What is a Juggalo?
This question has baffled many normal tax-payers for close to 20 years now. Anyone who has had the misfortune of encountering a group of the slovenly, morbidly obese, greasepaint lathered, dark clothes-clad unwashed can attest to the cloud of depression and confusion they both create and thrive on, yet exactly what this gaggle of human-formed puke actually is has yet to be explained.
Here I attempt to explain it to the layman, pulling from both my own experiences with members of the “Family” as well as information from satirical research documents I too haven written for the purpose of the joke.
My storied hatred of the Juggalos stretches back a decade…
The fist time I heard Insane Clown Posse I thought it was a joke. A joke that wasn’t funny, with a punch line I did not, nor would ever, get.
To be honest, it was a bit of a letdown. Several of the music magazines I read praised the group for their flourishing underground popularity and DIY work ethic.
I’d read many interviews with Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope and always found them entertaining, if not all that informative. This fascination continues to this day. If they ever appear on Howard Stern or Adam Carolla, I make a point to listen. Sometimes repeatedly.
Then I heard their music. Upon my first listen I knew immediately it was my duty as a music lover… as an American… nay! As a human, to hate them forever. Hate them with that undying, driving hatred only a militant atheist can know for organized religion. That perfect, special hatred only a father can know for his son.
A couple years after my ICP virginity had been raped away, I had the good fortune to work with not one, but two self-described Juggalos. I began hanging out with one of them outside work, usually at a daytime bar frequented by fellow nightshifters, and sometimes, at our respective homes.
“Juggalo Mike,” as he will be known, decided he was going to turn me. He proposed we get really, really
stoned after work and listen to “The Wraith,” the groups most current release (it was actually brand new at the time) and that I was to really listen to it without prejudice or preconceived opinion and just try to enjoy it.
It didn’t take. The only legitimately enjoyable part of the experience, aside from the
weed, was watching Juggalo Mike, half-asleep, mumble along with bits of the music and throw up a hand, fingers snarled into a shape resembling a gang symbol/palsy victim grip, from time to time. Juggalo Mike fell asleep before the album had played through. I woke him when it was over to tell him how much I didn’t like it and he immediately replayed the last track, making sure to point out that in the last few lines they divulge their up-until-now hidden devotion to Jesus Christ. That didn’t help like it any better.
Juggalo Mike explained he was shocked by it and was unsure where this left him as a fan, since the rumor at the time was this was to be the groups final album.
I have a feeling that’s always the case with ICP. Every album could be their last, due to innumerable civil suits filed by large groups of parents trying to blame someone for their 27-year-olds still living at home.
I don’t know whatever happened to Juggalo Mike. We lost touch after I left Grand Forks, but he and another coworker had frequently talked about quitting their jobs, driving to Miami and living on the beach. It sounds like a fantasy, but that’s the kind of guy he was. Outgoing as hell, but to a disturbing degree.
To this day, he was the BIGGEST
pothead I’ve ever known, and I’ve known some of the biggest. He was the kind of smoker that didn’t stop smoking. Ever. He was high as a kite, or as high as a 300 lb kite can be, 24-7. He’d smoke in the showers in the back of the truck stop where we worked. He’d smoke outside the building, blatantly in view of anyone. He smoked before we went to the bar and after we left. And he smoked again before he went to sleep that morning. Heck, he probably even smoked before coming into work!
Oh yeah, and he’d only been smoking
weed for about a year.
Juggalo Mike was also an alcoholic. He prided himself on his love of Southern Comfort and ability to drink it.
Yeah. I know. SoCo?
Anyway, Juggalo Mike once lived in Sioux Falls for over a month in the alley behind a bar. He’d saved up or come into some money and made the choice to become a filthy lush for as long as he could afford it. He’d get wasted at the bar all day and all night until they kicked him out, find a spot in the alley to pass out and whenever he woke up, he’d head right back in and do it again. He said once it got so bad he woke up and it was pouring rain and he just rolled over, covered himself with a piece of loose cardboard and fell back asleep.
Another time, he’d been working at a turkey farm near Detroit Lakes and got into a fight with what he described as “the craziest Mexican on Earth” on the roof of the place. Also, did I mention it was A KNIFE FIGHT!? ON THE ROOF OF A QUANSET!! IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY!!
This was 10 years ago, but is still relevant and should give you a good idea of the personality, and personality disorders, your common Juggalo possesses.
I liked Mike, but he was insane. He willfully made terrible decisions with his life and his health daily. Whether is was drinking too much, smoking too much, picking fights with the wrong people or listening to ICP, he was almost constantly in jeopardy, a trait that is still common in the Juggalo of today.
The Juggalo of today is far, far superior. Stupider, fatter, uglier and possessing more willful ignorance than ever before, today’s Juggalo have cast off those restrictive chains of true individuality and adopted a specific look.
Your garden-variety Juggalo of today generally weighs between 300 – 70,000 pounds and is more than okay with it. They normally wear ICP or affiliated group t-shirt(s) and if they do wear pants, they’re of the sweat-variety.
In some cases, when the Juggalo has consumed enough methamphetamine to develop what passes for a waistline, outdated polyester “chain-pants” pulled partially over outdated South Park boxer shorts are acceptable attire.
Facial piercing are a must, and the more severe the better. If the holes in your ears bigger than the hole in your premature babies heart, you might be a Juggalo.
Speaking of premature babies, they’re in vogue! Due to exorbitant drug use paired with unprotected sex, most Juggalettes can expect a new addition to their own “Family” every 4 to 6 months!
Teeth? Who needs ‘em! Methamphetamine combined with 8-12 daily liters of Faygo and a general disregard for personal hygiene leads to serious tooth decay. Most dentistry is self-service and many Juggalos make crude necklaces out of their own spent fangs. People with healthy teeth are deemed freaks and are forcibly exiled.
(from Official Juggalo Report 2009ID-2b, Department of Homeland Security)
This poor unfortunate soul was hanging out with a friend of mine, or more to the point, he was hanging with her for some ungodly reason…
She was chain smoking Camel 100s and hadn’t eaten in 3 days. The skin on her face was tight and her eyes were sunken behind her glasses. Also, she was 5 months pregnant.
Her reasoning for the smoking was since she gave up drinking for the baby, she was entitled to smoke during the pregnancy. I’m no doctor, but that just don‘t sound right.
She didn’t know who the father was and claimed she didn‘t care. She was living in an apartment with 3-4 Juggalos and all of them were suspect. She did say, however, that the guy she hoped was the daddy probably wasn’t…
While smoking outside the Empire, she started talking about ICP. I asked if she was a Juggalo and she immediately corrected me that she was in fact a Juggalette. I asked her what it was like being a diehard fan of awful, unlistenable music? She stared daggers. I laughed and said that although I didn’t care for their music, I did like the guys themselves and had recently heard them on Howard Stern.
She said the reason I didn’t like their music was because I am ignorant (this almost exact reasoning has been hurled at me more than once over my incomprehensible dislike of ICP) and it doesn’t matter what I think because the Psycopathic Family doesn’t give a fuck!!
I was shocked. Besides the fact that I’d bought this freaky little gutter rat her first decent meal in half a week and had been overly nice to her for the sake of my friend, one cross word against her saviors was all it took to identify me as the enemy. I changed the subject and asked her what she did for money. She said she’d been out of work for about 3 months but knew how to operate a Bobcat. She asked me for a light. I asked her when the baby was due…
This is perhaps the most perfect and visceral encounter with a Juggalette in the wild one can hope to have. Here is a lost and broken person who is content remaining lost and broken. You want to feel sorry for her, but her vile attitude and outright refusal to acknowledge reality leaves you at a loss.
I saw her a few months later walking towards a burger stand. Extremely pregnant. Proud ICP hoodie adorned. Cigarette in mouth.
Juggalos can readily be identified outside of their “uniform” by their menial jobs:
Simple sales position in malls stores such as Hot Topic or Spencer’s Gifts or jockeying cheap jewelry kiosks serve the Juggalo/Juggalette well.
Similar low-paying positions like part-time dishwashers and bus boys are easily attained in restaurants that either hide their employees from the customer or are not required to obey Federally mandated health codes: (McDonalds, Hardees/Carl’s Jr., Wendy’s etc)
Low-skilled jobs usually occupied by women that require face-to-face dealings with the public, like waitresses or stewardesses, are normally not occupied by the ghastly Juggalettes, who are already at a disadvantage in the workforce simply by being women.
Generally the intelligence of the Juggalo is very low, hovering around the 80-90 point mark. One can often draw this distinction from the dead, dull look in a Juggalo’s eyes, but not in all cases.
In cases where the dimwittedness of the Juggalo is not visable to the naked eye, simply engaging in conversation will be telling enough.
The Juggalo is generally good natured as long as you treat them with the dignity regularly reserved for actual human beings. Once that status is questioned, the Juggalo will retract from any moral sense of kindness and prepare for the attack. Using ignorance-fueled clichés, like accusing you of being “ignorant” (often pronounced “ig-nant”) or informing you that you are “cliché‘”
“You don‘t know me!”, a popular idiom that originated as a white trash mating call, has been adopted by and is used almost incessantly by all Juggalos. Usually for identification purposes and to audibly announce ones individuality.
(from the United Stated Department of Justice, Juggalo Research document 22-4a)
I recently got into an argument with a self-described Juggalo on Facebook.
A friend had posted his opinion about the FBI recently adding the Juggalos to the Top 10 of a list they call the Gangs Assessment List. Meaning the Juggalos have been identified by the American government as a real gang, or pseudo-gang as the Bureau actually calls them. He denounced it as a violation of an individual’s rights as a private citizen. And he’s right.
He added that something as innocuous as the KISS Army might also come under the same scrutiny and that what really bothers him is that nobody will take notice of or fight it because of the Juggalos classification as second-class citizens.
I responded in jest, at least I assumed he and even the smallest of children would understand I was joking.. well, maybe half-joking… but still making my own point with humor:
“Yeah, except the KISS Army are a bunch of harmless middle-aged consumers who might see a concert once a year and the Juggalos are a bunch of drug-addicted trailer trash who probably relish being recognized as a gang.”
Almost immediately I was accosted by an unbelievably vile Juggalette we shall simply refer to as “Stupid.”
-Stupid said that I “didn‘t know shit” and that I am ignorant. Stupid said people like me are bad because I make generalizations about people I don’t even know.
-Stupid then informed me of what a sad, tired cliché I am and what an inspired and original addition to humanity she is.
-Stupid even dropped the infamous “You don‘t know me!” line followed by about a million exclamation points
I wanted to tell her that there isn’t anything more ignorant or cliché than personally attacking someone she’s never met (ala “u don’t know me”) through a computer. Oddly, simply throwing around the words ignorant and cliché is probably considered a cliché.
I wanted to tell her that responding to criticism in such a crass manner was unbecoming of a young lady and taking a stand to defend an entire group of dullards, though commendable, is no way of showcasing ones original individuality.
But instead I just made another joke:
“Look, all I’m saying is any group of people who legitimately rock out to Vanilla Ice’s “Ninja Rap” in 2012 is to be feared. And possibly executed.”
This was attributed to nothing she said. I came up with it as a joke for my Twitter feed based on Juggalos regularly referring to one another as “ninja” and that Vanilla Ice had in fact appeared at a recent Gathering of the Juggalos concert. It’s just good science.
Anyway, Stupid lost her mind. Somehow, I had managed to offend quite possibly the only person on Earth that would take such an obvious joke as a real and personal insult. She launched into two full paragraphs of tired, cliché-riddled vitriol. She said that she does indeed rock out legitimately to “Ninja Rap” all the time and is proud to do it…
(note: I am not making any of this up)
She then said she is completely comfortable with herself (apparently needing me to know this) and because of that fact she can never be topped in a debate because she knows herself better than other people know her…
(this is where it is okay to do a facepalm)
She finished by accusing me of being mentally handicapped (using much harsher language) and typed out a strange dog-like howl of “AHHHHHHHHHHH!!! TRUE FREEDOM!!”
So far we know that true freedom comes from attacking someone unprovoked and that she is attempting to make a real argument on nothing more than my playful criticism of a gang most regular people don’t even know about, let alone take seriously.
In short, Juggalos connect freedom to unwarranted preemptive strike followed by illegal occupation: Juggalos are Republican.
I wanted to explain to her that if her idea of True Freedom is attached to a computer in any way she’s missing the point of life.
I wanted to tell her that attacking someone else’s intelligence based only on the fear that your own intelligence is in question is, well, stupid. (and ignorant)
I wanted to tell her that I too loved Vanilla Ice… when I was 10 years old, but I’ve grown up and not even nostalgia can convince me that an awful rap song isn’t awful or that it was ever good. My dignity will not allow it.
But instead I said this:
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Now I am just fucking with her. I’ve yet to resort to name calling. I am using good old-fashioned sarcasm. She is not familiar with the concept.
She again goes on the offensive, stating that what I just said made her laugh really hard because: “HOW COULD SHE HAVE GIVEN ME A LOT TO THINK ABOUT WITHOUT ME KNOWING HER!!!”
(Seriously. I’m not making this up.)
Not only does she not understand sarcasm, she doesn’t even seem to know what simple phrases mean.
Even though I do believe in my heart that all Juggalos are scum, I am open to correction, yet her terrible job of defending Juggalo culture is only solidifying my belief with each of her subsequent posts. Nothing she has typed, or will ever type, will convinced me otherwise. She is a living stereotype. So…
I tell her she won the argument.
I tell her she has convinced me to become a Juggalo.
I tell her I plan to get on wellfare and spend it on ICP’s entire discography, which I will listen to on repeat while I get a bunch of awful tattoos (with more welfare money, of course).
I tell her that I’m even considering having a FAS baby out of wedlock! Sky‘s the limit!
(fact: Juggalettes never stop ovulating)
Whatever channel of her brain that isn’t gummed up with weed resin or hasn’t been completely destroyed by meth abuse must have allowed her a single moment of clarity, because she FINALLY seems to understand that I have been fucking with her the whole time. She apologizes to my friend for clogging his thread with our argument, deletes her previous posts and says her goodbyes.
I beckon: “Wait! You can help me! I seriously need your advice! Do I DRINK the greasepaint and SMEAR the Faygo on my face… or do I have that backwards?”
She says she can’t believe I am still trying to insult her (this is honestly the first thing I have posted that could even be construed as a direct insult) and all my failed attempts at insulting her (???) only make her laugh harder.
I tell her I never insulted her, that I was asking a serious question only her expertise could answer. I also ask if she deleted her previous posts because she didn’t want the public to steal her thoughtful, expertly-crafted, Mensa-level rebuttals?
Later the thread comes alive again, this time a different group of people are now praising the merits of Vanilla Ice’s “Ninja Rap”
(still not joking..)
Much later in the day I actually take the high road and apologize for the argument, and say I’m sorry if what I said hurt her feelings.
Stupid responds that I never hurt her feelings because if I had “WE WOULD BE SEEING THE RESULTS OF IT ALREADY” (!!!) and finishes her bizarre threat by accusing me of having Down’s Syndrome (again, she does not use proper terminology).
My friend cuts in and says there’s no reason not to debate the subject, but stresses his initial point was the governments fucked up targeting of a group of music fans.
I say: “Look: that any faction of the government would begin targeting music fans as potential threats is low, and a reflection of what a sad state our government is in.”
Stupid then says that’s what she meant all along (WHAT?) and calls me stupid.
I then post:
“All jokes aside, ICP, as businessmen, are geniuses. Odds are the Feds investigating/infiltrating the Juggalos has less to do with any illegal activity they may take part in and everything to do with ICP making bank outside the corporate music industry.”
Again, and forever more, we have silence. Not so much was she defeated as she had simply run out of insults to hurl. They only have so many pre-loaded before they resort to childish name calling.And she probably thought it was going to turn into a bizarre political debate which I’m willing to bet she knows jack shit about too.
This argument is invaluable when studying the irrational and limited reasoning skills of the Juggalo.
We now know:
Juggalos often accuse their enemy of ignorance and being “cliché” when they themselves are at a loss and resort to using tired clichés like accusing people of being “ignorant.”
Juggalos fear intelligence and those who possess it. When engaged in a battle of wits, they immediately resort to attacking their opponents intelligence, ironically, by calling them “retarded“
Juggalos are hypocrites.
Juggalos threaten and will resort to violence. We see very clearly that Stupid would escalate a simple online debate to real-world violence once it becomes apparent she is losing the argument.
The Juggalo does not accept defeat. Arguing for the sake of arguing accomplishes nothing. Pride comes before the fall because that’s what tips you over. And Juggalo are lousy with pride. Knowing when, and being willing, to step back and admit defeat requires wisdom, bravery and intelligence. Since the Juggalo possess none of these, they are unable to know when they are wrong and suffer unto pride. Here we see someone who believes as long as they have the last word, they’ve won the argument. This rationale is not based in reality, but in the drug-addled fantasy the Juggalo has created for itself.
Juggalos are mentally ill. Believing that you are being attacked personally by an innocent statement suggest attention deficit disorder, low self-esteem and poor self-image; conditions all Juggalos struggle with until their inevitable suicide.
(from my personal archives, 8-18-2012)
“What is a Juggalo? I don’t know.” goes the song. Unfortunately, I do.
This concludes our lecture. Coffee and pie is available in the foyer.