when his friend chimed in with, “We have alcohol and we have explosives. Let me show you how great we are.” Oh well. Whoop whoop!
image credit: Daniel Cronin
Cultural Curiosities 