I went to the Gathering of the Juggalos, part three. (NSFW)
Saturday, July 25th
DAY FOUR.
I woke up in a daze to some interesting conversations happening between my next door neighbors.
"I had a granola bar... and then drugs, hehehehe," one girl happily recalled to her friend.
Another guy, upset that she was talking, started screaming at her, "SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH! SOME OF US ARE TRYING TA SLEEP! WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BITCH?!" It was a little over the top.
So I got up and met Matt. We didn't have anything to look forward to yet on our final day at the Gathering, so we went to something a little more low-key: an art contest at the Seminar Tent, where what looked like over a hundred juggalos had submitted paintings, drawings, sculptures, and more. Some of it looked like the type of artwork a child would bring up to mom and dad from school and have hung up on the refrigerator; others were high-quality, elaborate portraits dedicated to Psychopathic. The judges very carefully perused every table, including the wife of the family who owned the concert grounds, a self-proclaimed juggalette herself. I watched a man smoke a yellow powder across from me. We were out of food and had been invited to Skotty's camp, where she promised to share some of the vegan bounty she had brought along with her. This wasn't her first Gathering, so she came more prepared than we obviously had, with healthier, more logical food. As she cut up a pineapple, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Her crew wasn't vegan, but they were awfully nice about us being vegans, declaring us "vegalos" (vee-guh-lows), the least clever name for a vegan juggalo possible. Matt had a box of PETA materials that he intended on handing out at some point during the festival. I was at first confident about helping him with that, but by day four, had absolutely no faith in juggalos accepting our vegan propaganda. Skotty mentioned helping, but quickly informed us that she would be tripping on LSD later in the day. The plan to spread the vegan gospel was eventually abandoned altogether; none of us had the guts.
The first event of the day over at the Carousel Stage was The Neden Game, a crass dating game based off of the song by Insane Clown Posse. The first date was some dude. Five juggalettes came out to try and win a date with him. As with all old dating game shows, the date and potential neden did not know what the other looked like. The guy read some questions off of cards and, as expected, the juggalettes responded in hypersexual, perverse ways through confident but spacey tangents, talking like drunkards about Pop Rocks and blowjobs and rough sex. One of the many Goregous Girl babes were participating, a girl named Candi who I'd been gawking at since day one. She was petite and honestly looked underage, but had a great butt, cute teeth, and freckles. She had participated in just about ever juggalette-centered contest there had been so far and was skilled at dancing like a stripper and talking dirty like a porn star. The only thing she failed at was when the dating game had each contestant try to say one mean thing about each of their competition. She told the older woman, whose boobs were free and hanging, that she looked like Hulk Hogan. In the end, she won, perhaps in part due to the cheers she got from the crowd of horny juggalos. A juggalette date came up next and owned her throne while she talked shit to all the pathetic dudes who came up to try and win her affections. The five guys who first came up were so inarticulate, nervous, and lost that they actually kicked them all off and replaced them with another five midway through the game. The second batch wasn't much better, but one guy in particular stood out with his boisterous and detailed responses, where he swung his over-sized metal hatchetman pendant and talked about how he would take her out on a date to McDonald's, let her choose something from the dollar menu, and then fuck her for three minutes before nutting on her back. He was hysterical, a true juggalo poet and romantic, and won a date with the beautiful 'lette he fought for. A ninja with a broken pinky holding a sign saying "NIPZ 4 NIPZ" exchanged a flash of the nipples with me and then began to follow us.
We hung out at the Funhouse tent again until the next stage show at the Carousel grounds. FreakShow Deluxe was set to put on a performance of sideshow stunts. They had been holding it down each night at Bizarro World, putting on a smaller version of their set under the stars and amidst bales of hay seats and drunk juggalos. According to them, they had passed up one of the country's biggest biker events to make sure they were available for the Gathering. I was genuinely excited to see it and, it being the Gathering, I expected some fucked-up shit. Unfortunately, a lot of it was pretty traditional, and I already knew how much of it worked, which drained most of it of the magic it clearly had for the rest of the crowd. Stuff like straitjacket escapes, walking on glass, and laying on a bed of spikes were rushed through, evoking gasps, shocked whoop-whoops, and childlike awe from the juggalos, but I understood how such stunts worked and was left bored and unimpressed. A lot of it was pretty cool, though, and the performers at the forefront, Reverend Tommy Gunn and Miss Malice Aforethought, were entertaining with their stage presence. They burst onto stage with circular saws, playing them against steel or each other, Tommy Gunn lighting a cigarette with the sparks that were flying everywhere. You could smell the heat from beneath the stage. A girl walked up a tiny step ladder with machetes in place of rungs. Reverend Gunn hung heavy items like a chandelier from the piercings in his nipples and eventually his dick. Miss Malice let a mouse trap snap on her tongue and seductively deepthroated a very long balloon. Some fire-breathing was performed. The grand finale had Reverend Gunn setting off a giant pack of firecrackers taped to his chest. Free stickers were thrown out to the crowd and we were left to stand and wait for the highly anticipated Miss Juggalette Pageant while hipsters from VICE loaded up in front of the barrier to take pictures with outdated cameras while texting incessantly.
Before the juggalette feminists of 'Lette Respect took it over, the Miss Juggalette Pageant had been co-opted by porn star Ron Jeremy and was turned into just another hypersexualized misogynist's wet dream. This year, it was about empowering the juggalettes, even if and regardless of whether or not they showed off their body parts. I had seen juggalettes respond to catcalls and propositions with, "'Lette Respect, 'Lette Respect," and be respectfully, instantly let off the hook from any further harassment. In the festival's official program, it said, "This pageant is all about paying homage to the beauty, wit, and strength that is inherent in all our juggalettes." I made friends with a large, freckled ninja who was from near Philly and whose girlfriend was participating. He was very excited to see his partner up on stage and it was actually kind of cute. The host, who struggled through the whole event, saying he was in a "wilted state" from four days of no sleep, Red Bull, and lettuce, said the word "digress" at least a hundred times. He introduced the judges, two of which were wrestlers from the JCW, Juggalo Championship Wrestling. A third juggalo from the crowd was brought up, a soft-spoken Detroit native of few words named Kyle with a developmental disorder of some kind. They brought out the previous year's Queen Juggalette and ex-JCW champion Too Tuff Tony made a comment about her "big-ass funbags". The host asked him, "Is that the first thing you noticed?!" and added, "Sure, she has some bomb-ass titties, but I'm sayin' she's also a bomb-ass person, ya know what I'm sayin'?" It was cool to see the integrity of the pageant maintained and the crowd respect it with enthusiastic whoops. The first round was all about personality, which was largely lacking in the wake of eccentricity, social awkwardness, and sexuality with each contestant. The contestants were diverse, though, and most were at least buzzing with confidence and energy. The second contestant, Christine, when asked to list three of her best qualities, could only come up with two: personality and being very outgoing. A few juggalos in the crowd suggested the third be "good neden". Another contestant had also participated in the lingerie contest: an older woman named Kat from Bloomington, Indiana, of all places, who looked like just another middle-class white mom. One of the first juggalettes to come out announced that she was, in fact, a witch. One of the VICE girls turned to her colleague and said, "Same." It was weird to have a Tumblr presence at the Gathering. Honeycomb the Enchantress was visibly pregnant. Alice D was as loud as anyone with a microphone. A tiny cutie named Squirrel whose voice, stature, and cheeks matched her nickname came up and stole the hearts of many, dressed up as Xena Warrior Princess. She shared that Insane Clown Posse encouraged and inspired her to never take no for an answer and to get what she wanted, which lead her to study marine biology. "We're about to have a juggalette under the fucking sea!" the host exclaimed. Pebbles came up and, rather than really saying anything, began throwing out free bags of cotton candy. Lilith Astaroth was the lead singer of a metal band and let out a "whoop whoop" in a death metal growl. One cross-eyed girl came on stage and, when asked what her favorite movie was, answered with Scary Movie in an Elmer Fudd speech impediment, saying she "liked scawy stuff". She fell when trying to exit the stage down the ramp provided. There were seventeen contestants in total.
The second round had them show off their talents, which included a broad array of questionable skills, such as making their eyes shake, poi, rapping, playing with fire, spoken word, and pole dancing. Many of them resorted to seductive lapdances and showed off their impeccable skills in twerking and making their asses drop to the floor. One juggalette of color came out and spit an acapella, politically charged and surprisingly insightful rap against the government, poverty, the police, and racism, superior in skill to most of the rappers who were signed by the Psychopathic label. Miss Cyainide came up and rapped to her own produced beat and went on to be the center focus of a VICE Broadly report. The older woman came up and it was announced that she was a residential counselor. Further cementing her place as the least likely attendee of the Gathering, at least as far as I could see, her talent was crocheting, and she had a Minion she made to show off; she had done in a week for her husband. The witch returned to the stage and sang a monotone industrial rock love song about her dildo. Honeycomb did a fiercely feminist spoken word piece about her own noncomformity that was actually as clever as it was funny, not allowing the signal of the deejay sound effect interrupt her fierce flow.
"I don't 'Keep Up with the Kardashians', I don't give a fuck about Taylor Swift. I'd much rather talk about the paranormal, conspiracies, and horror flicks. I'm a chick with an an attitude. If you're gonna be rude, don't expect me to just take it. I got a sharp tongue for the truth ... I love piercings and tattoos 'cause scars are proof of a life well-lived. And I don't give a fuck if the paint on my nails is chipped. I don't tan, my porcelain skin glows beautifully in the moonlight. And that skin is mine, I'll flaunt what I like and let my freak flag fly."
They practically had to force her to stop. I felt her entire poem perfectly embodied everything the 'Lettes Respect concept and the Pageant was meant to represent. Squirrel continued to steal my heart by reciting a Yo-Landi Visser verse from a Die Antwoord song in a perfect impression of her high-pitched, chihuahua voice, all with a bottle of orange Faygo in hand. A tall, thin Goregous model tried to pass off "gore" as a talent, which really just involved her pouring fake blood in to her mouth and letting it drool all over her body as she spit it at the crowd. Lilith performed some crazy screaming and singing vocals over a pre-recorded melodic metal track. Another juggalette of color danced while showing off her homemade bazooka catapult. Lastly, we had the swimsuit round, which obviously had all the juggalettes show off their goods. Just about every juggalette could dance like a professional escort at a club and no difference in ass type prevented them from twerking their little hearts out. Pebbles came out with a big and red clown nose and pair of oversized shoes, bearing an axe. It was so sexually conflicting, because she was a babe, but dressed up as one of the things I hated most: a clown. In the end, even though it seemed everyone loved Squirrel, she was only runner-up to Alice D. Watch the whole thing below:
We had five hours before the main event: the one and only Insane Clown Posse headlining the Gathering at the Big Top stage. The excitement was mounting and we wanted to be prepared for it, though we weren't so sure of how to be or even what kind of chaos to expect. Deep down, we knew it would be unlike anything we had ever experienced. We had kidney beans, rice, and fries for dinner and watched some of the girls dancing at the Funhouse tent. Matt and I were determined to have our faces fully painted in time for ICP and patiently waited in line at the booth where a woman was doing it for only $12. I was next after a dorky, bald man who mentioned in a nasally voice being a writer for The Onion and an author of an e-book on Amazon. I sat on the ground to rest my legs while drinking water. The potheads next to us who were selling merch offered me alcohol. I went with the classic Violent J facepaint and Matt decided to combine Violent J's look with Stitches defining mouth tattoo. I had assumed my final form as a full juggalo. There was no going back. Any sort of irony that was once involved in my attendance had been left behind--I was officially down with the clown. I ran around and tried to get some pictures of things I hadn't caught yet. It was kind of sweet to see how many grown men were applying makeup to each other's faces. Insane Clown Posse had managed to redefine masculinity and bring men together in an intimately, traditionally effeminate bonding experience. I watched Mushroomhead, another failed nu-metal band that I hadn't listened to since I was a teenager, then got up close for Waka Flocka Flame to see how the juggalos would respond to a nationally recognized, legitimately famous hip-hop and club artist. As soon as him and his entourage hit the stage, everything you could imagine was being flailed toward them. An entire cookout's worth of food, including corn on the cob, hotdogs, and soda were thrown at him. He confidently responded by eating some of it and asking for ketchup. His deejays fearlessly stood their ground behind the laptop as entire two-liter bottles of unopen soda were being thrown towards them. At first, I couldn't tell if the juggalos were angrily protesting or welcoming them in their own weird way. One group I stood next to were catapulting whatever they could find at the guy with a seemingly malicious determination, but once they ran out of weaponry, they stood there and happily bobbed their heads, dancing and nodding along to the music. Waka Flocka left the stage and performed most of his set deep in the midst of the crowd, eventually abandoning the songs altogether and just screaming, savagely banging his head and dreads to the beats with an intense, vacant, psychotic glimmer in his eyes. Soda and beer was flying everywhere. It was one of the craziest performances I'd ever seen. If being gangsta was anything at all, it was confronting the Gathering of the Juggalos with that level of courage. Machine Gun Kelly came on and performed embarrassing white boy rap that a bunch of particularly little girls appeared for.
By 11pm, it was time. An ominous vibration of energy shook the grounds surrounding us. You could physically feel the pulse of excitement welling up in the tens of thousands of people collecting near the stage. At first, I had this dream of crowdsurfing during their set for a selfie, but as more and more people piled in, I became increasingly more afraid of even being in the far-back. Juggalos came up with boxes of Faygo two-liters over their shoulders. Some were standing, just shaking their own. Before music even started, a few opened theirs to let it spray all over themselves and whoever was standing too close. One simply poured a whole bottle over themselves. We knew of "Faygo showers" and how integral a part of the Insane Clown Posse performance they were, but we did not truly understand to what extent the crowd would eventually be bathed in the stuff. The stage had a huge sculpture of the latest Joker's Card, The Missing Link (Found), looming over it from behind. At each end of the stage stood a fake tree stump, each filled with two-liters of diet Faygo root beer. I'd read they used diet to reduce how sticky it is. For the minutes leading up to their introduction, people were throwing things at the stage; glow sticks, streamers, firecrackers, beach balls and other floatation devices, bottles that were open and empty, bottles that were unopen and full. I got hit in the back of the head with an unopen can of beer pretty early in the game. Eventually, a man with a stick and a tophat came out and began announcing them in the vein of a carnival sideshow. Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J silently hit the stage while the crowd roared with hoarse voices. I didn't recognize the first song, nor the guest vocalist who joined them for it. Shaggy was fit and muscular and exhibited a lot more energy than his partner, Violent J, who was a very large man and seemed instantly fatigued. The speeds at which they zig-zagged from one side of the stage to the other were very different. J seemed exhausted and sluggish from the beginning. Literally and figuratively, the crowd exploded. Suddenly, Roman candles were being shot off by people. Professional grade fireworks were being lit from within the crowd. People were spitting, breathing, and spinning fire right in the middle of packs of people. And of course, bottles of Faygo were being thrown everywhere. By the end of the first song, a girl was being walked out by her friends, crying and covering one of her bloody eyes. Matt, Sacha, and I looked at each other in fear and immediately started falling back in the crowd.
Their second song was "Chicken Huntin'", a terribly stupid, older track about killing rednecks. A couple scarecrows in flannel button-ups and wearing the confederate flag as cape were thrown into the crowd, encouraging the juggalos to tear it to pieces as they'd been doing for years before the more recent controversy surrounding it. Insane Clown Posse hated racists and even had a song about murdering a teacher because he put the confederate flag up in the classroom entitled "Mr. Johnson's Head", a personal favorite of mine from back in the day. Monstrous clowns came out to throw things back into the crowd that had already accumulated on the stage. The crowd screamed the lyrics to every song back louder than either of member of ICP could muster through their microphones and the blaring speakers behind them. A rapi-fire light show of bright but dark colors shone and beamed everywhere. The bottles of diet soda in the tree stumps began to be taken out. Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope would nonchalantly pick one out, unscrew its cap, and give it a brief and slow shake with one hand while it sat underneath their arm pits. It would spontaneously begin spraying soda out from the crack like a burst fire hydrant. I could only assume they had Mentos inside of them or something. Without any exertion whatsoever, they would very calmly toss it in the air as gentle as releasing a butterfly and it would shoot like a star into the sky higher than the roof of the stage, a tail of flat diet soda spitting out from behind it. The juggalos front and center had to already be completely drenched, as clowns came out just to squeeze the contents of bottles of shaken soda all over them. The Faygo showers didn't cease for a single second during the performance. It didn't matter how far back we were in the crowd; bottles were reaching us and we were dodging them and other debris the entire time. I took pictures while my camera and myself got soaked. We were being baptized by the holy water of the juggalos and accepted into their church. On the stage, sermons were being recited by their clown-faced priests. Behind us, a lone girl in a bikini danced at the tip top of the sound booth, being called to climb back down by concerned juggalos. I could constantly feel the heat of nearby fireworks being set off and fire being spat out of the mouths of performers. While this was a religious experience for them, it felt like being stuck in the middle of a war zone for us. I sang along with songs I knew, particularly ones off of the "Great Milenko" album that I was a huge fan of when I was twelve. They seemed to avoid obvious singles like "Homies" and "Miracles" altogether. Every couple of songs, they would have a "Faygo break" where a short jingle about Faygo would play and a few clowns would come out and pour giant buckets of it all over the front of the crowd.
At the end of the hour-long performance, far shorter than I would have expected, they performed a song called "If I Was a Serial Killer", an epic eight-minute ballad that opened with piano and Violent J singing in his raspy voice that, if he were a serial killer, he would smoke the hair of his victims, "sleep on broken glass and thumbtacks", and "would smoke mad crack". Shaggy broke into a rap when the beat came in. This was their "Free Bird", and even stole some of the melody from Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was one of the most ridiculous songs I'd ever heard in my entire life, but the juggalos around me sang along like it was profound gospel. They were welled up with emotion, waving lighters and illuminated smartphones in the air. A hundred or more Chinese lanterns were lit and sent floating into the sky until they outnumbered the visible stars above us. One caught on fire. A repetition of "I wanna run with this hatchet!" began as some of the crowd started to rush the stage. Soda was flying everywhere we turned and a seemingly endless mist rained over us all as if a Faygo cloud had broke in the sky. It was nothing short of surreal. We evacuated and sought shelter at the Funhouse tent, which was empty for the first time all week. We sat at a picnic table and tried to recuperate. One of the dancers sat across from us and giggled like she was braindead at everything we said. She had seemed drugged out of her mind the entire festival and her tall, emaciated, geeky boyfriend had to have been imprisoning her in a relationship by shoveling a constant supply of drugs into her system or something. If you had seen her and seen him, you would see there was just no other possible explanation for their partnership. The three of us were drenched and overwhelmed.
Watch a video of some of the performance here:
After a couple minutes, we decided it was time to leave the Gathering. When we got to Matt's car, we quickly changed into dry clothes, though there was no way to fully shed the Faygo skin that had formed over our bodies. On the way, Sacha took a brand new Jeckel Brothers t-shirt that was draped over the car that had been signed by everyone. It was to be mine. We drove silently into the night, unsure of how far we'd make it before Matt tapped out. We stopped thirty or so miles away at a truck stop. Parked, I turned to my right and saw two older women in their car pointing and laughing at me. Matt and I were still in full face paint. It had somehow survived the Faygo Armageddon. We rushed into the gas station and to the bathroom, where washing it off was far harder than either of us had anticipated. Lots of warm water and vigorous scrubbing with paper towel were all we had to work with for the half hour it took to get it all off our skin. I had to accept that it'd be hardened in my beard for at least another couple of days. Sacha and I ate Subway and hung out for a little while. Matt passed right out in the driver's seat. We'd survived. More than that, I felt as though we had been accepted by a truly unique subculture that I knew I would never look at the same way ever again.
Skotty and her crew.
The Neden Game.
Two pictures Matt had sent me from his own sightings: another clown, and a lone Travis Tritt fan.
The literate Juggalo wifi.
When I took that first picture, that guy didn't know I had a camera on him. He was just sitting there like that, in suspended animation. Then his friend jumped in. Juggalos were always excited for a photo op.
The Faygo bar at the Funhouse.
The nine-year old girl who won the Pringles can of money at the Gong Show was running around and asking for money at the request of her aunt and uncle...
FreakShow Deluxe.
The Miss Juggalette Pageant.
A cute dog we'd seen the day before had become a drug dealer.
I assume my final form as a full juggalo.
Tall Matt morphing into a juggalo/Stitches fanboy hybrid.
Juggabros for life.
Sacha wasn't as down with the clown as we were.
That lone juggalo in full facepaint looking overwhelmed in the background of Waka Flocka completely losing his mind? That's me.
Some ninjas catapulting food at Waka.
INSANE CLOWN POSSE. One of the scariest live music performances I've ever attended.
Recuperating.
So how did I feel about juggalos as a whole after this whole experience? What did I learn? Well, first and foremost, I gained a newfound respect for them on just about all fronts. I'd immersed myself in so many different subcultures over the years, always thinking I'd found my home here or there before inevitably winding up betrayed, disappointed, and jaded. Even in the punk scene, I wound up feeling just as alienated, and like the subculture itself was ultimately just as hypocritical and consumerist as the regular world. At the Gathering of the Juggalos, I was automatically accepted and welcome with open arms. It didn't matter that I was vegan or straightedge or ugly or chubby or poor; I was family by default just by being there. The solidarity, unity, and togetherness I experienced at the Gathering was impenetrable and pure, unlike any community I'd ever tried to be a member of. The respect shared amongst everyone there was genuinely unconditional. Matt and I were treated better at the Gathering than anywhere we'd ever gone before. We were used to being treated like lepers and social pariahs no matter where we went. But even before we could open our mouths, we fit right in the moment we got in line on that first day. It didn't matter what or who we knew, what we wore; everyone around us had our backs and assumed we were worthy of their utmost respect. We could go anywhere in that venue and be warmly welcomed into any conversation. As chaotic, sketchy, and unfamiliar as it all was, I'd never felt so comfortable and safe before.
Despite the lyrical content of much of the labels' frontrunners' music, the low IQs and largely poor and uneducated backgrounds of many juggalos, and the rage that clearly lived within the hearts of just about everyone there, no juggalo wanted to inflict harm on anyone (other than that rapist that one night). Juggalos wanted to have fun, let loose, break free, and just be themselves in the only environment in which they truly could. None of them wanted to hurt anyone and no one thought they were better than anyone else they shared that festival ground with, except maybe the police. As a whole, I think they are some of the most fun, free, kind, open-minded, and accepting people I’ve ever met. I have never experienced such a warm embrace and strong sense of community in any other subculture. I have immense respect for them all at this point and can only blame my area code’s bad apples on why I at one point hated them all. A lot of them were pretty fucking annoying and gross, and a lot of what they did was confusing or corny to me, but the good far outweighed the bad. They were generally accepting of all people, were adamantly anti-racist, whoop-whooped the recent legalization of gay marriage, embraced feminism and respected women, and exhibited more diversity than any subculture I'd ever participated in. The only thing that saddened me was that a community so large didn’t seem to really hold any relevant core beliefs or stand for anything greater, and that most of them were abusers of drugs and alcohol.
It’s also worth noting that these festivals, which have been going on for sixteen years straight, are put together independently and without any corporate sponsorship. As for how I feel about the music itself... well, it’s not that great. I love hip-hop old and new, mainstream and independent, but most of these guys in clown makeup have no flow whatsoever and just are not good at putting words and thoughts together when they spit. Some of the beats and production are fucking awesome, but Insane Clown Posse in particular have not grown one bit as lyricists and rappers, even if some of their songs are fun, can make me bob my head, and say things I can get behind. I still respect them as truly independent artists who have started a multi-million dollar DIY record label and one of the strongest followings of any musical act. When all is said and done, I think that the hardcore and punk scene could learn a lot from the juggalos.
Sunday, July 26th
On our way back to Philadelphia, we saw other juggalos making their own treks back home on the highway and at rest stops. From that point forward, every time I'd see a hatchetman, I'd proudly feel as if I were in on a secret only a few knew. We stopped in Bethlehem to eat some sweets at Vegan Treats. It was Tia's birthday and we made sure that we'd be celebrating it with her, even if the Gathering got in the way a little bit. Matt and I got her her ideal cake pre-made by Vegan Treats, a chocolate peanut butter cake with peanut butter cups on top. Last minute, to make it even more perfect for her, I topped it with a big dead moth I'd scraped off of the front of Matt's car that was still pretty well preserved. When we got back to the house, we ate it with her and then went out to dinner to celebrate and so Matt and I could share our story.
A chicken and waffles doughnut.
Tia's birthday cake from Vegan Treats, topped with a big, dead moth.
DAY FOUR.
I woke up in a daze to some interesting conversations happening between my next door neighbors.
"I had a granola bar... and then drugs, hehehehe," one girl happily recalled to her friend.
Another guy, upset that she was talking, started screaming at her, "SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH! SOME OF US ARE TRYING TA SLEEP! WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BITCH?!" It was a little over the top.
So I got up and met Matt. We didn't have anything to look forward to yet on our final day at the Gathering, so we went to something a little more low-key: an art contest at the Seminar Tent, where what looked like over a hundred juggalos had submitted paintings, drawings, sculptures, and more. Some of it looked like the type of artwork a child would bring up to mom and dad from school and have hung up on the refrigerator; others were high-quality, elaborate portraits dedicated to Psychopathic. The judges very carefully perused every table, including the wife of the family who owned the concert grounds, a self-proclaimed juggalette herself. I watched a man smoke a yellow powder across from me. We were out of food and had been invited to Skotty's camp, where she promised to share some of the vegan bounty she had brought along with her. This wasn't her first Gathering, so she came more prepared than we obviously had, with healthier, more logical food. As she cut up a pineapple, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Her crew wasn't vegan, but they were awfully nice about us being vegans, declaring us "vegalos" (vee-guh-lows), the least clever name for a vegan juggalo possible. Matt had a box of PETA materials that he intended on handing out at some point during the festival. I was at first confident about helping him with that, but by day four, had absolutely no faith in juggalos accepting our vegan propaganda. Skotty mentioned helping, but quickly informed us that she would be tripping on LSD later in the day. The plan to spread the vegan gospel was eventually abandoned altogether; none of us had the guts.
The first event of the day over at the Carousel Stage was The Neden Game, a crass dating game based off of the song by Insane Clown Posse. The first date was some dude. Five juggalettes came out to try and win a date with him. As with all old dating game shows, the date and potential neden did not know what the other looked like. The guy read some questions off of cards and, as expected, the juggalettes responded in hypersexual, perverse ways through confident but spacey tangents, talking like drunkards about Pop Rocks and blowjobs and rough sex. One of the many Goregous Girl babes were participating, a girl named Candi who I'd been gawking at since day one. She was petite and honestly looked underage, but had a great butt, cute teeth, and freckles. She had participated in just about ever juggalette-centered contest there had been so far and was skilled at dancing like a stripper and talking dirty like a porn star. The only thing she failed at was when the dating game had each contestant try to say one mean thing about each of their competition. She told the older woman, whose boobs were free and hanging, that she looked like Hulk Hogan. In the end, she won, perhaps in part due to the cheers she got from the crowd of horny juggalos. A juggalette date came up next and owned her throne while she talked shit to all the pathetic dudes who came up to try and win her affections. The five guys who first came up were so inarticulate, nervous, and lost that they actually kicked them all off and replaced them with another five midway through the game. The second batch wasn't much better, but one guy in particular stood out with his boisterous and detailed responses, where he swung his over-sized metal hatchetman pendant and talked about how he would take her out on a date to McDonald's, let her choose something from the dollar menu, and then fuck her for three minutes before nutting on her back. He was hysterical, a true juggalo poet and romantic, and won a date with the beautiful 'lette he fought for. A ninja with a broken pinky holding a sign saying "NIPZ 4 NIPZ" exchanged a flash of the nipples with me and then began to follow us.
We hung out at the Funhouse tent again until the next stage show at the Carousel grounds. FreakShow Deluxe was set to put on a performance of sideshow stunts. They had been holding it down each night at Bizarro World, putting on a smaller version of their set under the stars and amidst bales of hay seats and drunk juggalos. According to them, they had passed up one of the country's biggest biker events to make sure they were available for the Gathering. I was genuinely excited to see it and, it being the Gathering, I expected some fucked-up shit. Unfortunately, a lot of it was pretty traditional, and I already knew how much of it worked, which drained most of it of the magic it clearly had for the rest of the crowd. Stuff like straitjacket escapes, walking on glass, and laying on a bed of spikes were rushed through, evoking gasps, shocked whoop-whoops, and childlike awe from the juggalos, but I understood how such stunts worked and was left bored and unimpressed. A lot of it was pretty cool, though, and the performers at the forefront, Reverend Tommy Gunn and Miss Malice Aforethought, were entertaining with their stage presence. They burst onto stage with circular saws, playing them against steel or each other, Tommy Gunn lighting a cigarette with the sparks that were flying everywhere. You could smell the heat from beneath the stage. A girl walked up a tiny step ladder with machetes in place of rungs. Reverend Gunn hung heavy items like a chandelier from the piercings in his nipples and eventually his dick. Miss Malice let a mouse trap snap on her tongue and seductively deepthroated a very long balloon. Some fire-breathing was performed. The grand finale had Reverend Gunn setting off a giant pack of firecrackers taped to his chest. Free stickers were thrown out to the crowd and we were left to stand and wait for the highly anticipated Miss Juggalette Pageant while hipsters from VICE loaded up in front of the barrier to take pictures with outdated cameras while texting incessantly.
Before the juggalette feminists of 'Lette Respect took it over, the Miss Juggalette Pageant had been co-opted by porn star Ron Jeremy and was turned into just another hypersexualized misogynist's wet dream. This year, it was about empowering the juggalettes, even if and regardless of whether or not they showed off their body parts. I had seen juggalettes respond to catcalls and propositions with, "'Lette Respect, 'Lette Respect," and be respectfully, instantly let off the hook from any further harassment. In the festival's official program, it said, "This pageant is all about paying homage to the beauty, wit, and strength that is inherent in all our juggalettes." I made friends with a large, freckled ninja who was from near Philly and whose girlfriend was participating. He was very excited to see his partner up on stage and it was actually kind of cute. The host, who struggled through the whole event, saying he was in a "wilted state" from four days of no sleep, Red Bull, and lettuce, said the word "digress" at least a hundred times. He introduced the judges, two of which were wrestlers from the JCW, Juggalo Championship Wrestling. A third juggalo from the crowd was brought up, a soft-spoken Detroit native of few words named Kyle with a developmental disorder of some kind. They brought out the previous year's Queen Juggalette and ex-JCW champion Too Tuff Tony made a comment about her "big-ass funbags". The host asked him, "Is that the first thing you noticed?!" and added, "Sure, she has some bomb-ass titties, but I'm sayin' she's also a bomb-ass person, ya know what I'm sayin'?" It was cool to see the integrity of the pageant maintained and the crowd respect it with enthusiastic whoops. The first round was all about personality, which was largely lacking in the wake of eccentricity, social awkwardness, and sexuality with each contestant. The contestants were diverse, though, and most were at least buzzing with confidence and energy. The second contestant, Christine, when asked to list three of her best qualities, could only come up with two: personality and being very outgoing. A few juggalos in the crowd suggested the third be "good neden". Another contestant had also participated in the lingerie contest: an older woman named Kat from Bloomington, Indiana, of all places, who looked like just another middle-class white mom. One of the first juggalettes to come out announced that she was, in fact, a witch. One of the VICE girls turned to her colleague and said, "Same." It was weird to have a Tumblr presence at the Gathering. Honeycomb the Enchantress was visibly pregnant. Alice D was as loud as anyone with a microphone. A tiny cutie named Squirrel whose voice, stature, and cheeks matched her nickname came up and stole the hearts of many, dressed up as Xena Warrior Princess. She shared that Insane Clown Posse encouraged and inspired her to never take no for an answer and to get what she wanted, which lead her to study marine biology. "We're about to have a juggalette under the fucking sea!" the host exclaimed. Pebbles came up and, rather than really saying anything, began throwing out free bags of cotton candy. Lilith Astaroth was the lead singer of a metal band and let out a "whoop whoop" in a death metal growl. One cross-eyed girl came on stage and, when asked what her favorite movie was, answered with Scary Movie in an Elmer Fudd speech impediment, saying she "liked scawy stuff". She fell when trying to exit the stage down the ramp provided. There were seventeen contestants in total.
The second round had them show off their talents, which included a broad array of questionable skills, such as making their eyes shake, poi, rapping, playing with fire, spoken word, and pole dancing. Many of them resorted to seductive lapdances and showed off their impeccable skills in twerking and making their asses drop to the floor. One juggalette of color came out and spit an acapella, politically charged and surprisingly insightful rap against the government, poverty, the police, and racism, superior in skill to most of the rappers who were signed by the Psychopathic label. Miss Cyainide came up and rapped to her own produced beat and went on to be the center focus of a VICE Broadly report. The older woman came up and it was announced that she was a residential counselor. Further cementing her place as the least likely attendee of the Gathering, at least as far as I could see, her talent was crocheting, and she had a Minion she made to show off; she had done in a week for her husband. The witch returned to the stage and sang a monotone industrial rock love song about her dildo. Honeycomb did a fiercely feminist spoken word piece about her own noncomformity that was actually as clever as it was funny, not allowing the signal of the deejay sound effect interrupt her fierce flow.
"I don't 'Keep Up with the Kardashians', I don't give a fuck about Taylor Swift. I'd much rather talk about the paranormal, conspiracies, and horror flicks. I'm a chick with an an attitude. If you're gonna be rude, don't expect me to just take it. I got a sharp tongue for the truth ... I love piercings and tattoos 'cause scars are proof of a life well-lived. And I don't give a fuck if the paint on my nails is chipped. I don't tan, my porcelain skin glows beautifully in the moonlight. And that skin is mine, I'll flaunt what I like and let my freak flag fly."
They practically had to force her to stop. I felt her entire poem perfectly embodied everything the 'Lettes Respect concept and the Pageant was meant to represent. Squirrel continued to steal my heart by reciting a Yo-Landi Visser verse from a Die Antwoord song in a perfect impression of her high-pitched, chihuahua voice, all with a bottle of orange Faygo in hand. A tall, thin Goregous model tried to pass off "gore" as a talent, which really just involved her pouring fake blood in to her mouth and letting it drool all over her body as she spit it at the crowd. Lilith performed some crazy screaming and singing vocals over a pre-recorded melodic metal track. Another juggalette of color danced while showing off her homemade bazooka catapult. Lastly, we had the swimsuit round, which obviously had all the juggalettes show off their goods. Just about every juggalette could dance like a professional escort at a club and no difference in ass type prevented them from twerking their little hearts out. Pebbles came out with a big and red clown nose and pair of oversized shoes, bearing an axe. It was so sexually conflicting, because she was a babe, but dressed up as one of the things I hated most: a clown. In the end, even though it seemed everyone loved Squirrel, she was only runner-up to Alice D. Watch the whole thing below:
Click to viewWe had five hours before the main event: the one and only Insane Clown Posse headlining the Gathering at the Big Top stage. The excitement was mounting and we wanted to be prepared for it, though we weren't so sure of how to be or even what kind of chaos to expect. Deep down, we knew it would be unlike anything we had ever experienced. We had kidney beans, rice, and fries for dinner and watched some of the girls dancing at the Funhouse tent. Matt and I were determined to have our faces fully painted in time for ICP and patiently waited in line at the booth where a woman was doing it for only $12. I was next after a dorky, bald man who mentioned in a nasally voice being a writer for The Onion and an author of an e-book on Amazon. I sat on the ground to rest my legs while drinking water. The potheads next to us who were selling merch offered me alcohol. I went with the classic Violent J facepaint and Matt decided to combine Violent J's look with Stitches defining mouth tattoo. I had assumed my final form as a full juggalo. There was no going back. Any sort of irony that was once involved in my attendance had been left behind--I was officially down with the clown. I ran around and tried to get some pictures of things I hadn't caught yet. It was kind of sweet to see how many grown men were applying makeup to each other's faces. Insane Clown Posse had managed to redefine masculinity and bring men together in an intimately, traditionally effeminate bonding experience. I watched Mushroomhead, another failed nu-metal band that I hadn't listened to since I was a teenager, then got up close for Waka Flocka Flame to see how the juggalos would respond to a nationally recognized, legitimately famous hip-hop and club artist. As soon as him and his entourage hit the stage, everything you could imagine was being flailed toward them. An entire cookout's worth of food, including corn on the cob, hotdogs, and soda were thrown at him. He confidently responded by eating some of it and asking for ketchup. His deejays fearlessly stood their ground behind the laptop as entire two-liter bottles of unopen soda were being thrown towards them. At first, I couldn't tell if the juggalos were angrily protesting or welcoming them in their own weird way. One group I stood next to were catapulting whatever they could find at the guy with a seemingly malicious determination, but once they ran out of weaponry, they stood there and happily bobbed their heads, dancing and nodding along to the music. Waka Flocka left the stage and performed most of his set deep in the midst of the crowd, eventually abandoning the songs altogether and just screaming, savagely banging his head and dreads to the beats with an intense, vacant, psychotic glimmer in his eyes. Soda and beer was flying everywhere. It was one of the craziest performances I'd ever seen. If being gangsta was anything at all, it was confronting the Gathering of the Juggalos with that level of courage. Machine Gun Kelly came on and performed embarrassing white boy rap that a bunch of particularly little girls appeared for.
By 11pm, it was time. An ominous vibration of energy shook the grounds surrounding us. You could physically feel the pulse of excitement welling up in the tens of thousands of people collecting near the stage. At first, I had this dream of crowdsurfing during their set for a selfie, but as more and more people piled in, I became increasingly more afraid of even being in the far-back. Juggalos came up with boxes of Faygo two-liters over their shoulders. Some were standing, just shaking their own. Before music even started, a few opened theirs to let it spray all over themselves and whoever was standing too close. One simply poured a whole bottle over themselves. We knew of "Faygo showers" and how integral a part of the Insane Clown Posse performance they were, but we did not truly understand to what extent the crowd would eventually be bathed in the stuff. The stage had a huge sculpture of the latest Joker's Card, The Missing Link (Found), looming over it from behind. At each end of the stage stood a fake tree stump, each filled with two-liters of diet Faygo root beer. I'd read they used diet to reduce how sticky it is. For the minutes leading up to their introduction, people were throwing things at the stage; glow sticks, streamers, firecrackers, beach balls and other floatation devices, bottles that were open and empty, bottles that were unopen and full. I got hit in the back of the head with an unopen can of beer pretty early in the game. Eventually, a man with a stick and a tophat came out and began announcing them in the vein of a carnival sideshow. Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J silently hit the stage while the crowd roared with hoarse voices. I didn't recognize the first song, nor the guest vocalist who joined them for it. Shaggy was fit and muscular and exhibited a lot more energy than his partner, Violent J, who was a very large man and seemed instantly fatigued. The speeds at which they zig-zagged from one side of the stage to the other were very different. J seemed exhausted and sluggish from the beginning. Literally and figuratively, the crowd exploded. Suddenly, Roman candles were being shot off by people. Professional grade fireworks were being lit from within the crowd. People were spitting, breathing, and spinning fire right in the middle of packs of people. And of course, bottles of Faygo were being thrown everywhere. By the end of the first song, a girl was being walked out by her friends, crying and covering one of her bloody eyes. Matt, Sacha, and I looked at each other in fear and immediately started falling back in the crowd.
Their second song was "Chicken Huntin'", a terribly stupid, older track about killing rednecks. A couple scarecrows in flannel button-ups and wearing the confederate flag as cape were thrown into the crowd, encouraging the juggalos to tear it to pieces as they'd been doing for years before the more recent controversy surrounding it. Insane Clown Posse hated racists and even had a song about murdering a teacher because he put the confederate flag up in the classroom entitled "Mr. Johnson's Head", a personal favorite of mine from back in the day. Monstrous clowns came out to throw things back into the crowd that had already accumulated on the stage. The crowd screamed the lyrics to every song back louder than either of member of ICP could muster through their microphones and the blaring speakers behind them. A rapi-fire light show of bright but dark colors shone and beamed everywhere. The bottles of diet soda in the tree stumps began to be taken out. Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope would nonchalantly pick one out, unscrew its cap, and give it a brief and slow shake with one hand while it sat underneath their arm pits. It would spontaneously begin spraying soda out from the crack like a burst fire hydrant. I could only assume they had Mentos inside of them or something. Without any exertion whatsoever, they would very calmly toss it in the air as gentle as releasing a butterfly and it would shoot like a star into the sky higher than the roof of the stage, a tail of flat diet soda spitting out from behind it. The juggalos front and center had to already be completely drenched, as clowns came out just to squeeze the contents of bottles of shaken soda all over them. The Faygo showers didn't cease for a single second during the performance. It didn't matter how far back we were in the crowd; bottles were reaching us and we were dodging them and other debris the entire time. I took pictures while my camera and myself got soaked. We were being baptized by the holy water of the juggalos and accepted into their church. On the stage, sermons were being recited by their clown-faced priests. Behind us, a lone girl in a bikini danced at the tip top of the sound booth, being called to climb back down by concerned juggalos. I could constantly feel the heat of nearby fireworks being set off and fire being spat out of the mouths of performers. While this was a religious experience for them, it felt like being stuck in the middle of a war zone for us. I sang along with songs I knew, particularly ones off of the "Great Milenko" album that I was a huge fan of when I was twelve. They seemed to avoid obvious singles like "Homies" and "Miracles" altogether. Every couple of songs, they would have a "Faygo break" where a short jingle about Faygo would play and a few clowns would come out and pour giant buckets of it all over the front of the crowd.
At the end of the hour-long performance, far shorter than I would have expected, they performed a song called "If I Was a Serial Killer", an epic eight-minute ballad that opened with piano and Violent J singing in his raspy voice that, if he were a serial killer, he would smoke the hair of his victims, "sleep on broken glass and thumbtacks", and "would smoke mad crack". Shaggy broke into a rap when the beat came in. This was their "Free Bird", and even stole some of the melody from Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was one of the most ridiculous songs I'd ever heard in my entire life, but the juggalos around me sang along like it was profound gospel. They were welled up with emotion, waving lighters and illuminated smartphones in the air. A hundred or more Chinese lanterns were lit and sent floating into the sky until they outnumbered the visible stars above us. One caught on fire. A repetition of "I wanna run with this hatchet!" began as some of the crowd started to rush the stage. Soda was flying everywhere we turned and a seemingly endless mist rained over us all as if a Faygo cloud had broke in the sky. It was nothing short of surreal. We evacuated and sought shelter at the Funhouse tent, which was empty for the first time all week. We sat at a picnic table and tried to recuperate. One of the dancers sat across from us and giggled like she was braindead at everything we said. She had seemed drugged out of her mind the entire festival and her tall, emaciated, geeky boyfriend had to have been imprisoning her in a relationship by shoveling a constant supply of drugs into her system or something. If you had seen her and seen him, you would see there was just no other possible explanation for their partnership. The three of us were drenched and overwhelmed.
Watch a video of some of the performance here:
After a couple minutes, we decided it was time to leave the Gathering. When we got to Matt's car, we quickly changed into dry clothes, though there was no way to fully shed the Faygo skin that had formed over our bodies. On the way, Sacha took a brand new Jeckel Brothers t-shirt that was draped over the car that had been signed by everyone. It was to be mine. We drove silently into the night, unsure of how far we'd make it before Matt tapped out. We stopped thirty or so miles away at a truck stop. Parked, I turned to my right and saw two older women in their car pointing and laughing at me. Matt and I were still in full face paint. It had somehow survived the Faygo Armageddon. We rushed into the gas station and to the bathroom, where washing it off was far harder than either of us had anticipated. Lots of warm water and vigorous scrubbing with paper towel were all we had to work with for the half hour it took to get it all off our skin. I had to accept that it'd be hardened in my beard for at least another couple of days. Sacha and I ate Subway and hung out for a little while. Matt passed right out in the driver's seat. We'd survived. More than that, I felt as though we had been accepted by a truly unique subculture that I knew I would never look at the same way ever again.
Skotty and her crew.
The Neden Game.
Two pictures Matt had sent me from his own sightings: another clown, and a lone Travis Tritt fan.
The literate Juggalo wifi.
When I took that first picture, that guy didn't know I had a camera on him. He was just sitting there like that, in suspended animation. Then his friend jumped in. Juggalos were always excited for a photo op.
The Faygo bar at the Funhouse.
The nine-year old girl who won the Pringles can of money at the Gong Show was running around and asking for money at the request of her aunt and uncle...
FreakShow Deluxe.
The Miss Juggalette Pageant.
A cute dog we'd seen the day before had become a drug dealer.
I assume my final form as a full juggalo.
Tall Matt morphing into a juggalo/Stitches fanboy hybrid.
Juggabros for life.
Sacha wasn't as down with the clown as we were.
That lone juggalo in full facepaint looking overwhelmed in the background of Waka Flocka completely losing his mind? That's me.
Some ninjas catapulting food at Waka.
INSANE CLOWN POSSE. One of the scariest live music performances I've ever attended.
Recuperating.
So how did I feel about juggalos as a whole after this whole experience? What did I learn? Well, first and foremost, I gained a newfound respect for them on just about all fronts. I'd immersed myself in so many different subcultures over the years, always thinking I'd found my home here or there before inevitably winding up betrayed, disappointed, and jaded. Even in the punk scene, I wound up feeling just as alienated, and like the subculture itself was ultimately just as hypocritical and consumerist as the regular world. At the Gathering of the Juggalos, I was automatically accepted and welcome with open arms. It didn't matter that I was vegan or straightedge or ugly or chubby or poor; I was family by default just by being there. The solidarity, unity, and togetherness I experienced at the Gathering was impenetrable and pure, unlike any community I'd ever tried to be a member of. The respect shared amongst everyone there was genuinely unconditional. Matt and I were treated better at the Gathering than anywhere we'd ever gone before. We were used to being treated like lepers and social pariahs no matter where we went. But even before we could open our mouths, we fit right in the moment we got in line on that first day. It didn't matter what or who we knew, what we wore; everyone around us had our backs and assumed we were worthy of their utmost respect. We could go anywhere in that venue and be warmly welcomed into any conversation. As chaotic, sketchy, and unfamiliar as it all was, I'd never felt so comfortable and safe before.
Despite the lyrical content of much of the labels' frontrunners' music, the low IQs and largely poor and uneducated backgrounds of many juggalos, and the rage that clearly lived within the hearts of just about everyone there, no juggalo wanted to inflict harm on anyone (other than that rapist that one night). Juggalos wanted to have fun, let loose, break free, and just be themselves in the only environment in which they truly could. None of them wanted to hurt anyone and no one thought they were better than anyone else they shared that festival ground with, except maybe the police. As a whole, I think they are some of the most fun, free, kind, open-minded, and accepting people I’ve ever met. I have never experienced such a warm embrace and strong sense of community in any other subculture. I have immense respect for them all at this point and can only blame my area code’s bad apples on why I at one point hated them all. A lot of them were pretty fucking annoying and gross, and a lot of what they did was confusing or corny to me, but the good far outweighed the bad. They were generally accepting of all people, were adamantly anti-racist, whoop-whooped the recent legalization of gay marriage, embraced feminism and respected women, and exhibited more diversity than any subculture I'd ever participated in. The only thing that saddened me was that a community so large didn’t seem to really hold any relevant core beliefs or stand for anything greater, and that most of them were abusers of drugs and alcohol.
It’s also worth noting that these festivals, which have been going on for sixteen years straight, are put together independently and without any corporate sponsorship. As for how I feel about the music itself... well, it’s not that great. I love hip-hop old and new, mainstream and independent, but most of these guys in clown makeup have no flow whatsoever and just are not good at putting words and thoughts together when they spit. Some of the beats and production are fucking awesome, but Insane Clown Posse in particular have not grown one bit as lyricists and rappers, even if some of their songs are fun, can make me bob my head, and say things I can get behind. I still respect them as truly independent artists who have started a multi-million dollar DIY record label and one of the strongest followings of any musical act. When all is said and done, I think that the hardcore and punk scene could learn a lot from the juggalos.
Sunday, July 26th
On our way back to Philadelphia, we saw other juggalos making their own treks back home on the highway and at rest stops. From that point forward, every time I'd see a hatchetman, I'd proudly feel as if I were in on a secret only a few knew. We stopped in Bethlehem to eat some sweets at Vegan Treats. It was Tia's birthday and we made sure that we'd be celebrating it with her, even if the Gathering got in the way a little bit. Matt and I got her her ideal cake pre-made by Vegan Treats, a chocolate peanut butter cake with peanut butter cups on top. Last minute, to make it even more perfect for her, I topped it with a big dead moth I'd scraped off of the front of Matt's car that was still pretty well preserved. When we got back to the house, we ate it with her and then went out to dinner to celebrate and so Matt and I could share our story.
A chicken and waffles doughnut.
Tia's birthday cake from Vegan Treats, topped with a big, dead moth.