I just can't get enough.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I am hopelessly, shamelessly addicted to media narratives of visiting the Gathering of the Juggalos.

http://www.vice.com/read/land-of-juggalos-v14n10

"Every year there's some sort of swimming hole at the Gathering," Daff told me, "The guys from Twiztid dubbed it 'Lake Hepatitis.' I'm not sure what happened with the fish, but they weren't floating like this the first day."

Maybe runny face paint had thrown off the ph balance, I suggested.

"Maybe. Folks were slapping each other with them when they first started surfacing."

I was having a bit of a hard time reconciling all the weird spiritual and individual-empowerment business with the general adolescent dumb I'd been basting in all day. The few people I'd talked to so far had been really well-spoken and thoughtful, but it seemed like everyone around me was inarticulate to the point of it being sort of endearing. Daff was able to put it into concrete terms:

"The thing with ICP is there are very few sort of 'casual fans.' I'd say people who like the music but don't consider themselves Juggalos make up maybe five to ten percent of their overall fanbase. The rest are the type of kids you see here."

I was momentarily distracted as we passed by a pavilion full of ninjas bouncing a beach ball to the strains of "Help Me, Ronda."

"Oh, that's Violent J's Beach Boys Blowout Beach Blast, or some other alliteration," Daff informed me. "He's really into the Beach Boys."

After I regained my composure, he resumed his explanation.

"Then there's five or ten percent of Juggalos at the other end of the spectrum who are the sort of people I like to hang out with. They're the type who really think about the whole Dark Carnival and are into things like the Quest for Shangri-La and Morton's List." He took a minute to choose his next words. "There's sort of an opinion about Juggalos, that a lot aren't very bright—"

There was a sudden eruption of cheering down the hill from us, where the Love Train had just rolled behind some trees.

"You know what that is, right?" Daff asked me.

"Titty-flash?" I hazarded as a guess.

Daff nodded gravely.

[Don Coyote]

I am hopelessly, shamelessly addicted to media narratives of visiting the Gathering of the Juggalos.

http://www.vice.com/read/land-of-juggalos-v14n10

"Every year there's some sort of swimming hole at the Gathering," Daff told me, "The guys from Twiztid dubbed it 'Lake Hepatitis.' I'm not sure what happened with the fish, but they weren't floating like this the first day."

Maybe runny face paint had thrown off the ph balance, I suggested.

"Maybe. Folks were slapping each other with them when they first started surfacing."

I was having a bit of a hard time reconciling all the weird spiritual and individual-empowerment business with the general adolescent dumb I'd been basting in all day. The few people I'd talked to so far had been really well-spoken and thoughtful, but it seemed like everyone around me was inarticulate to the point of it being sort of endearing. Daff was able to put it into concrete terms:

"The thing with ICP is there are very few sort of 'casual fans.' I'd say people who like the music but don't consider themselves Juggalos make up maybe five to ten percent of their overall fanbase. The rest are the type of kids you see here."

I was momentarily distracted as we passed by a pavilion full of ninjas bouncing a beach ball to the strains of "Help Me, Ronda."

"Oh, that's Violent J's Beach Boys Blowout Beach Blast, or some other alliteration," Daff informed me. "He's really into the Beach Boys."

After I regained my composure, he resumed his explanation.

"Then there's five or ten percent of Juggalos at the other end of the spectrum who are the sort of people I like to hang out with. They're the type who really think about the whole Dark Carnival and are into things like the Quest for Shangri-La and Morton's List." He took a minute to choose his next words. "There's sort of an opinion about Juggalos, that a lot aren't very bright—"

There was a sudden eruption of cheering down the hill from us, where the Love Train had just rolled behind some trees.

"You know what that is, right?" Daff asked me.

"Titty-flash?" I hazarded as a guess.

Daff nodded gravely.

I think it's time we had an intervention, if only to save those poor Juggalos from your predations.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I need to go to them. My people need me!

[Sir Squid Diddimus]

 

[Don Coyote]

I need to go to them. My people need me!

First she came for the Sasquatch, and I said nothing.
Next she came for the Yeti, and I said nothing.
Then she came for the Juggulos, and still I said nothing.

[Doktor Howl]

In our QC lab, there is a machine called the ICP, which uses high power magnetic fields to test particle size.  I shit you not.

I do not know how it works.

[EK WAFFLR]

In our QC lab, there is a machine called the ICP, which uses high power magnetic fields to test particle size.  I shit you not.

I do not know how it works.

That's the best thing I've heard all week. 

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

In our QC lab, there is a machine called the ICP, which uses high power magnetic fields to test particle size.  I shit you not.

I do not know how it works.

That is so wonderful!

[Triple Zero]

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

There is a research database called ICPSR, which is, surprisingly, not about retired Juggalos.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Tonight I am going to check out a place in Vancouver called "Legends Food & Fun" with Space Cowboy & Space Ninja. From my research there is high probability that it is a Juggalo bar. They have $2 all-you-can-eat tacos on Tuesdays.

Of course, I am wondering how many tacos we can eat!

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I bet it is fewer tacos than it would take to get full.

[Sir Squid Diddimus]

In our QC lab, there is a machine called the ICP, which uses high power magnetic fields to test particle size.  I shit you not.

I do not know how it works.

You kill my guts.

Also- eat the shit out of those tacos. Till it HURTS with PAIN.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

We ended up not able to get across the bridge into Washington, so we gave up and ate fried chicken instead.

We will try again!