I judge people. I’d love to think I don’t, but I sure do. I see people I don’t know and I make unfair assessments about them. It’s wrong and I fight it. There is a constant battle between two of the tenants in my head: the misanthropic 17 year-old and the wide-eyed nun with a commitment to social justice. I could attempt to tell you how hard I fight my own shitty, internal dialogue, but it’s probably more fun for both of us if I tell you about one of the groups I fight against judging. These people have never done anything awful to me (they haven’t done anything positive either), but oh, how I cast the venom upon them. There are nice ways to put this, but frankly: Juggalos, what the fuck are you doing?
For starters, I cannot fathom why people listen to music that sounds-and looks like-this:
I do not understand the hatchet man’s significance nor do I get why he is actually toting a meat cleaver.
Additionally, I’m consistently unimpressed by musicians who perform in costume because it’s usually an effort distract the world from how awful their music is. In the case of Insane Clown Posse, even the face paint can’t cover the stink of their sound. However, many people could just as well say that my taste in music sucks too. Fair enough. But how do you take a grown ass men in clown makeup seriously?
I think people struggle to accept white rappers, and I wonder if the makeup allows the MCs on Psychopathic Records to suspend race with their disguises. I’m trying to think more deeply than my criticism. But, hey, I also hate clowns too because they’re scary bastards.
However, the biggest thing that I cannot comprehend about juggalos is the deep allegiance that adult juggalos pledge to these groups and lifestyle they embrace as a result of it. I would never date a juggalo. I could meet Mr. Tremendous, but the second I realize that he’s down with the clown, I would have to end it. I don’t think juggalos and the groups they follow are corrupt people, and I definitely don’t think they are a gang. It all just seems so awesomely juvenile to be a devoted, festival-attending, Faygo-drinking fan of anything. And juggalos just seem so…I sound like such an asshole…low class.
On the other hand, juggalos do seem to live for the “family” and for their social bonds. I’ve included Sean Dunne‘s “American Juggalo” documentary here to illuminate the juggalo culture. I’m not going to shit on anyone for being happy, and the fans in this film certainly seem like a joyful crowd. I’m not going to condone using spray paint as clown makeup, but I wouldn’t wish misery on the juggalos either.