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| Some say a picture is worth a thousand words. I felt this one was worth a little more. |
Growing up was hard in the heartland of America’s industrial decay. Being one of nine children, I distinctly remember living in extreme poverty. Sometimes when I wanted to feel luxury, I’d go to the local library and pretend I owned all the books. When the librarians were away from the desk, I’d scourge the back of the office and look for food to eat.
Yep, life was hard. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with my life. Aimlessness became my ultimate trademark. Reading more and more, I wondered if a group existed who could feel my plight, with whom I could truly sympathize.
One day I sat on the porch stoop eating ants I found on the ground. Two painted individuals were walking across the street. Each one wore mysterious clown/gangster makeup. Intrigued, I approached them and asked why they looked that way. Smiling and laughing, they stated they were Juggalos going out to spread the good word. They were missionaries from Detroit sent to spread the gospel of the Insane Clown Posse.
I asked what did the Insane Clown Posse believe in, and what made them so insane? Were they perhaps insane in the membrane, and started singing that popular Cypress Hill song. The two told me to stop and listen. According to their gospel, The Insane Clown Posse was insane due to the enormous unequal distribution of income, thus creating a vast underclass. If I joined, I could help redistribute the wealth. They wanted me to get ‘down with the clowns’. I told them about my desire to stay a virgin until I found that ‘special someone’ not willing to simply clown away that important part of me. Both of them laughed and told me they meant musically and not in any other way. I was relieved.
Later that week I was baptized as a Juggalo in a backyard pool of Faygo. Finally, I belonged somewhere. Though my parents complained about my music, saying how the Insane Clown Posse were no Alice in Chains (what I used to listen to). Both my mom and my dad told me my vocabulary had gone down the poop bowl. I didn’t care; I had finally found a group which accepted me.
Dropping out of High School, I became an Insane Clown Posse disciple. I lived and breathed their breaths. Since I had such true faith, I was offered dope-ass deals on the latest and greatest ICP merchandise. But not all was fine inside the Dark Carnival I soon discovered.
People didn’t like Juggalos or Juggalettes, claiming we reeked of sticky soda and Body Odor. Well, I’m sorry, but ICP hadn’t come out with a deodorant yet, otherwise we would’ve been on top of that. Other forms of persecution came from our own bosses. Since we listened to ICP, we must be stupid and I got paid less than my non-ICP listening coworkers. I made up for that by working less hard at 7/11 and stealing more Sausages, which tasted very similar to those ants I used to eat as a kid.
When I was 18, I came under pressure. Anti-ICP fervor had sparked up across the country. Slowly others began to hide their clown roots, much to the dismay of my ICP peers. But I stayed true, keeping on my makeup, even if it meant people thought I was an idiot who listened to shitty music. I didn’t care. I was stronger than they were.
One day I wasn’t stronger. People raided our local ICP temple bearing weapons and boom boxes blaring allegedly better music, such as Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones. Honestly, I thought ICP smoked those turkeys. I didn’t want to get hurt though, as they begun mercilessly beating my fellows Juggalos and Juggalettes. I thought ICP fans were ninjas, but they were getting their asses handed to them pretty easily. Worried my entire life was falling apart, I hid inside a large squirrel costume until they had left.
Fearing for my safety, I stayed there until I heard a voice. Looking across, I saw someone wearing a female squirrel costume. She asked me if I had anything for her. Jokingly I said I was storing some nuts for her. That made her very excited and she asked me if I wanted to yiff. Not knowing what that meant, I said sure and soon discovered a new part of my life.
Yiffing made me feel strong. No longer did I have to expose myself to others, setting myself up for ridicule. Instead, I could have sex with other people while inside a giant squirrel costume. Whether or not people were attractive didn’t matter anymore. I saw deep into their souls, where the souls were perfectly encased in a suit of plastic. I felt knightly in my suit, if a knight didn’t stand for all those things like bravery and stuff.
Wearing a giant squirrel costume brought me into a whole another world. Oddly, people weren’t willing to hire a guy who dressed up in a giant squirrel costume. I was getting discriminated against again. Even without money, I found friends. Crust punks became my new friends. Despite living in a giant squirrel costume, I smelled better than them.
This was the lowest point in my life, according to some social worker who gave me free sandwiches. He said that an Insane Clown Posse fan that was a furry and lived under a bridge had few job prospects. After I mentioned I was a high school dropout, he started laughing hysterically at how totally fucked I was. I think the last thing he told me was “Have a nice life” in between bursts of laughter.
But then, everything changed. I met a crust punk girl who apparently had extremely low standards. This may have been due to her heroin addiction, I’m not sure. She saw something in me, a fire which burned. We’d talk about how our parents thought we were failures, just because we had no money and lived under a bridge, searching through trash cans for sustenance. Despite my complete lack of education, she said I was smart.
One night, as she held my tail tight, she asked to see my face. No one had seen my face since the incident at the temple. Worried at what she might think of me, I removed my head to show her my face. She threw up next to me, but immediately explained that was due to the foul smell. Looking at me, she asked for me to remove the rest of the suit. Her eyes looked beautiful. I realized I was going to have sex for the first time outside of a giant squirrel costume. I felt scared but she guided me through it.
Together we moved into an abandoned building. I began to step outside of my giant squirrel suit comfort zone. All people I guess have to step outside their comfort zone. She gave up heroin. Now both of us live off the drug of love, one where addiction is strong. We moved closer to something approaching normalcy. In the morning we’d get up early and steal shit from 7/11. Whereas we used to steal stuff from the garbage, we’ve moved up to stealing from stores. Someday we dream about stealing from American Apparel. But baby steps I guess.
I’m excited about the future. She got me into non-ICP music, though I piece of my heart will always want to get down with the clowns. Now I review music, hoping I’ll make sweet money cake from this blogspot. Things are looking up. Thanks for reading.