And, quoted directly from Memepool
: "They have their own personals
[edit: and many others
], their own slang
, their own philosophy
, and a combined IQ of about 85. Oh, and their own porn
They've also got weblog rings
, online communities
, all that jazz. Not that any of that is surprising.
Someone should market some kind of ICP-themed stuffed toys, like those Grateful Dead beanie babies
from some years back. How many juggalos (or maybe it's -oes (spelling isn't particularly popular with this crowd)) are maladjusted tweens and teenagers, overflowing with hormone-fueled, facile emotion? How many ICP fans are in the kind of doomed relationship that's sustained mainly by the flow of gifts? How many ICP fans like having a bunch of stupid shit on the dashboard of their car? These no-talent troglodytes are more successful salesmen than anyone this side of Kiss
(uh, I mean, KISS)--people like Eminem
could learn something about marketing from the Insane Clown Posse, just like ICP could... well, you see where I'm going with this.
All this juggalo talk reminds me of at least two things--first, of this Douglas Rushkoff
-hosted documentary, 'The Merchants of Cool
.' The clowns (or is it 'klowns'? Nah, fuck that. I only spell K-words with K.) make a brief appearance in a documentary that's largely about the mook
, the midriff
and the feedback loop
, but Rushkoff comes off downright fascinated by the world of ICP. He theorizes that the only way teenagers can resist having their fandom corrupted by big business is by attaching themselves to something utterly, repellently unmarketable. Later, he notes that the Clowns, at the time of filming, were wrapping up an MTV-style video (after signing to Island
--the same people that sued Negativland
') and preparing some kind of pro wrestling
joint venture with the wild and woolly ECW
, (which has itself since been subsumed into the WWE
(WWF before a World Wildlife Federation
lawsuit), though ECW survived long enough to make some fairly awful video games
And also, years ago, a then-pal (who shall remain nameless) and I (we'd met in Women's Studies
courses) rented and watched (albeit with a lot of fast-forwarding) some clown-themed pornography. It was quite a letdown--very standard stuff, except that, say, dude would be wearing a red nose, like that. We were expecting the establishing scenes to be both longer and more bizarre. No dice.
What is it with people and clowns? A book I enjoyed, not long ago, Mark Dery
's 'The Pyrotechnic Insanitarium: American Culture on the Brink
,' treats the issue. It seems like the kind of thing that should have been covered in Daniel Harris
' 'Cute, Quaint, Hungry and Romantic: The Aesthetics of Consumerism
,' too, though it's never addressed directly. Serial killers aren't a trendy hipster interest any more, having gone the way of grunge rock and zines, but coulrophobia
(yeah, that's what it's called) continues to run rampant. It's like near-death experiences or astrology or something, by which I mean that it sometimes irritates me in a similar way.
Clowns also pop up briefly in Chuck Klosterman
's essay collection 'Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs
,' where he mentions that his pal Eric Nuzum
staffer whose 'Parental Advisory
,' about music censorship, is pretty good in its own right) owns one of John Wayne Gacy
's paintings. Tidbit about Gacy's paintings
from Dery's book: although Gacy prefers to paint happy clowns, he does a lot more of the tragic Emmett Kelly
variety, because that's what sells.