Juggalo Elder Knows Over 1,000 Uses for Faygo

Hello /SquaredCircle,
TLDR: Jersey Shore’s Jwoww is dating a wrestler named Zack Clayton whose been recently featured on AEW Dark in the past months wrestling people like Colt Cabana and QT Marshall. Last week he took part in a 10 man tag against the Dark Order, and will wrestle Sonny Kiss this Tuesday on AEW Dark. Out of everything in Wrestling, including my short stint in the Dark Order, this gets her to watch wrestling.
Too Long Want to Read:
My partner first discovered I watch wrestling several months after we started dating. She caught me watching New Japan late at night. I imagine this is how Juggalos feel when a family member discovers they have a horrible taste in music & soda. The next morning she brought it up, as if it was a dark secret I’ve been hiding from her for months (it was). To summarize the conversation:

Her knowledge of wrestling is limited to mainstream WWE in the 90’s & 00’s like the WWF/WWE Lawsuit, Chris Benoit, and The Rock.
I explained WWE vs New Japan vs ROH, and she lost interest after the first few seconds.
I reassure her I don’t actually watch everything but mainly read the gossip mags and big events.

She dropped it, and we pretended it didn’t happen like all good relationships deal with scandals.
Then AEW started up, and Pandora’s Box opened up again, and this time I wanted her to get into wrestling.

I showed her clips of this Sub’s most recommended matches, her comments ”It looks too fake”.
We watched Kenny Omega’s TSN Documentary, but she was too busy looking at her phone.
Like every female, she loves true crime so I thought Dark Side of the Ring would be great, but she wasn’t into it because she didn’t have the background knowledge.
We watched the first few AEW Episodes, and she couldn’t get past how silly it was (I’m sorry Jurassic Express). But she recognized Jericho from dancing with the stars.

Nothing succeeded. Wrestling to her is always something that seemed stupid, and she didn’t get it.
Then one day, watching Season 3 of Jersey Shore’s Family Vacation we’re introduced to Zack Clayton, also known as 24 on the show because he’s 24 years old. On the show we learned he’s a professional wrestler, and immediately my Fiancée asks ”Do you know him?” and I’m like… WHO THE FUCK IS THAT GUY? I looked him up, and couldn’t find anything on him other than he wrestles in small promotions, she goes ”Oh too bad, I would watch a match”.
Many months later, today.
She sends me an Instragram message of JWoww sharing a story a bout Zack Clayton wrestling on Dark against Sonny Kiss. Fiancée finds out he’s been wresting on AEW Dark for the last few months and scolds me on why I didn’t tell her. I explained:

AEW Dark is just ”Squash Matches”.
I don’t actually completely watch Dark, only highlights.
She hated Zack Clayton a few months ago because of Angelina vs JWoww vs Zack Clayton controversy.

So in short, it wasn’t me that’ll get my Fiancée into wrestling, it’s Jersey fucking Shore.
As I typed this, she’s now asking why I never brought up JWOWW in TNA.
Something tells me I’ll be watching a playlist of Jersey Shore wrestling crossovers for the next bit.

I've been a lurker on this sub for a few months and feel the need to share my experience with a beard-cel that for the remainder of this post shall henceforth be known as Zombie Beard. Note: Sorry for any bad paragraph breaks, I'm on mobile.
Now its been a few years since I was in contact with Zombie Beard; these interactions occurred between 2011 to early 2014. I met ZB through the guy I was dating at the time. Due to the time lapse here's an overview of this... well I called him a sexist, bigoted, racist, narcissistic asshole to his face on more than one occasion so let's go with that.

He was OBSESSED with Rob Zombie(hence the name). When I say obsessed I mean this guy wore only threadbare band t-shirts. His walls were covered in album art and movie posters and his apartment was very small. He owned every type of media Rob Zombie put out (cds, movies) and knew every lyric to every song, every album and every line from every movie. At the time Rob Zombie's wife had a clothing line that was advertising the release of $200 shoes he desperately wanted and was trying to talk various people into getting for him.
He lived off of Social Security/Disability because he "had crippling anxiety that made it impossible to handle being around others for extended periods of time". Yet he would make my ex drive him to the mall to wander around for hours on end. He also got Section 8 housing as well as Welfare and Food Stamps. He'd blow his food stamps on Faygo (yes he was also a Juggalo) and cheap frozen tv dinners and junk food. He'd pig out on his haul then cry to his mother (who was also on SS/D) about how he was hungry and if she didn't give him some of her groceries, he'd tell his grandma how mean she was being and grandma would shame his mom into giving him food. BTW, he was 30 at this point.
He was addicted to porn. He could name off not only porn star's industry names, but their actual names as well. He'd bring it up in casual conversation like he was discussing the latest Marvel movie. It'd start with talking about directors, lighting, soundtrack to start with but it'd always turn to "x has such great tits" and quickly degrade into disgusting remarks about the woman. But he'd always play it off saying "These actresses deserve as much notoriety as mainstream ones. It's shameful how they get looked down on because of the nature of the film"
He was a racist bigot. His one and only gf cheated on him with a black guy and according to my ex it dialed up the racism in this guy from a 5 to a 9. One night my ex and ZB were out with a mutual female friend we'll call Emily. Emily was talking to a random guy at the bar and enjoying the conversation when ZB came up to her and dragged her off the barstool and tried to take her back to the table they were at. Emily shook him loose and demanded to know what his problem was. ZB replied he "wasn't going to loose another girlfriend to no fkin nger". Emily slapped him and yelled not only was she not his girlfriend, she didn't want to be friends with a racist. She left but ended up talking to him again eventually because my ex remained friends with both of them and she didn't want to make things more awkward.
Zombie Beard niceguy'd the hell out of Emily. He'd spend his $200 Welfare check on her for her birthday, getting her a surprise hair and nail appointment along with a dozen roses and giant box of chocolate. Then he'd rant and moan about how she ended up dating another mutual friend who was an electrician and how wrong he was for her because "he obviously can't maintain a healthy relationship because he has a kid already". I remember we were in my car with my ex in front, ZB and Emily in the back and "Gimme That Girl" by Joe Nickles came on the radio and ZB told her how the song reminded him of her and she asked me to change the station. Zombie got super defensive about how it wasn't in a romantic way it was just the lyrics fit her personality. Last I heard Emily had gotten married and had a kid with someone she met in AA so hopefully she was able to cut him out of her life more.
At one point Zombie Beard began talking to a woman in Alabama who desperately wanted him to move down with her and her daughter and "be a family". He thought he'd hit the jackpot of some southern belle who'd cook, clean and (shutter) service him whenever. What he got was a legbeard who'd catfished him. Apparently the pictures she sent were her cousin who was half her size and she expected him to get a job and help around the house and care for her 5 year old. She'd berate him about his lack of hygiene and work ethic though it was highly likely that it was a pot and kettle situation.
His nest, I mean apartment. The apartment was a large room for the living/bedroom (I guess the idea was to encourage people to get futons?) a kitchen and commercial style bathroom. The only lived in portion of the, again, small space was a recliner and ratty mattress with balled up pillows and blankets. I was only there once after he had left for Alabama. He asked his mom (and she in turn asked for help due to her disability) to clean out his leftover food and "tidy up a bit", he of course asked a week after he had left. The smell of this place was nearly indescribable but I'll do my best. The first thing you smelled was unwashed jockstrap followed by crusty jizz sock with wafts of rotting food throughout. The only thing in his fridge was a salad kit he had bought a week and a half earlier when he had forced my ex to cut our hiking trip short to take him shopping. The pile of dirty laundry next to the recliner looked like it should have some demented Jim Henson Muppet reject pop out of it any second. It stank and had clearly been used as napkins and "clean up" rags after enjoying his favorite film genre. The toilet should have been collected as bio-hazardous waste because that's what it was covered in. Yes dear friends Zombie Beard refused to "waste money" on toilet paper so he'd just pull up his pants after and continue on with his day. Oh and he hated underwear so your boy went commando. The only clean fixtures in the apartment were the kitchen because he only used the microwave, and the shower because who needs water and soap when you have Axe body spray.
As stated before Zombie Beard was very sexist. I work in the food and hospitality industry and when he found this out he nudged my ex and chuckled, "so long as she doesn't neglect the kitchen at home". Another truly shining moment of his horrific ideals is when he got into an argument with the mother of my ex's children on why no women would date him and he shot back with, "You aren't the type of woman a guy ever shows off in public. But I'm sure you look a lot better on your knees; be it in the bedroom or the kitchen." My ex punched him in the jaw and threw him out. 3 months later ZB apologized to my ex; not the mother of his kids, my ex, and they started hanging out again.
He was also homophobic. His dad came out when ZB was in middle school and divorced his mom. ZB got teased mercilessly and instead of channeling his anger at his bullies, he directed it towards gay men. Lesbians were ok especially in porn but homosexual men were called every slur imaginable. He'd even call his dad those things and throw the fact he "abandoned" him and his brother in his face any time his dad wouldn't do or buy him what he wanted. I also suspect that his homophobia is why he didn't wipe. As if cleaning your ass leads to being homosexual.
He racked up 10s of thousands of dollars in debt and got mad at my ex for telling his creditors where he was. ZB got a partial ride scholarship to the local college for his "dream job" but instead of using it for textbooks, class applications or anything else it was intended for he bought movie tickets, clothes, CDs and rounds at the bar. Then when time came to sign up for classes he needed to take out a loan. But he ended up not going to class because no one would be his taxi to and from class and he refused to ride the bus with (insert racist slur for various non white group here) When he had signed for the loan he put my ex down as a person who would know his whereabouts should he try to skip out on repayment without ex's knowledge, so when creditors started calling he was more than happy to give them ZBs home address. He also took out a Kohls credit card and maxed it out and refused to pay anything on it.
He never learned to drive and expected various friends to be at his beck and call for wherever he needed to go. Be it the mall, grocery shopping or just to drive around cuz he was bored. And if the first friend didn't he'd talk shit on them to another mutual friend and stir up drama. He destroyed my ex's friendship with his best friend for 2 years this way.

That's all I can remember for now, and I haven't spoken to Zombie Beard or my ex in many years and I hope to keep it that way.

Greetings and salutations Moonhorse. Felicitaions to the moon herd for making it through 2020 and the subsequent weeks of further insanity. I've been a fan of your channel for about 6 months and feel the need to share my experience with a beard-cel that for the remainder of this post shall henceforth be known as Zombie Beard. Note: Sorry for any bad paragraph breaks, I'm on mobile.
Now its been a few years since I was in contact with Zombie Beard; these interactions occurred between 2011 to early 2014. I met ZB through the guy I was dating at the time. Due to the time lapse here's an overview of this... well I called him a sexist, bigoted, racist, narcissistic asshole to his face on more than one occasion so let's go with that.

He was OBSESSED with Rob Zombie(hence the name). When I say obsessed I mean this guy wore only threadbare band t-shirts. His walls were covered in album art and movie posters and his apartment was very small. He knew every lyric to every song, every album and every line from every movie. At the time Rob Zombie's wife had a clothing line that was advertising the release of $200 shoes he desperately wanted and was trying to talk various people into getting for him.
He lived off of Social Security/Disability because he "had crippling anxiety that made it impossible to handle being around others for extended periods of time". Yet he would make my ex drive him to the mall to wander around for hours on end. He also got Section 8 housing as well as Welfare and Food Stamps. He'd blow his food stamps on Faygo (yes he was also a Juggalo) and cheap frozen tv dinners and junk food. He'd pig out on his haul then cry to his mother (who was also on SS/D) about how he was hungry and if she didn't give him some of her groceries, he'd tell his grandma how mean she was being and grandma would shame his mom into giving him food. BTW, he was 30 at this point.
He was addicted to porn. He could name off not only porn star's industry names, but their actual names as well. He'd bring it up in casual conversation like he was discussing the latest Marvel movie. It'd start with talking about directors, lighting, soundtrack to start with but it'd always turn to "x has such great tits" and quickly degrade into disgusting remarks about the woman. But he'd always play it off saying "These actresses deserve as much notoriety as mainstream ones. It's shameful how they get looked down on because of the nature of the film"
He was a racist bigot. His one and only gf cheated on him with a black guy and according to my ex it dialed up the racism in this guy from a 5 to a 9. One night my ex and ZB were out with a mutual female friend we'll call Emily. Emily was talking to a random guy at the bar and enjoying the conversation when ZB came up to her and dragged her off the barstool and tried to take her back to the table they were at. Emily shook him loose and demanded to know what his problem was. ZB replied he "wasn't going to loose another girlfriend to no fkin nger". Emily slapped him and yelled not only was she not his girlfriend, she didn't want to be friends with a racist. She left but ended up talking to him again eventually because my ex remained friends with both of them and she didn't want to make things more awkward.
Zombie Beard niceguy'd the hell out of Emily. He'd spend his $200 Welfare check on her for her birthday, getting her a surprise hair and nail appointment along with a dozen roses and giant box of chocolate. Then he'd rant and moan about how she ended up dating another mutual friend who was an electrician and how wrong he was for her because "he obviously can't maintain a healthy relationship because he has a kid already". I remember we were in my car with my ex in front, ZB and Emily in the back and "Gimme That Girl" by Joe Nickles came on the radio and ZB told her how the song reminded him of her and she asked me to change the station. Zombie got super defensive about how it wasn't in a romantic way it was just the lyrics fit her personality. Last I heard Emily had gotten married and had a kid with someone she met in AA so hopefully she was able to cut him out of her life more.
At one point Zombie Beard began talking to a woman in Alabama who desperately wanted him to move down with her and her daughter and "be a family". He thought he'd hit the jackpot of some southern belle who'd cook, clean and (shutter) service him whenever. What he got was a legbeard who'd catfished him. Apparently the pictures she sent were her cousin who was half her size and she expected him to get a job and help around the house and care for her 5 year old. She'd berate him about his lack of hygiene and work ethic though it was highly likely that it was a pot and kettle situation.
His nest, I mean apartment. The apartment was a large room for the living/bedroom (I guess the idea was to encourage people to get futons?) a kitchen and commercial style bathroom. The only lived in portion of the, again, small space was a recliner and ratty mattress with balled up pillows and blankets. I was only there once after he had left for Alabama. He asked his mom (and she in turn asked for help due to her disability) to clean out his leftover food and "tidy up a bit", he of course asked a week after he had left. Moonhorse, the smell of this place was nearly indescribable but I'll do my best. The first thing you smelled was unwashed jockstrap followed by crusty jizz sock with wafts of rotting food throughout. The only thing in his fridge was a salad kit he had bought a week and a half earlier when he had forced my ex to cut our hiking trip short to take him shopping. The pile of dirty laundry next to the recliner looked like it should have some demented Jim Henson Muppet reject pop out of it any second. It stank and had clearly been used as napkins and "clean up" rags after enjoying his favorite film genre. The toilet should have been collected as bio-hazardous waste because that's what it was covered in. Yes dear friends Zombie Beard refused to "waste money" on toilet paper so he'd just pull up his pants after and continue on with his day. Oh and he hated underwear so your boy went commando. The only clean fixtures in the apartment were the kitchen because he only used the microwave, and the shower because who needs water and soap when you have Axe body spray.
As stated before Zombie Beard was very sexist. I work in the food and hospitality industry and when he found this out he nudged my ex and chuckled, "so long as she doesn't neglect the kitchen at home". Another truly shining moment of his horrific ideals is when he got into an argument with the mother of my ex's children on why no women would date him and he shot back with, "You aren't the type of woman a guy ever shows off in public. But I'm sure you look a lot better on your knees; be it in the bedroom or the kitchen." My ex punched him in the jaw and threw him out. 3 months later ZB apologized to my ex; not the mother of his kids, my ex, and they started hanging out again.
He was also homophobic. His dad came out when ZB was in middle school and divorced his mom. ZB got teased mercilessly and instead of channeling his anger at his bullies, he directed it towards gay men. Lesbians were ok especially in porn but homosexual men were called every slur imaginable. He'd even call his dad those things and throw the fact he "abandoned" him and his brother in his face any time his dad wouldn't do or buy him what he wanted.
He racked up 10s of thousands of dollars in debt and got mad at my ex for telling his creditors where he was. ZB got a partial ride scholarship to the local college for his "dream job" but instead of using it for textbooks, class applications or anything else it was intended for he bought movie tickets, clothes, CDs and rounds at the bar. Then when time came to sign up for classes he needed to take out a loan. But he ended up not going to class because no one would be his taxi to and from class and he refused to ride the bus with (insert racist slur for various non white group here) When he had signed for the loan he put my ex down as a person who would know his whereabouts should he try to skip out on repayment without ex's knowledge, so when creditors started calling he was more than happy to give them ZBs home address. He also took out a Kohls credit card and maxed it out and refused to pay anything on it.
He never learned to drive and expected various friends to be at his beck and call for wherever he needed to go. Be it the mall, grocery shopping or just to drive around cuz he was bored. And if the first friend didn't he'd talk shit on them to another mutual friend and stir up drama. He destroyed my ex's friendship with his best friend for 2 years this way.

That's all I can remember for now, hopefully this post doesn't make you swear too much. I haven't spoken to Zombie Beard or my ex in many years and I hope to keep it that way. Stay safe and healthy Moonhorse. Hope to hear more from you soon.

This is the best tl;dr I could make, original reduced by 55%. (I'm a bot)

The station selected three Juggalos for WDET's "Faygo Taste Test Challenge," in which they would not only be tasked with drinking way too much soda in one sitting but would also be confronted with the eternal Socratic quandary: Who am I? Like a trio of face-painted Frasier Cranes, the Juggalos sniffed, sipped, and swirled 15 disposable cups of bubbly with the same attention to detail as if they were trying to decide between a 1945 bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and a Richebourg Grand Cru circa 1985.
Before launching into the taste test, Juggalos Zak, Wicked Faygo Clownboy 420, and Stretchnutz took a moment to debunk common misconceptions that Juggalos are a gang and are considered to be stupid - or worse, "Stupid and in a gang."
The taste test started out pretty rough considering both Zak and Stretchnutz incorrectly identified Coca-Cola as Faygo Cola, a cardinal sin in the Juggalo world.
Who ranks orange as second-favorite in his personal pantheon of pop flavors, failed to nail this one, along with Wicked Faygo Clownboy 420, who thought Sunkist was the true Faygo Orange.
Wicked Faygo Clownboy 420's preferred flavor, Grape, was up next, and served as a victory for the Juggalos.
In the end, only one Juggalo came out on top, and it should come as no surprise as the word Faygo is literally in his name, er, AOL screen name: Wicked Faygo Clownboy 420.

Summary Source | FAQ | Feedback | Top keywords: Faygo^#1 Juggalo^#2 Zak^#3 Wicked^#4 Clownboy^#5
Post found in /news, /nottheonion and /juggalo.
NOTICE: This thread is for discussing the submission topic. Please do not discuss the concept of the autotldr bot here.

Fuck it. I know you disagree, but I think the Marvelous Missing Link is one of the best eras of ICP music.
I am a huge fan of the Missing Link era and I wanted to do something to open your mind so maybe you could appreciate these songs for what they are. Between the two albums and the Outtakes I think there is a Joker's card that can hang with the best of them. I believe that this album is ICP making music for themselves. Notice how most of these songs have musical themes and choruses that aren't like anything else in their catalog. You don't hear Legz Diamond and the crowd chanting types of chorus, and that's a good thing. They've already made songs like that again and again. The Missing Link, in my opinion is them stretching their wings and not relying on the staples. I think when all is said and done these songs will last a lot longer and won't get played out anytime soon because they are deeper, smarter and meaningful.
I'm asking you to listen to this playlist like it's the 3rd card of the second deck. I believe in this and I hate that ya'll are missing out on some of ICP's best music to date. Here is the link what I call "The Fake Marvelous Missing Link"
Here's my Missing Link Joker's Card that should have been, along with why I chose that song. To listen along click here as long as the link isn't missing ;)

Lost Intro - The Outtakes - It's obvious that Lost is a Hell's Pit and Found has a Shangri-La vibe. Then you have the Outtakes which doesn't have a them but does include just as many good songs as what they put on the Joker's Card. In my opinion, they messed up with how all of this is organized, especially with Lost. Regardless, if you're turning the whole mess into one dope ass album, J singing the Lost Intro and Shaggy singing the Found intro is the only way to go.
Get Clowned - Found - All the Joker's Cards hit with a dope ass carnival friendly track that exemplifies what is about to go down. With Get Clowned, you gotta sit your ass down and get slapped as the carnival sounds and the dope ass chorus set the tune for a journey to the Dark Carnival years in the making!
Lost at the Carnival - Lost - First, you were having fun, now you are lost at the carnival and shit is going down. With the album starting like this, it hits like the Great Milenko. It's all about entertainment with the dark undertones that shit is about to get dark. Bonus -- this is one of the best hook/chorus in ICP's catalog. Play it loud, play it proud. The Carnival is real.
Falling Apart - Lost - The fun is over. Allow Violent J to showcase his skills as you fall in love with another ICP song about your body falling apart. Literally J could make an entire album about dying and it would be the best thing you've ever heard. If you don't like Falling Apart that's cool but holy shit! this song is a level above. A true classic my friends. Now we know -- we are Lost. We are falling apart and who knows what will become of us!
The Dream - The Outtakes - Alright, what the fuck is this track doing on an Outtakes album. It's clear to me that J and Shaggy didn't know what the Missing Link was or how good this song is. This song is one of the best dark, atmospheric tracks they've ever made. It's Dark Lotus. It's Hell's Pit. It's dark and I love it. Pick this track up at the 3:30 mark and tell me it isn't the ICP you fucking love. But the haters are upset because we are 5 tracks in and no Legz Diamond or crowd chants? FUCK IT -- we have hundreds of those songs. Sleep is like a curse! I don't wanna die here.
Vomit - Lost - Starting with an exorcism, it's obvious we are still Lost. Will we ever find our way? fuck no. Not until after we listen to J and Shaggy's tales of Erica - the hot chick who sold her soul and died a bitter lonely lady, John the wealthy kid who grew old and neglected his son who eventually committed suicide. This song could easily be on Hell's Pit, it's a direct continuation of the themes and sounds they explored back then. But it's really just a scratch on the surface as we are lost but still hopeful.
You Should Know - Lost - Alright. It's dark as fuck and I don't even remember how I got to the carnival. All I know now is that you and I both have been the asshole in a relationship before. None of us are the piece of shit in the song, but a-lot of us are damn close. The thoughts are there for us and for J too. This song is fucking brilliant, scary and deep. Relate to it? Yeah, because you've been lost before...maybe you still are.
Why'd I Have to Die? - The Outtakes - This song bumps. The chorus is legit and the theme is on point. Right now we are on a carnival ride that has gotten darker and darker. I cannot understand why it's an outtake. It's got the emotion and it exemplifies Lost. You're dead. You're angry because you weren't ready. Because your shit wasn't in check. All of us will leave this way...if we are lost. Think about that.
I See the Devil - Lost - Man most of ya'll won't like this song. I can't tell you why, but I can hear the bitching about how it sounds whack. It's different. But you are missing out. This shit is so dark and so banging it will set your soul free. Sure, it's not the song you bump for your friends, but you can bump this shit on headphones or while your playing games and holy fuck you'll start to appreciate the music and the freshness that this song is. At this point, we are so fucking lost it's not funny. But right around three minutes into this song, hope. This is the turning point of the whole Missing Link. The Devil's Grip is tight...can't nobody hide from the Devil inside. That's fucking right! Now...are you tired of this dark void? Are you tired of being Lost? Alright well this track is fresh as fuck. But you play that shit all the way out! Starting at 5:45, J sings and the light shines. There is hope...there is a light and there is a link that is...
Found Intro - The Outtakes - SHAGGY 2 DOPE SINGS THE SWEET FUCKING MELODY OF THE MARVELOUS MISSING LINK, FOUND. TAKE A LOOK AROUND, YOUR LINK IS FOUND, YOU ARE FINALLY FOUND, LOOK AROUND, JUST LOOK AROUND. THE WORLD IS FULL OF WONDERS AND NOW IT'S ALL MINE, I ESCAPE THE DARKNESS NOW LOOK AT ME SHINE. I swear to God this is the best of all three albums. If you hate my Fake Missing Link, the least you can do is play this on repeat 100 times and fucking find yourself!!!!!!!!!
The World Is Yours - Found - Oh shit, it's one of those tracks that ends a Joker's Card except we are only on track 11. Shit man, we are found and life is good. This song fucking bangs. Enjoy the melodies my friend, The World is Yours.
Juggalo Party - Found - Well fuck me. I think this is the song that inspired me to do this whole thing. I hear this song and I'm found. No matter where I am at, I am found. Juggalos behind me, up front and on the side. Man when I first heard this song I thought it was the worst shit ICP ever made. Now...shit I need this song. It's my life. We're getting old and our shit that was cool is turning into some shit we can never let go. Let the Faygo reign, ICP 4 Ever. MMFCL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LET'S DO THE DAMN THING!
Mr. White Suit - Found -- This is one of the songs that most of ya'll already like. And if you don't like it, well fucking realize it's a true story bitch! It's a songumentary ;)
Immortal - The Outtakes - Always blows my mind that this ended up on the Outtakes. I feel like this is a perfect Joker's Card track. It's fun, it's got both J and Shaggy featured and it bumps.
I'm Sweet - Found - Well this is a Band of Horses Sample which to me, at first was pretty stale. But then I stopped being a bitch. All rap uses samples...and this track uses the sample well. As we clearly near the end the Fake Marvelous Missing Link you can hear the emotion set in and the mood change. The ride...well it's coming to an end and the Missing Link comes to a close...but are we lost or are we found?
How? - Lost - You know what? You've probably slept on this song because it was on Lost. But you put this song here, sandwiched between two dope ass songs, it really shines. We've seen the bad and we've seen the good, but how do we know if we've done good in God's eyes? Are we lost or are we found? Are we going to Hell's Pitt or are we going to Shangri-La? Or does any of it fucking matter? You gotta admit, this song explores exactly that. Shit at 2:30 bumps, you can't convince me this song doesn't bump. You may not like the chorus but you can't expect ICP to make the same damn hook again and again. This is the shit. Bump it loud.
Found - Found - The indisputable champion of the Missing Link Lost and Found. "This career, I believe God let me have it." "Whatever was missing before it ain't missing now" This is one of the best songs ICP has ever made, period. You will survive the darkest times with this song. You will be okay with this song. Keep it in your rotation, it's necessary and it's fresh as fuck.
Time - Found - Shit, I guess most cards end around 17 but this time you get more fucking flavor to wrap up the legendary dark carnival experience. Where Found is the best track of the bunch, Time is no slouch. If this isn't your style I understand, but I bump the two extensively. These are anthems that keep me sane, I don't have two of these on any other Joker's card.
Flamethrower - Lost - **Bonus track. I had to put it here because you nerds are sleeping on it! This shit hits hard and let me tell you, it may not be the track you remember the words to, but you headphone this song and play the Division 2 and son of a bitch you will be right at home!!!!!!! **

Well there you have it! I've spent more time making this playlist than ICP spent recording the whole album!!!!
Here's what didn't make the cut: Shoulda coulda woulda...put I'm Sorry and/or OK on here but too many good songs already.
Lost Tracks: Intro, Lost, Apocalpyse, Shock, Confederate Flag, Explosions, I'll Keep My Hatchet, Neighbors are Fighting Found Tracks: Intro, OK (this would be the first one I'd add), Pineapple Pizza, The Midway, I Fucked a Cop, Dreams of Grandeur The Outtakes: The Missing Link, Six Pedophiles, The Monster, Joey the Butcher, Let Loose, Dead Heather, The Carousel, Hooker, I'm Sorry (Honorable Mention!!)
Alright, well hope you enjoy my friends.
~Urine8

Like most comedians, my goal was to move away from my shit hole town and "make it" in the big city. I had amassed some meager savings and as soon as I was old enough, I drove away from home to follow my dream of comedy success. I figured it'd take me about a year.
10 years later I was still a broke nobody, competing nightly against all of the other delusional hopefuls, desperate for a chance to perform for a handful of drunks at a bar. Never believed that magic existed, or even played with the idea that there was anything more to the darkness than shadows and dust bunnies.
All I knew was that I wasn't getting on television or scoring any agents, milestones that many of my peers had already reached. My comedy career had stagnated, like the container of beef & broccoli on my bedside table that I kept forgetting to throw out. It was starting to grow fur.
I was also running out of money. If I didn't make something happen for myself soon I was going to end up living out of my car and eating tuna out of a can (again). Being almost pathologically introverted, I didn't have any friends with "connections" to hook me up with a cushy writer's room job, and I couldn't get enough roadwork to make ends meet. Things were looking bleak.
Desperate, I started booking shows in places no one else would. Events for communities like banned 4-Chan groups, kink-core enthusiasts, furry conferences, biker gangs, ghetto punks, whoever would hire me. One time I performed in a giant abandoned municipal waste pipe for some Juggalos who paid me in 5 cases of Faygo and a round of enthusiastic high fives.
Yeah sure, it wasn't the best environment for a girl with fake emergency contacts to be putting herself in, but I was starting to earn enough to pay my bills. I was blinded by the money I was finally starting to make, and it made me more reckless about where I looked for work.
Everything changed when a friend of mine showed me how to access the dark web. I searched the dark web index sites for live entertainment, and found some offers, mostly for hookers. All dead ends. It took a couple of months before I got a promising lead. One Sunday night, at 3am, I discover a message in my inbox with nothing but a link: 8tp://bookofshadowstalent.d̶͈͙̄͗f̷̲̱̆.
Not wanting to risk a virus, I Googled the site. Nothing on that end. As in no information about this website whatsoever. Finally, curiosity compelled me to just click it. I was redirected to a website that looks like it was built in the 90s, a black background and red font. The header of the page read "Book of Shadows Talent & Management Agency: Serving the Occult Entertainment Business for 5000 years." The site's background imagery was kitschy, low resolution illustrations of pentagrams, leering red devils and other less recognizable occult symbols. Some corny, dripping blood effects along the bottom of a menu bar that had an "about us," and "contact me" options.
I figure why not play along with this occult cos-playing group, as long as they kept their velvet gloves and porcelain fang-implants to themselves, and the money was good. I scanned the About section. More fantasy backstory about a talent agency founded during the pre-human era, when "t' deviles, vvitches and other ancients roamed the Earthe."
Whatever. I clicked on the Contact section and was redirected to some mailing software called Ĝ̵̝̯ooMail. There was an auto signature at the bottom of the message box in green. Something about a "soul contract" that included a "protection from magicks clause" (yes, magick with a "k").
The last line caught my eye. "Effective immediately" it read "upon the receipt of email by the contracting party (Book of Shadows Talent LLC), a binding spell between both parties for the protection of the soul and/or body of the contracted party (henceforth referred to as "the Talent") from all magicks until completion of the aforementioned contract."
They're promising to look out for my well being? What am I going to need protection from, getting tangled in some goth's fishnet stockings? I wrote out an introductory email.
My inbox dinged immediately after I pressed "send." When I checked it's an email from Book of Shadows Talent with instructions for a show for that same night. Pay is $3000 for one hour.
"Do you accept this assignment?"
I replied (skeptically) with "accept" and within seconds I heard a notification on my phone telling me three thousand dollars was just transferred to my Venmo account. I'm over the moon, I couldn't believe my good luck. I eagerly scanned the email for more details about the show. Something about the Templar Warlock's black solstice mass. A picture of men in black robes holding candles.
Probably some support group for incels. I threw on some clean clothes, grabbed my pepper spray, keys and a can of tuna, and hit the road.
The drive took over 2 hours. I ended up in front of a derelict, 3-story residential building, sandwiched between a plaza, with most of it's stores boarded up, and a decrepit Dunkin' Donuts. I could see one bare fluorescent bulb inside the coffee chain blinking an unintelligible Morse code. Empty lots and abandoned buildings made up the remaining real estate for miles in any direction. I parked and got out of the car.
The wind swirled by, agitating a chittering cauldron of bats, making them burst out of a giant elm by the plaza. The tumult of hundreds of tiny, leathery wings pumping the air all at once slowly faded as they disappeared into the night. Shivering, I pulled my sound equipment out of the trunk of my car and marched up to the entrance. I rang the doorbell, and a faint tonal melody chimed somewhere deep within the building.
After a minute or two the door swung open to reveal a pale, sullen man in a striped sweater. Greasy-looking, dark hair framed his acne scarred face. His mouth was a thin slash that widened unpleasantly in greeting.
"Oh. hey" he sneered, "you must be the 'comedienne.' I'm Blake. C'mon, I'll take you to the showroom." He led me through a foyer with moldy ceilings, around a crumbling main stairwell. There was a small wooden panel beneath the stairs. Blake threw it open to reveal a narrow, interior staircase he ushered me down. When we got to the bottom I found myself standing in front of a huge, rust-covered iron door.
My mind was screaming at me to give any excuse to leave, say I had a 'gynecologist appointment early tomorrow and look at the time would you,' but I couldn't bring myself to back out. I didn't want to have to give back that $3 k in my bank account, plus I'd get to perform for a whole hour. If everything turned into a shit show at the very least I'd get a good story out of it, and be the envy of my comedy peers. Blake pounded on the iron door and it rasped open, hinges screaming. My last chance to run to my car and peel out of there.
I followed him inside.
I made sure to look as professional as possible and briskly stepped inside. If I took charge of the situation I could get things going, perform and get the hell out of there sooner rather than later. The stench hit me as soon as I crossed the threshold: old sweat and urine. Plus something metallic I couldn't place. Then, there's all the candles. It looked like someone had raided a Bed Bath and Beyond. Tea lights, tapered sticks, votives, all lit up and placed in every corner and crevice. The iron door crashed shut behind me.
The room's shadows twisted and shrank wildly as the candle-flames kept getting disturbed by sudden gusts of cold air coming from a doorway opposite the door I had entered. I couldn't make out anything from the yawning blackness beyond that other opening, but the air current felt like it led to an outdoor area. "Probably some dumb courtyard" I thought to myself, dismissively, "I'm going to tell them it's too cold to perform outside tonight. Although, it's kind of hot in here, might be better off outside (also escape routes are more likely to be outside)"
Preoccupied with show and possible escape logistics, I'd forgotten about Blake, and hadn't yet noticed the other dozen or so black-hooded forms that stood in the room, watching me. I was in the middle of trying to figure out if I could use the rusted iron chair and stone slab in the center of the space as a DIY stage, when one of the hooded guys tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped when I saw him, then remembered the email about this group's penchant for dramatic occult-wear and relax.
"Okay. I think the best place for me to set up is over there" I gestured over to the stone altar with authority "it's elevated, you guys can sit in a semi circle by this door, not that one. Seems kind of chilly over there, but good for airing the place out it smells...interesting in here." I was chattering nonstop to fill up the silence as a couple of robed guys mutely followed me around and helped me organize my equipment. "What're you guys up to, anyway, summoning Beelzebub with all these candles? You forgot maybe a bubble bath, some smooth jazz, he'd like that, I bet." I could feel them getting impatient, some confused murmuring "Forget I asked, that's none of my business."
Striding through the small cluster of robed men, I caught snatches of what they were mumbling to each other "...and are women even, like, funny?," I thought "female comedian" was dark web code for "hooker," she doesn't seem like any hooker I..." and other stellar commentary.
Two hooded guys picked up my equipment and set it on the altar. "Great thanks guys, and- is there a place to plug my amp in? Thanks, great. You guys warm in those things? I guess I'm okay but would you rather perform out there" I said, jerking my head towards the outdoor area beyond the open door. They all chuckled in reply, Blake barked out a hard "Ha!" "No. We're better off in here," he asserted, "Theres a rabid dog chained to a fence outside you don't want to get anywhere near him. Rabies."
"Well, let's not get rabies. The only thing I want to infect you guys with is laughter" I reply lightly, hamming it up and trying my best to exude judgement-free energy.
I fiddled around with the mixer and adjusted the volume. "Testing testing, microphone check a, b, c, d. Ok, great," I said into the microphone, as my ratty old amp whined to life. I gave it too much treble by mistake and there's feedback. Everybody winces. "Sorry about that does that. Did that sound like any demons you guys know or am I the only one who dated my ex, ok just kidding. Haha." The hooded figures slowly gathered around me.
While I'm performing, out of the corner of my eye I saw Blake murmur something into the ear of one of the hooded guys, who then walked behind the iron chair behind me. Blake caught me watching and gave me an insincere thumbs up.
I decides to just dive right into my act. "So, I've been performing in a lot of basements lately. I guess I proved my mom wrong huh? Getting high in the family den all those years payed off after all. I really racked up those 10 k hours." Some groans, chuckles. I pivot to a couple of quick roast jokes. "You guys must sleep in those robes, when I squint I can see tan lines around your eye sockets from where you cut eyeholes out of those hoods." Laughter. "You guys have got tons of candles, your girlfriends must be pissed. Standing around with a bubble bath and flower petals. In the dark." The hooded guy returned from behind the throne and handed Blake a dagger.
As I nervously eyeball the blade, Blake catches my eye and smiled reassuringly, making me feel even less assured. Then he gives a signal to the other hooded figures. The ones that were into the show get nudged. They all stand up and look at me. "Ok, guys, what is it tea time for Satan? Haha..what're you all doing? Hey...stop right there or I swear I'll call Ghostbusters." They all start moving towards me. They surge around me on the stone slab.
What the hell. I stoop down and twist the dial all the way up on the volume while simultaneously pointing the mic right at the amp face, causing major feedback. The hooded men all cringe and clap their hands over their ears and I take the opportunity to jump down and to the iron door.
I get about halfway there when someone roughly grabs my wrists and pins them behind me. Terror keeps spreading in pin-prickly waves from my head to my extremities. I yell and flail my feet around like crazy. I jerk my head back and I feel a satisfying crunch as it connects with a nose behind me. There's a grunt of pain and I'm let go, stumbling forward. The back of my head is tingling. I shove my hand into my pocket and pull out my pepper spray, swinging around while simultaneously jamming down on the button. The spray goes everywhere in the small room (yes), including in my own face (no). There's a moment of complete confusion as we all crawl around wiping at our burning faces before I finally drag my way towards the dark opening across the room.
I grab on to the doorjamb and haul myself up to my feet, trying to see through the blur of my stinging, watering eyes. Just as I'm about to step through to find another way out of there, my foot freezes mid-forward momentum past the doorframe. The hair stands up along the back of my head from my nape to the crown as an irrational yet paralyzing realization takes hold of me. There is no ground beyond the doorframe. No walls, no ceiling. There's just nothingness, like I'm looking out into a vast, featureless night sky, without the comfort of constellations or clouds to buffer my perception of infinite depth. If I stepped through I'd fall into an abyss without end, I'm sure of it, even as that thought defies all logic. As I squint into that other place, trying to understand what I'm looking at, I'm suddenly aware that I can feel something waiting deep in that vastness, incomprehensibly far away, watching me.
I can't move, trapped between a candlelit room of cursing hooded figures mopping at their eyeholes, coming closer, and the certainty that what lay beyond that doorway was a reality that would drive me insane before it ultimately consumed my soul. That was all the time the hooded assholes needed to drag me to the slab, holding me supine over the rough stone by my ankles and wrists. Blake appears in my line of sight, standing over me, chanting. He pulls out a wickedly sharp-looking dagger and slices my right cheek with it. The cut stings and I can feel the blood running down the side of my head and pooling into my ear folds.
"I hate incels" I think to myself, feeling woozy. Blake ceremoniously takes the dagger over to the doorway and says some utter garbage about the "eater of worlds. With the blood on this dagger taste the sacrifice." The hooded incels grovel around me chanting in what sounds like Latin. Blake flings the dagger into the room that isn't a room. I wait to hear the metallic clang of the dagger hitting the ground outside, or at least any sound of impact, but it never comes.
Everyone is silent and I'm straining to raise my head to see what's happening. The cold wind whistles through the door. Blake is standing in the doorway, with a crazed grin on his stupid face. That's when we all hear the distant roar from somewhere deep in the void, from what feels like millions of miles away. An arctic blast shoots through the opening, blowing Blakes greasy hair back. He turns to look at me, bug eyed, and intones "Now, our master and the granter of powers beyond your comprehension will consume your life force"
There's complete silence for a moment. Suddenly, a 10 foot long nightmare tentacle undulates its way across the ceiling. Followed by another, and another. 5 gelatinous, quivering black tentacles, with complex, red patterned streaks running along their lengths. I feel like I'm losing my mind. My thoughts are coming in jagged fragments. I start thinking about the Little Mermaid. I'm pretty sure I sang a few bars of Part of Your World.
From somewhere in the distance I hear Blake saying "This has never happened before, i don't understand-"
The tentacles ooze their way through the room and then pause, hovering over me. I hear Blake making confused noises by the doorway. I feel a light, perversely gentle caress on the crown of my head...and then, so fast it's just a blur of motion, a tentacle grabs one of the hooded figures and flings him to the ceiling with such force that the body sticks to it's surface for a moment before pieces of the corpse start to rain down in wet chunks. This is when I finally start screaming my head off.
Confusion leads to panic as the tentacles begin killing everyone in the room. Squeezing some guys together into a red mush. Slamming others to a pulp against the walls and ceiling with short, booming thrusts. The air is suffused with a wet, red mist. Something sharp and small hits me in the face, bounces off and falls into my open mouth. I stop screaming and spit the thing out, not before realizing the familiar gritty enamel little stone I'm spitting out is actually a tooth.
Blake is frothing at the mouth the whole time, eyes bulging, commanding the tentacles to stop. He shakes his skinny arms at them impotently. One of the gelatinous appendages snaps Blake up and just holds him, suspended in the air. His screams hit a girlish pitch. "He's at least a mezzo soprano" I think to myself in wonder. Blake is upside down, screaming something unintelligible at the dark opening. Besides me and Blake, no one else is alive.
That's when a tiny, dapper man stepped out of the dark opening and into the room, with the casual attitude of someone walking from their living room to their kitchen. He was wearing a baby blue cravat and a pristine white shirt under a dark grey suit, pressed pants and shiny leather shoes. He picked his way fussily over the blood and cartilage over to the stone slab I'm still laying on, looked at me and smiled.
I just smiled back idiotically because at that point I was slightly insane and why wouldn't a 4 foot tall lawyer join the party. I noticed his teeth were abnormally big and sharp, like a shark's mouth. "Hell," he gushed, holding out his hand to shake mines "you must be Melissa, I'm your new talent agent, Arcan Dibbles, it's great to meet you! Sorry for the delay, couldn't really get involved until they'd actually accessed the supernatural via their summoning ritual, as per the contract you digitally signed earlier this evening."
"My agent? You're a real agent?" I asked, incredulous. "I have an agent now? About fucking time." I screamed with laughter. For a full minute. "Yes, well. Lots of mortals take some time to get acclimated, so don't feel embarrassed," Arcan replied, looking pretty embarrassed for me. "The question is," he mused looking over at Blake, "what shall we do with him. You get to decide how he will be disposed of, as per you contract."
I whimpered pathetically "Just...please, get him away from me." Blake was still strung up by his ankles by the tentacle that seized him earlier, his eyes glazed and spittle flew out of his mouth as he gibbered like a crazed psychotic at my new agent. "Consider it done. Very classy of you to not want to torture him first," Arcan replied prissily, making some complex hand signal to the tentacle holding Blake, "and may I say (off the record, of course) how glad I am that you're not as sadistic as some of our other clients. I'm all about pragmatism. If there's a threat to your well being, don't take it personal, just get rid of it, is what I have to say about that."
The tentacle holding Blake suddenly flung him through the doorway of the abyss, into the dark. I caught one last glimpse of him flying through the door and flipping head over heels over and over again, slowly like he'd been thrown into outer space, dwindling in size until finally winking out of sight.
Then I saw the tentacles creeping towards me.
I could still hear Arcan chattering at me, but his voice sounded distorted. Everything grew overly bright, and hyper realistic. I don't remember anything after that, I must have fainted. I woke up at home in bed. Groggily, I got up and shuffled over to the bathroom. I washed my face and looked in the bathroom mirror. I saw the cut from where the ceremonial dagger had sliced me on my cheek and a business card from Book of Shadows, Arcan Dibbles, Talent Agent on my kitchen table when I went to make myself a pot of coffee. So, it definitely hadn't been a dream.
I spent the rest of the day puttering around in denial, read a few rejection letters from some comedy festivals I'd submitted to, and looked through all of my credit card bills. I threw out the moldy container of beef and broccoli.
Finally, at 5pm, I decided to call Book of Shadows Talent and Management Agency. As I dialed the number I realized I was always going to call. I told myself I just wanted to find out if I was going to be able to keep the money from last night's gig. That's it and then I tell him his services are not required. I don't need to know tentacle monsters in the void exist in random buildings just outside of the city limits. The phone is ringing. Steeling myself once I hear someone pick up, and an unctuous voice on the other line say "Book of Shadows Management and Talent, how can I help you?"
I said hello.

Thanks a bunch to everyone who read or commented on my last story. I wasn't expecting such a response, it means a lot to me. I guess the idea of being alone with no money or family is terrifying to some people. Indeed I saw a lot of terrifying and strange things while I was homeless. But to me I was never really homeless. I just didn't live the way most people do. I still don't.
When I was young it was live on the streets in Denver or live with my mom's bat shit crazy Pentecostal family in Arkansas. They speak in tongues, go on 3 week fasts, think god actually talks to them, the whole nine yards. If you wanna read about how fucked up they are and what they did to me, read my first story. I don't think I mentioned before, I'm half Jewish from my dad's side, and they are very anti semetic sooo yah. They weren't exactly warm and loving towards me or my dad. But back then, I was even mad at him. So it was me vs the world.
You see, the trick to being a successful homeless person, is to never actually be homeless, in the literal sense of the term. I know some guys that live in storage units, theres the classic crash on a freind's couch, or my personal favorite if theres good weather, a tent near a good view. There's that guy in new york who even made himself a little bunker in the subway tunnels. I lived with my girlfreind JR in her small section 8 apartment in Aroura for awhile. We had virtually no money but half the time the plumbing worked. The air conditioning/heating rarely did. It was a step above the tent, but I still had to stay out and grind til late at night for us to have enough to eat. I met her on the light rail while I was camping near mineral station on the outskirts of highland's ranch. It was where all the rich people who work in the city live. It was a great spot to pan handle, especially because even though I was 19, I looked barely out middle school, and I had mastered the oliver twist look.
I had a few good sob signs. My favorite one to use was “family all dead, anything helps” for obvious reasons. When your not a tweaker or a heroin addict, you easily can save up 300 bucks in a week from pan handling out there, as long as the douglas county sheriffs don't see you. Seeing as I was cute and sad looking, I had 500. I would've gotten a motel room that night, but instead... I met her. A couple of you were interested in how we met so I'll throw that in before we get to the scary shit, its relevant to what im going tell you about later in this story too. She was the most amazing person I've ever known.
One day she sat down next to me and we started talking. I told her my story, and it turned out her's was similar. She was from a family of Jehovah's witnesses. And she was HOT. She was short like me, not skinny but not fat either. She had black hair, and wore Tripp shorts with a neon lining. Even though her clothes were baggy, I could tell she had a great body. The day she took me home with her is still the best day of my life. She made me some amazing spaghetti, and I took the first shower I'd had in 2 months. Then she came in with me and I lost my virginity. It was a bit awkward at first but I did pretty damn good for a first timer. Told you, best day of my life.
We made a good team. During the day we would get into all sorts of mischief, we used to steal from the grocery store, sneak into movies, one time we even spray painted a bunch of pentagrams on a church. She was afraid to walk around at night, and she didn't like it when I did.
But sometimes you just can't get everything done during the day, especially if your only transportation is a bmx bike and a bus pass. I was definitely on the paper chase. There is a number of ways to make good money in the streets, almost all are illegal. I actually generated a solid income selling cheap weed at the bus stops. The only unfortunate part of this was sometimes I had to stay out very late to make my money. I literally covered half the city almost every day. The reason for all this effort of course was I wanted to save up and get JR and I a real apartment. I can't remember ever loving anyone more.
It was on one of these late nights that I had a close brush with something much more terrifying than anything else I thought was out there. I saw the van. Well, more than saw I guess you could say. Like the incident I described in my last story, the van is another horrifying enigma on the streets that normal people think is an urban myth. I thought the van was just a story. When I first heard about it I didn't give it much thought because literally every kidnapping happens in a fucking van. But I assure you its very real. From what I know, in Denver there's actually three of them.
The van, as it is called, refers to one or more vans that cruise around the downtown/Englewood area of denver. If the van stops, four or more men get out,,grab you, and nobody ever sees you again. I first heard about it from my weed man Opie. He was an old guy and was prone to long yarns about anything and everything. He claims he was once part of earth wind and fire. Judging by his bad dancing when he had too much vodka, I don't think he was.
But then I started hearing about it from other people. Same thing every time. Usually a white van that picks up homeless people never to be seen again. Always close to the same number of guys. Nobody seems to know what happens to the people they take, but nobody who's been taken by the van has come back or been found.
I started hearing about it everywhere. I was selling dime sacks of reggie(cheap weed) to the juggalos that hung out at skylab, a small park area downtown, when I heard the first disturbing story about the van I actually believed. One of the guys there said he'd seen it take some girl that was walking out of the 16nth street mall area, near the capitol building at around 2 am.
“i knew her man. She was a runaway, hung out with Edwardo and those wanna-be cholo mothafuckers. I think her nickname was pixie or something”
another one spoke up when he recognized the name.
“damn!! what the fuck? Thats kayla! I know her! she used to go to heritage. You saw them like legit kidnap her?!”
“Yah. She was standing at a light waiting to walk, and they pulled up beside her, 2 dudes grabbed her and they sped off. I'm not fuckin with you man the shit was scary. I ran and got that cop who sits near 16nth and crest but he just wrote a report and told me they'd look into it. Nobody has seen her for like a week!”
thats when the oldest one of the group came and joined the conversation. His nickname was Bhudda, I could tell why, he was a big fat guy that loved smoking weed. He had been out there longer than anyone.
“I'm not surprised. Its been going on about 2 years now. They first started picking people up near the Denver rescue mission. They usually go after young ones. First there was only one, but now theres two more. The cops are even afraid of them.”
As I was riding down the street that night, the thought of it stuck in my mind. It was about 10 pm now. I was pedaling my rusty bmx bike over the melted slush on the sidewalk to the Mexican Mercado store to purchase some dinner. They had really good flank steak for just 3.50 a pound. we had been on a steady diet of ramen and faygo. We needed some real food. I reached the store, bought a nice fresh cut and also decided to get tortillas and an onion. I needed fajitas in my life and it all only cost 5 bucks, so that left us 20 for the rest of the week. Then my fucking chain came off.
I did an embarrassing nose dive into the slush when I lost control of the bike, but I was relatively unharmed. This was the third time today. I was gunna have to steal a new bike. No matter though. It was too late to be out there and I knew it.
I wasn't far from home, and I knew if I cooked tonight, I was definitely getting head. I was in good spirits. Just as I got the chain on at the back tire, I heard an engine to my far left. It wasn't a white van, it was light grey. It had a logo on the side that had obviously been ripped off long ago. First it passed me at normal speed. The little paranoid guy in my head said “its them! Get out of here or your fucked!” but then the other guy, you know, that version of you that says monsters don't exist and bugs you about paying your bills? He told me “nah your good bro, that's just a story.” I should've listened to the paranoid guy.
When I saw the van the second time, it was creeping slow. I had the chain back on my bike, and I was spinning the wheel to make sure it was on right. I could see two people in the front seat, the back was obscured by an equipment cage. It stopped directly in front of me. Fuck.
The window rolled down and a 50ish guy said in a slavic accent
“i saw you fall earlier little buddy, are you alright?”
“yah. I'm fine.” I said back as I flipped the bike over and got ready to take off. Before I could get on my bike, the sliding door of the van opened and a guy in a ski mask came rushing at me. Once again, luck was on my side. I had stolen this particular bike from thunder ridge high school, in the rich neighborhood. And rich kids ride nice free agent bikes with gyros. A gyro is a handbrake setup that lets you spin the handle bars of the bike all the way around. I swung my whole bike and I caught his head with a back peg. He went down, and I got on my bike and started pedaling like Lance Armstrong on a gram of meth.
I could hear the van roaring behind me. But I was going fast. I knew I had to turn as soon as I came to an alley, I had gotten away from a cop like that once. And sure enough I saw one, not 10 feet from me. I knew where I was too. It was a straight shot 30th and downing from here, and there I could catch the 11 O'clock train to get back to Colfax and Araia Before they got around the curve about 100 feet further up the street. But could I make the turn fast enough? I felt the slush start to give way to dry concrete as I approached the alley, and I told myself I could do it. I knew if they got along side me it was over. I turned and slid to a quick stop sideways, and pedaled like the guys from that scene in world war z to the end of the alley without even looking back.
I stopped. I looked, and to my relief the bastards were stuck on the dumpster and couldn't get through. I saw the one on the side get out and start running at me, but he was no match for my adrenaline pumped pedaling. I left him in the dust and eventually got home safe.
When I came through the door I went straight to the small kitchenette and starting trying to chop the onion. My hands were shaking too much. JR had dealt with my nightmares before, she knew when I wasn't right. She silently walked over, took the knife out my hand and put herself in my arms. I hugged her to me tightly and told her what happened. From then on, I never let her go anywhere near that area, and I avoided it myself when it got late.
I later read on the internet that the van isn't just a denver thing. Apparently its happening all over the country, they just pick up homeless people, mostly kids, and take them god knows where. I've read stories about red rooms on the deep web from people posting on here. I don't know for sure, but maybe I met their street team?

Some of the iconic groups performing include:

Insane Clown Posse
$uicideBoy$
Token
Sylar
Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
Ghostmane
Mushroomhead
Odd Squad Family
GFM
Ouija Macc
Twisted Insane
Like A Villain
Eazy Mac
Rittz
GWAR
Tech N9ne
Butcher Babies
SOOPA VILLAINZ
Anybody Killa
September Mourning
City Morgue
C&C Music Factory
Astronautalis
Mike Busey and the Busey Beauties
Madchild
Zug Izland (performing Cracked Tiles in its entirety)
KRS-ONE
Big Hoodoo
Kung Fu Vampire
Morris Day & The Time (WHAT?!?!)
Jedi Mind Tricks
ICP’s Strums and Drums Acoustic Performance
Rehab
ESHAM
Lyte
Cybertronic Spree
Shakewell
Kingspade
Myzery
Mac Sabbath
Whitney Peyton
DJ Clay
Dropout Kings
Geto Boys
Comedians

Clownvis
Randy from the Trailer Park Boys with Randy’s Cheeseburger Picnic
Gilbert Gottfried
Your ticket covers all of the following:

4 days of 24/7 Entertainment (concerts, events, etc)
Camping
Showers
Shuttle Service
Parking
Other artists performing:

The Hav Knots
Blahzay Roze
The Wolfpac Super Spectacular Gathering Summer Jawn Jam
Motown Rage
Brokencyde
C-Mob
Moneyside Musica
P.R.E.A.C.H.
The Convalescence
Super Ro (ft. Wiley F.L.E.W. Tribute)
Summoner’s Circle
Riddy K
Jumpsteady
Grlwood
Xtra Overdoze
American Slang
J.Irja The Sexy Psycho
Trouble Loc
Deviant
J Payne
The Jasons
Mark Bone
A Feasting Beast
Mereness
Discord Curse
J Biz R w/ Da Sniper 64
My Own Will
Trip God
Knowledge Da MC
Demented Naychir
Flock to Murder
Scattered Hamlet
Madopelli Music
Problemattik
Meth
Abstrakt
Alex Jonestown Massacre
Illest Uminati
Insidious Flow
Bulletproof & The Fool
Skitzo
Infamous
JCW Wrestling

Chuey Martinez & Mosh Pit Mike (JCW World Champions)
The Ring Rydas
The Monroes
Heidi Katrina
Officer Rod Street
Thunder Kitty
Killa Khole
Gary Galaxy
Amazing Maria
The Provider
Tarantula
Ruff Crossing
Hyzaya
H. Ka’Deem Muhammad
Aja Perera (Girl Fight Champion)
Billie Starkz
Alice Crowley
Nina Monet
Shotzi Blackheart
Hawlee Cromwell
The Quintessential Stud Muffin Joel Gertner
JCW Events:

Wonder Women of Wrestling
Super Heroes of Wrestling
SoopaMania (including appearances by):
“Iron Demon” Shane Mercer
“Super Mex” Hernandez
Teddy Hart
Kongo Kong
Tracy Smothers
Mad Man Pondo
2 Tuff Tony
The Haters
Nyla Rose
The Weedman
Willie Mack
Sabu
Sandman
Tommy Dreamer
Shane Douglas
The Rude Boy vs Violent J (Double Retirement Main Event)
AxSylum Benefit Show (concert to raise money for Juggalo in need)

D-Lyrical (of Intelligence and Violence fame)
Tre Lb
Sewerside
Maximum Ovrlod
Kovax
Scrub Central
Mankini
Tarzan
Kasper
216 Zay
Shade & Spazzdanky Buddz
Sideshows

The B$H Extravaganza
Shape & Lady Rome’s Soopa Wedding
Peep This Shit Stage (Anyone can perform)
Juggalo Night Court
The World’s Most Dangerous Stunt Show
The Carnivalesque Freakshow Deluxe
R-Rated Circus Sideshow
Dark Carnival Tarot Readings
Bizarro World
Wolfpac’s Super Deluxe Fun Time Variety Show
Juggalo Psypher Video Shoot
Juggalesque
ICP’s Home Movies from the early 90s
Gaming Tournaments

Into The Echoside
Juggalos Against Sanity
Quest for Shangri-La
Texas Hold-Em
Morton’s List
Reno Rydas Fowlarama
Seminars

Ouija Macc
ABK
Insane Clown Posse
Esham Seminar
20 Years of the Gathering Seminar
Bruce Brothers Men In Black Seminar
Autographs

DJ Clay
Kung Fu Vampire
Big Hoodoo
Zug Izland
Esham
Randy from the Trailer Park Boys
Insane Clown Posse
Kingspade
Lyte
Ouija Macc
ABK
Rittz
Sabu
Sandman
Shane Douglas
Joel Gertner
Other Events/Attractions

Psychopathic Auctions
Juggalo Auctions
(Extremely dangerous) Carnival Rides
Late Night Parties

Shaggy’s Juggalo Pajama Jammy Big Ass Bubble Blowout Jam
Cruisin The Barrio
Juggalo Yacht Club Wine Mixer
Reno Rydaz No Mercy No Thirsty Party
The Rude Boy and DJ Carlito’s Juggalo Jam
Contests

Best Campsite competition
Juggalo Catch 21
Art contest
Wet T-shirt contest
Juggalo Psypher Auditions
Juggalo Gong Show
Costume Contest
Tattoo Contest
Juggalo Family Feud
Flow Master Rap Battle
Lingerie Contest
Faygo Launching Contest
Neden Game
Beat the DJ Contest
Miss Juggalette Pageant
Dark Carnival Games Pavilion
There’s no greater feeling than being around your closest homies to experience the greatest show there ever was, or ever will be!

If that’s not enough for you to go spend the money on your ticket then I don’t know what is! Head over to JuggaloGathering.com and get them today!

My name is Owen, and I enjoy stealing in general. Also drugs, which I generally sell my stolen shit to buy more of. So, my equally goonish friend Terry and I got the case of a lifetime six months ago. We had screwed over this creepy dude Cody who was selling us stuff by covertly stealing his stash of shrooms and weed and calling the cops on him as he made a delivery to our friendly competition later. He was selling black shrooms that everyone kept asking us for and we were worried we were losing customers. Both of us being usually unbathed as well as over six feet tall with scraggly hair, we somehow doubted it was our lack of congeniality.
Unexpectedly, the police assumed he was dangerous and decided to shoot him in the head, despite his being unarmed, shirtless and confused. He was a pretty creepy dude, but everyone doubted that his actions could be interpreted as a threat. They swore that he was coming right for them. We were surprised, enough that we didn’t make our usual jokes about it, but as junkies we both needed to make money and get another fix.
To console our good friend Ashley, who is his cousin, we offered to smoke her out (with Cody’s stolen weed). Needless to say, Terry tried and failed to fuck her. After being given a cold shoulder I began to ply my trade of casing her and her friends for other drugs to steal. His cousin was so upset that she mentioned not knowing what to do with the incredible payload of stuff they were growing that they had left out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. She seemed worried police might find it if they were investigating Cody, a paranoia I eagerly fostered. Still not believing ourselves to be under suspicion, we plied Ashley for the whereabouts of the grove of shrooms, weed and whatever else that was hidden in the swamps.
“I don’t remember clearly. It was a while down Southern and then a left at an abandoned building. Maybe we could find it on Mapquest? Owen, do you know the area?”
“No problem, the least we could do is check it out, make sure the cops didn’t nip it. This could have been a much larger sting or something. How long do you think it will take to clean it out?“
Ashley shook her pretty blonde head and stared at the floor.
“A while, it was a lot of plants, most of them were at least half way grown and a lot of them were almost ready to be picked.”
She didn’t meet my eyes and was ardently protecting herself from showing any kind of facial expression. Her puffy red eyes led me to believe that she would be softer right now than she was.
“Shit. That’s felony town. Maybe even RICO, or whatever.”
Considering the fact that we had dropped the tip just three weeks ago and they picked up everyone we mentioned I was pretty confident PBSO had no idea where this place was.
Paranoia had already set in and the idea of being watched by the police was very clearly an issue, since he had no idea that his cousin was simply set up by the goons he was currently being hustled by. We got approximate directions and prepared to head out the next day to find the secret garden. Druggies, in general, were usually off guard at around dawn in our local experience. Ashley showed us a couple of the shrooms that came from the crop, the black and brown caps hadn’t been dried and were especially dark and slick. She finally sighed, told us she wanted it all destroyed and announced she wanted to go to sleep. We promised to do our best for our good friend.
“Merry douchemas, bro.”
We fist pounded the second we got back into his turquoise 1982 Buick Regal.
“It’s more like Douche-Hanukkah, don’t you think? It’s like one act of douchery that is just lasting us much longer than normal. “
We didn’t have the decency to blame ourselves for Cody’s death, so this just seemed like someone else’s catastrophe that we happened to be able to cash in on.
“That makes sense, it’s like we’re keeping the douche oil going for eight douchey nights instead of just one.”
“You right. Well let’s go steal this motherfucker’s shit.”
He grinned, proud of the gaps and gold.
“One hell of a weekend.”
So we called our friend Nino and got ready that night, with whatever shoes we could hike in and durable clothing. We prepared to wake before the crack of dawn. We were all groggy when we woke, but we got a little high anyways before heading off into the dark, driving about forty five minutes down the 98, which was only known as “Southern Blvd.” to us at the time. It was about twenty minutes longer than civilization was able to cover. It runs across the entire state and plenty of Florida’s wetlands. By the time we reached the place, the sky had a single scintillating blue slit that was very far away.
Eduardo, or “Nino”, was Terry’s step brother from El Salvador, and he owned a quad cab pickup with a covered bed. Ubiquitous in redneck territory, we chuckled about how the most obvious instrument made us less likely to be noticed by the police. Thankfully it was dark, because a five foot three El Salvadorian in a plain white t-shirt with a lot of gold is normally how the police make their money with random stops. Especially when they’re with two hammy white trash looking guys like me and Terry, carrying what we hoped was a buttload of drugs.
Despite a general desire for being hidden, we blasted Spanish rap as we pulled past an old white house that was missing a roof and its windows. It was the main distinguishing feature that we knew about and aside from the giant patch of drugs somewhere nearby. Nino pulled his truck off the road and into the surprisingly deep grass. There wasn’t a road to the house, but it was still barely visible behind the wall of vivid pinks and purples coming from Floss Silk and Hong Kong Orchid trees. Near the side of the building was the concrete foundation of what was once a road sign, with two holes ringed with iron.
“You sure this is the place?”
Nino swirled around and shot me a cautious stare.
“Yeah, we Googled the area and she thought this was it. I saved the location on my phone.”
Nino turned around and snickered.
“I feel bad for them, I do.”
Nino seemed to be talking to himself at that point.
“Yeah, and I feel bad for all those weed plants that are going to get burned to death!”
Terry roared with laughter, but Nino began focusing on the area around us instead of responding.
We couldn’t see much further than the lights that the truck would reach and even that was hindered by brightly colored foliage. We got out of the car and looked around. Terry grabbed his supplies, the trash bags, a wheelbarrow and some refreshments inside. Sure enough, a small creek ran into a tiny pond about thirty feet behind the building. Coral pink stone slabs were occasionally partially visible winding past the massive pillars of red and orange hibiscus flowers and up to the pond. The layout of the plants almost seemed intentionally promoted along this path, which encouraged my belief that this was a tourist trap or something at some point. Eventually we finally got to what was clearly an originally man-made pond, with pale lavender tiles around the destroyed remnants of a ring in various states of assault from plants and water.
“Holy fucking shit.”
I felt the sting of Nino’s hand slapping my back hard and tightening briefly on my shoulder. He raised his finger to point at what had gotten his and Terry’s admiration. Across from the pond was a single visible pot plant, poking out from behind a wall of tree growth about thirty feet away from the pond. We all picked up a happy trot on the way to our quarry, which was still along a badly weathered path. Sure enough, behind a batch of pines and bushes bigger than SUVs was a very well-manicured garden stretching through enough scrub to include several large fully grown pot plants. It was clearly tended by someone competent, who included separate sections for weed, regular shrooms and the glistening black beasts of mushrooms that we knew to be growing in popularity.
The black ones seemed to spread infectiously, clustering in small uneven groups near the other shrooms but especially near the stems of the pot plants. There were a couple of salvia plants too, but we didn’t care. I started filling trash bags with the stuff, ripping the plants out roots and all if there was enough bud on them. All of the plants looked just slightly wild, they were planted with care but upon close inspection didn’t seem to have been trimmed or even touched in quite some time.
“Bro! We’re going to be kings for a fucking year! Look at these fucking things!”
Terry lifted an oozing clump of the irregularly sized but tightly packed black shrooms and held them next to the slightly less disgusting brown and black regular shrooms. They were both disgusting and appetizing simultaneously and I didn’t blame Terry when he ate quite a few of both before returning to pack his bags.
“This is worth the down payment on a pretty nice house.”
Nino gestured to the mountainous weed plant in front of him, almost as if he were arguing defensively.
“We cut and cure this and we could make a fucking fortune.”
Nino smiled confidently. I finished my fourth messy bag of weed and moved on to the shrooms, going near an area that seemed split between the two varieties. I ate a little of the fresh shrooms, which tasted like ass, before chugging some Faygo Terry brought. Years of being a juggalo in High School had left him with a genuine taste for the stuff, as well as other Floridian favorites like champagne cola and chocolate soda. I braced myself before shoving a tiny amount of the black shrooms into my mouth and swallowing hard, hoping to force it down before my mouth could register a taste. The shrooms were faster though, and my mouth was flooded with the taste and smell that was similar to blood and feces. I wretched immediately, but nothing came up and I was able to wash it down with more soda.
“Jesus ass-fucking Christ!”
I heard myself spit the words out. Terry laughed hysterically before stifling himself and looking around to see if anyone else was visible. We were all vaguely aware of the risks involved in what we were doing.
“Yeah, it gets a little better when it’s dry, but not much.”
Terry winced in sympathy before chugging some champagne cola with a little coconut cream he had mixed in a two liter. I noticed what appeared to be a fat white person moving towards us from over Terry’s shoulder, but it turned out to be a giant cluster of white flowers when I looked closer.
“How the fuck did this shit get popular?”
I asked incredulously. They both laughed deeply.
“Probably the same way inhaling burning plant ash got popular.”
Nino smiled ear to ear. I went back to plucking the plants as they were kicking in on me, making me glad I wasn’t driving. After about twenty minutes the place was pretty much picked clean, except for some remaining small clumps of black mushrooms. The stuff kicked in quick, and I could notice colors becoming brighter, more vivid. When I moved my head, every flower turned into a blur. I felt the rise of a new euphoria, and the shit did have plentiful horsepower.
“Don’t worry Ashley, the cops won’t find any of it. “
Terry said with an odd chuckle. He began wheeling the first load up to the truck, while Nino carried two hefty bags on his back. I picked up two bags myself, hoping to match his feat. Surprised by their weight, I couldn’t quite easily do it and decided to quietly put one down when they had turned up the path and couldn’t see me. I marched dutifully past the small pond leading to the truck after that. By the second trip, it was a wrap, and I was glad to be out of there. The shrooms had made the colors blur strangely, each bleeding into the next just slightly. I was smiling like an idiot and my heart was pounding.
“Shit, I’d say I was about to get a better truck, but the right money in a shitty apartment could be a fortune in ten years. I’m tired as fuck of paying rent, yo.”
Nino clasped us both on the back before we took off with the last load of roughly plucked plants.
“Yeah man, I wanna be some banks bitch instead! Mortgages baby!”
We all laughed heartily and took off towards the pond. Terry looked like he was doing fine, but I was ready to take a nap. I felt sleepy and my heart was racing, although it was a fun high. As I reached the pond I had to stop for a moment. The water was crystal clear, but choked with life, with massive green clouds floating past forest like weeds. Fish darted from behind cover. It was seemingly crowded with life in what seemed to have once been the remains of a pool no larger than five feet in diameter, but had turned into a part of Florida. The small creeks that ran into and out of it were similarly clear, but had torrents of tiny fish here and there despite not being more than a foot deep.
I almost put my last bag down, but when I looked down into the water I saw a face with stunning green eyes staring back at me. I blinked and realized it was just a tile with some remaining designing, being slowly absorbed into the great biomass that neighbored it, the mushrooms blurring things just enough to curve the shapes into something recognizable. I shuddered and mustered enough energy to get to the truck where the guys were stuffing the bed with our ill-gotten gains.
“Alright, if there were cops they would have pulled up on us…as long as no one finds out about Cody, we’re home free.”
Despite only recently having gotten involved, both Terry and I happily accepted the tone of authority and leadership in Nino’s voice. Terry shut the gate of the truck and we all hopped inside. I was glad to be somewhere vaguely familiar and felt safer when I felt the engine kick on. The sky was streaked with garlands of orange and white, but had finally reached a gentle teal. As we drove away, I thought I saw what looked like an extremely obese white person stretching out to us, but when I looked closer it was just the ruins of the sign in front of the destroyed building, which in more light was clearly being overrun with plant life.
I nodded off on the way home, where we quickly rushed the goods indoors to be cleaned and prepared for buyers. We spent the rest of the day, aside from a quick nap, cleaning things up. We had at least twenty five ounces of high quality weed as well as more shrooms than Coachella would probably need. Nino had gone home with a nice sized stash for himself, proud of a job well done. We ordered more Chinese food than we could eat, confident that we could splurge. We used quite a nice assortment of drugs that night, with some Roxicodone and shrooms to send us both to sleep.
The next day I woke up at Terry’s house, a two bedroom one floor home of the variety popular in South Florida, with a flat roof and bright yellow walls. It was still in Palm Beach County, but was at least forty minutes away from the part that could be called a city. He had no neighbors, an envious situation for folk like us. I smelled the thick smoke of burning weed the moment I woke, and it prompted me to reach for my own bong and Adderall. Terry was in his densely forested back yard. I burned a bowl and washed it down with whiskey and amphetamines, a wonderful pick me up.
“Bro, how you feeling?”
Terry asked after rushing in when he saw me stir to life.
“Delicious! Fuck man, I can’t believe how much we got.”
“We have to go help Nino out, he got into some kind of a fight last night and woke up in the slammer.”
The look on Terry’s face was one of someone still trying to hold on to the silver lining after seeing it ripped away from him a thousand times before. He could imagine this gift unraveling already, and he just hoped it was his turn to get lucky. The drive to the strange, massive tower that loomed over West Palm Beach from Gun Club road was a quiet one. The county jail was a massive facility, housing an absurd number of people in what appeared to be a skyscraper from the “Giant blocks of concrete and metal” school that was popular in Communist Russia. Terry was more than happy to take out his life savings for bail, knowing that we were at least financially alright. I sat in Terry’s Buick while he went into the absurd edifice and tried to keep myself busy on my tablet.
“Fucking shit, man.”
The disgust in Terry’s voice was thick when he suddenly opened the car door. The other side opened and Nino quietly slipped in. He didn’t say anything or look at me, but I saw from the bandages and his reflection in the side mirror and he was clearly fucked up. A red spot had blossomed into the gauze near his ear, and his head seemed to be thoroughly wrapped.
“Bro, we got painkillers, you’re gonna be fine. The other guy isn’t pressing charges anyways; You just got public intoxication and lewd conduct.”
I wondered what the fuck Nino had done to get all of this and for it to be called getting off easy, but he remained silent the entire way back to Terry’s. Terry kept trying to lift his spirits, but he never seemed to even move his head. When we reached Terry’s I saw the full extent of the damage. Half of his face was fine, but the other half was covered in bandages. Apparently he took a swing at his neighbor and his neighbor ended up smacking him hard enough to send him straight to the hospital. He plopped down on Terry’s filthy blue couch and mindlessly grabbed some pills and shrooms off the table. He swallowed them both instantly, without any water. I had to wonder what that tasted like since some of the black shrooms were in there.
“I found a way to make them taste a lot better.”
His thick accent and cause wrapped mouth made the words sound like angry mumbling, but Terry followed it.
“Oh yeah? What did you do, to make them taste better?”
Terry seemed to engage in the conversation the same way one might talk to a stranger’s distraught child.
“Boil it into tea with honey.”
Nino said this very flatly and even though it wasn’t a very easy to understand statement, Terry jumped to his feet, eager to meet what was obviously his step-brother’s wish.
“Alright man, hell, let’s give it a shot.”
I didn’t normally like shrooms, but fuck it, right? I was looking forward to another rush from the horrible crap. I popped some Xanax to mellow out the earlier Adderall and began to prep myself for the horrific taste. Terry came out of the kitchen with a coffee pot filled with extremely dark purple liquid that had some kind of debris floating through it. We each poured it into whatever filthy vessel, in my case a beer stein with dried rings of ale inside, and drank. The smell had not improved. It reeked of shit and blood. But the taste, strangely, had. It was crisp and grassy, with just a hint of sweetness. I remembered hearing that the Durian fruit tasted great but smelled terrible and I wondered if this was something similar in effect. Nino chugged his right away, out of an old coffee mug.
“It kicks in better this way.”
He was obviously straining to speak and both Terry and I nodded sympathetically as he downed a second mug just as quickly as the first. I poured a very small amount for a second shot for myself, spurred on by the fact that drinking takes a while to kick in, which is frustrating for a person like myself. This time, the smell didn’t bother me nearly as much. Nino returned to his quiet and Terry put some movies he downloaded the previous night on a memory stick for us to watch. My eyelids became very heavy about fifteen minutes into Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence staring soulfully into the camera.
When I woke up, the room smelled like one of us had a horrible case of diarrhea that he had decided to simply concede defeat to. The salty, coppery shit smell choked me. The screen had auto-dimmed and the drapes were still pulled tight to defeat any of sunlight’s attempts, making the room darker despite being in the middle of the day. I looked over to Nino and saw him slumped in his couch, black drool leaking out of his mouth and onto the previously pristine wrapping. Terry’s chin was resting on his chest, only the top of his head was visible.
“Shit. Terry?”
Terry didn’t move, and I figured Nino deserved his beauty sleep.
The couch was sticky and damp against my skin. I got up slowly and went to the kitchen where we kept the drugs. The glass back door had a few blinds missing, and my eyes needed a moment to adjust to the light. When they did I grabbed a bottle of beer and twisted it open. I rolled it around my mouth for a moment before walking back into the living room. In the corner of the living room, between Nino and the recliner where I slept nearest the door was a fat, naked man. He was absurdly fat, with brittle looking wrinkly skin. He peered at me carefully from behind his legs while sitting on the floor with his knees bunched in front of his face and his thin, talon like hands wrapped around the front of his legs.
“Dude, what the fuck!”
I ran and shook Terry, who was closest to me. His head limply dropped to the side and black goo fell out of his mouth. His eyes were fixed open. I heard a horrible rasping sound escape the immense old man, who was now slowly rising to his feet. I backed away; the old man was clearly fixed on me. He was white, but not like a white person. His skin was unnaturally pale, his long nose, straight white hair, and a square jaw framed a face that did not look European and had no trace of facial hair. His deep green eyes did not look real. As he rose, he pointed a sickeningly long and boney finger at me as if to accuse me.
“Impa…”
His voice was choked and angry as he finally managed to stand. It sounded both deep and brittle. The meaningless syllables seemed to echo unnaturally. He was utterly naked, and his immense belly loomed awkwardly over the white fur of his crotch. He was no more than five feet tall, but he seemed strangely immense. The proportions of his body were all wrong, with a gut that belonged on a 600 pound obesity patient and arms and legs that looked emaciated. In addition to having extremely thin and boney arms, each appendage was adorned with oddly long toes and fingers.
I turned and braced myself to open the rusty and often jammed lock on the back door as fast as possible. Instead, I ran directly into the fat old man, who was suddenly directly in front of me. I felt slimy fingers grasp my shoulders as he opened his mouth to reveal tiny, rotten teeth. Black slime oozed from around his gums as his long, snake like tongue darted towards my face.
“Impa!”
When I woke again, the smell of blood and shit was almost overwhelming. Seth Rogan was laughing awkwardly on the TV and sunlight was pouring in from the windows. Terry was standing over me, snapping his fingers. Blood was trickling from his mouth. Nino watched me carefully from the couch.
“Bro, what the fuck?”
Terry looked stunned, and shook his head before going back to the loveseat he had been sitting on. There was no fat white guy in sight.
“You were going crazy. You hit him.”
Nino pointed this out sagely.
“What the fuck bro, are you alright?”
My head was ringing, my stomach was turning and the wonderful bouquet of the mushrooms made it difficult to focus on anything else.
“I’m going to have to estimate this, but I think it’s a ‘no’. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with those shrooms?”
“I took some last night. I don’t remember getting into that fight, I just remember going to sleep and thought it felt great, but holy shit. I thought I was just fucked up on a lot of shit, the whole day was pretty blurry. I think you just went through the same thing. At the very least, this stuff causes you to black out and take a swing at anyone that tries to wake you.”
Nino began to rub his jaw, clearly in pain from the attempt to use his voice. The look on Terry’s face had hints of horror and betrayal.
“Let’s just sell them. Get rid of them. Sell them at a discount, trade them, whatever.”
I heard my own voice shake as I said this. Nino looked to me and nodded before taking a deep bong hit. Terry stared down at the floor.
“Even the weed?”
Terry asked innocently, but we didn’t answer. It wasn’t dried yet, so we had to smoke our own stuff anyways. I remembered the clusters of oily black mushrooms at the base of the pot plants and shuddered. I felt myself craving the rush of it again and it disgusted me. After a few minutes we all eventually picked up our phones and began texting, searching for anyone who was looking for quantity and wasn’t asking questions.
“Uhm, Todd Cavanaugh hinted that he might be willing to give us two grand and a 2006 Ford Taurus. He said it’s in good condition?”
Terry asked hesitantly, while looking over at the massive garbage bags stuffed with what he had assumed was about 10 to 15k worth of stuff once dried, if sold over time carefully. It was still more than Nino’s bail bond, but not by much.
“Let’s go talk to him, bring him samples. But only a little of the weird shit.”
Nino smiled at my idea and slowly nodded. Two grand and a Ford Taurus it was. Terry began texting furiously, arranging the meeting in as discrete of terms idiots could come up with. Terry stuffed a generous load of fresh bud into his book sack, along with a ton of shrooms and a significantly sized baggy of the disgusting paste that the other mushrooms had devolved into.
“Yikes.”
Terry still seemed to love the stuff and shot me a look as if offended by my suggestion that the stuff was ‘yikes’ worthy.
“He said he can do it tomorrow.”
I nodded at him.
“Great, we’ll leave it here and go sleep at my place tonight.”
He gave me an exasperated look.
“Dude, it is not that bad, you guys just lost your shit.”
Nino seemed to be wrestling with doubt at this suggestion. I wondered if he had seen anything too, but he didn’t seem to outright reject the idea. I didn’t want to mention how badly I wanted just another hint of the stuff, or that part of me was trying to convince the rest to take a little more to “test” it more thorough. I wasn’t going to be in the same room as the shit anymore. I left the planning to them and told them to meet up with me that night at my shitty one bedroom apartment. My home is in a building that used to be a motel and also used to be cheap, but is still shitty and in the middle of nowhere. It has a kitchenette from the sixties. Not a lot of room, but the two or three of us could crash.
I got in my equally shitty 86 Camaro and wondered if the Ford Taurus had a particularly reliable transmission, my least favorite part of any vehicle. As I was putting my seatbelt on, in my peripheral vision I saw the fat man take a step towards me from across the yard. I looked up, and but it was just the combination of the mailbox and a white Realtor sign nearby it that formed the bleached silhouette. I decided to go home.
“Fuck me”
I repeated to myself casually, over and over as I pulled out of the driveway and started heading home. Nino clearly didn’t have any naked fat man issues, but he knew something was deeply wrong with the shit. Terry seemed to think something was at least awry as well. Otherwise he would have fought kicking and screaming. I continued my mantra until I had pulled onto 441, the seemingly endless local neighborhood road that went north and south in Florida. As I pulled up at a stoplight next to a Ford Taurus I was inspecting, I saw a massive, pale bloated body with a curtain of white hair shuffle towards me.
“Son of a fuck!”
I didn’t have an exclamation for something that bad. But when I focused on the apparition it turned out to be a fat redneck in a Dodge Neon with a stupid white hat. I jammed the gas when the light turned. As I got away from the innocuous Neon, I saw it again. A single long, pale arm stretched toward my car, gaining on me rapidly. The fat thing was on top of a truck. But when I looked, it was just pvc pipes and a white drop cloth. Instead of gunning it, I took a deep breath and moved over a lane. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, fool me three times and I’m probably just panicking. I decided to pull over all the way to a visible Taco Bell and get something to eat and drink.
“Welcome to Taco Bell, can I take your order?”
The small Hispanic girl smiled as sincerely as a minimum wage employee could be expected to muster.
“I’d like two chalupas and a large drink, please.”
I was aware of the fact that I probably looked and smelled like I had crawled out of a dumpster but I smiled happily anyways and tried to act like a normal person. After ordering, I got my drink and shuffled over to the area where prepared food was handed to customers, taking care to memorize the number on my receipt. When the number on my receipt was called, I grabbed my food quickly and went to the door.
And that was when I saw it. The fat thing was walking towards the parking lot from road. I met its green eyes and saw its mouth open wide, finger slowly rising to point at me. I gasped and swirled around, as if another alternate exit might exist that didn’t involve walking towards the thing. The small Hispanic girl shot me a nervous smile and checked to make sure her coworkers were near. The man ordering in front of her looked more disgusted than alarmed, but I was a little more worried about the fat thing than them.
“Sorry, I thought I forgot my wallet…”
I said, not even bothering to make it look like I was checking my pockets. Now most people in the front were giving me nervous looks that said they were worried about a potential Floridian junkie issue. When I turned around to start walking to the other exit that was slightly closer to my car than the thing, it was gone. The white cab of a semi was sitting in traffic where it had been, its driver retracting his cigarette wielding arm to take the wheel as the lights changed, forcing him to lurch forward. I almost breathed a sigh of relief, but a white car pulled into the parking lot, and for just a moment I could vaguely make out its outline in the vehicle. I walked as quickly as I could to my car.
“Fuck, man, pick up!”
I could hear my voice saying as I attempted to call Terry once I was in the car. I was hoping that I was still tripping a little, and that I just needed someone to help me calm down. My vision was still a little blurred, something I clung to for hope. The phone rang once, then twice and then went to voicemail.
“Aw shit man, come on!”
A woman getting out of her van looked at my car nervously as I punched Nino’s call button. As I put the phone to my ear, I plunged the car keys into the ignition and turned on the engine, ready to shift into reverse at 90 miles per hour if Nino didn’t pick up. The moment I put my hand on the shifter, my passenger side window exploded in a shower of glass and a thin white claw waved near my face. I shrieked as I shot the car into reverse.
“Impa!”
The angry shriek of metal on metal seemed to form the word as I sped out of the parking lot. When I looked in the rear view mirror, a man in a white shirt who had been trying to help a handicapped person out of the van next to me was waving at me; the small telescoping rod that had broken my window accidentally was still in his hand as I came as close to flooring it as I could. At every light, out of the corner of my eye I could see the thing trying to gain on me. Every time I looked closer, the “thing” turned out to be something innocuous. I got away from it, but never by enough to get it out of sight.
As I pulled into my parking lot, Terry’s phone number lit up my phone and I grabbed for it desperately. I got out of my car as I answered, and briefly looked behind me to see the thing about half a mile down the road, as a white SUV. I ran into my shitty apartment, turned on all the lights and locked the door.
“Dude, can you meet me at my place?”
I asked, entirely out of breath. Terry’s voice sounded depressed and unsure.
“I mean, I guess. Todd Cavanaugh said he might be able to do something today if he likes it.”
He had a defeated tone in his voice.
“Bring Nino. Are you guys feeling alright from that shit last night?”
I didn’t know what would be worse, him telling me they’re fine and knowing that it means it was only happening to me, or hearing him confirm it and having to face the fact that I was in a special kind of deep shit. I didn’t want to admit that my desire to eat more of the disgusting fungus was growing rapidly, or that I was starting to feel sick and clammy.
“I took some, about to do some extra, Nino’s driving and didn’t want any today. You build up a tolerance to this shit quick, I had to take twice as much as I did last night to get anywhere. Still pretty quick for something you eat, and you get used to the taste. “
My spine turned to ice.
“Ok, well get here soon. I gotta talk to you guys real quick, it’s important.”
I hoped that he would convey the urgency to Nino. I sank down on my couch and took out a joint. I puffed and puffed, but it didn’t get me high at all, I was too nervous. After about twenty minutes of wondering if that thing could make it through a front door I finally heard Terry talking away as he walked up to my door. I opened it before they knocked, and invited the glazed looking Terry and Nino in.
“Does anyone else not feel good about this shit?”
Nino shot Terry a worried look and then nodded to me. Terry gave me a scrutinizing look.
“Listen, if you’re worried about getting caught, don’t be. We already did it. You’re probably just having a bad trip because of the anxiety, you know? Mushrooms are pretty subjective.”
I wanted to believe what he was saying to me and give the little bastards another try, but the bits of shattered glass still about my own clothing demanded that I focus.
“Terry, you need to stop taking those. It’s one thing to be subject, but two violent blackouts out of three uses just isn’t normal. There is something wrong with those. We should just throw them away.”
Terry put up an incredulous face.
“You guys are still probably tripping a little. Just relax, pop some Xanax. We’re selling the stuff already anyways, let’s not make this complicated.”
Nino’s mouth twisted into an unhappy shape.
“Why don’t you take care of it then? You can keep the whole load of black ones, and we won’t destroy them, but we don’t want anything to do with them?”
Both Terry and Nino studied each other after I made my suggestion. Nino didn’t seem to share the intensity of my fear, and balked at this suggestion, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, Terry spoke up.
“Alright, I’ll take care of it. Holy shit you guys are overreacting. You don’t want the high and the money? Fine.”
Nino bit down on his lip and I could tell he was desperately craving the stuff too. He also seemed to be breaking a sweat. I wanted to feel that high so badly that when I thought of the taste of the stuff, the mix of shit and blood, it actually made my mouth water. Terry was grinning confidently, as if he expected us to jump back on the share and tell him it was time to party again to celebrate. Nino and I quietly nodded to each other.
“That sounds good. You handle the sale, just give us our share of whatever doesn’t include the black ones.”
Nino said this with an adamantine tone.
“I don’t want anything to do with them. I’m sorry man, but we won’t destroy them. We don’t even want the profits from it. ”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Terry now looked at us as if we had just threatened him. He looked between the two of us, but neither of us said anything until he conceded.
“Fine. I thought you guys might like a free rush, but whatever.”
The moment he agreed, it felt as if the entire day had just been a practical joke at my expense. Over the next couple of hours, Nino obviously loosened up a lot too. He even let out a laugh every now and then. The thought of the black shrooms wasn’t even tempting. Terry ate a few more, and then a few more after that. He was a little bitch for the rest of the day, but we sat through it, finally getting high after several bowls. After about three hours, it was time for Terry to make the sample drop to lure Todd Cavanaugh into the purchase. Nino decided Terry seemed sober enough, so we let him take care of it. He had been so moody that we both just wanted to chill without him for a minute. As he left the parking lot I tried to pretend that I didn’t see the fat thing following him.
We got the money the next day, much less than we initially hoped for. Terry was surprisingly clean, and aside from the horrible smell on his breath and the red rings around his eyes we thought he might be doing better. But after that, we never saw him again. Both Nino and I had horrible fucking nightmares that night, of the fat thing dragging Terry, kicking and screaming to us for help, into the small pond near the grove we harvested. Once it had him in the impossibly deep water the thing plunged its tongue deep down Terry’s throat. Terry reached a hand towards the surface of the water, but it went limp. A dark cloud spread from the things gaping mouth in the water. The cloud somehow navigated into Terry’s open mouth and nostrils.
Two weeks later, “Terry” got fucked up on what the police hoped was meth and killed Todd Cavanaugh, as well as the guy’s six month old kid with a ball-peen hammer. The two had been hanging out non-stop since Terry managed to introduce him to the shrooms, which Todd’s widow told us he had barely bothered to sell. He didn’t want to get rid of them. The only other time I ever drove down Southern Blvd was a year later for a job. I couldn’t help but look on the side of the road where we had found that grove. Something that looked like Terry was there, but bleached and stretched out of proportion. When I looked closer, it was just a leafless bush.
After Todd’s funeral, I got an email from Ashley, Cody’s cousin. It said:
*“You coward. Those were for you, and you should have just eaten them yourself.” *

A lot of people hate on ICP and (and the associated fanbase even moreso), but do they really deserve all the hate they get?
Think about this - with their face paint, Faygo-fueled stage theatrics, horror imagery, and arguably religious message, they've created this unique aesthetic that had never existed previously, and had never been so iconic. This aesthetic spawned thousands of imitators - this not only refers to the fans themselves who mainly just listen to the music, but also other Juggalo-derived rap acts (Twiztid, Blaze, ABK, Big Hoodoo, among others). They have a yearly festival (and started having a gaming convention recently) that people compare to Burning Man in terms of how crazy/wild/interesting it gets. The idea of the "Juggalo" is a full subculture beyond just being a fan of a band/label, and often people visualize what a Juggalo would look like, and it is a broad identity distinct from being a raver, goth, punk, EDM fan, rap fan, but encompassing elements from all of those things and more. They did all this while not knowing the technicalities of music/not playing any instruments, and not having much education or money.
Whether you actually like these dudes' music or not, you have to admit, it's pretty impressive. If you've ever read Behind the Paint (Violent J's memoir), you can read on how they worked day in and day out to promote their albums and get their name spread across Detroit and beyond.
One super important thing, and the main point of my discussion, is that as they grew and started gaining more experience as rappers/stars, they began to know their audience extremely well, and began to consistently put out albums appealing to that (growing) specific audience. The audience that ICP is successful with has an appreciation for a very specific kind of mix of humor, horror, and rap. ICP has grown to understand that mix and puts out albums that contain all of those things. They know what they're good at, and are masters of it. I feel like that's generally true of successful musicians - if the band's fans prefer symphonic metal, the band will keep putting out symphonic metal if keeping their fans is a priority, and will only veer to a new genre if they feel their audience may be receptive to a new sound from them (of course, there are many exceptions where bands/artists will do an entirely new thing regardless of what the audience wants.)
It seems people dislike ICP because they just don't like that particular rap music in general, but ICP is just the go-to name because they came up with the genre. It would be similar to someone saying they dislike, say, George Clinton because the style of his music is funk, as opposed to saying they don't like George Clinton because he's particularly bad at making funk music (and the opposite is true, obviously - P. Funk is awesome!) People dislike ICP because they don't understand the genre or think they're above it. But ICP doesn't try to be a group that makes funk, jazz, synthpop, classical, or anything other than their own flavor of music. If ICP created an album so far removed from their horrorcore style and theme, it would alienate the fans.
In some ways, ICP is like a comic book - as there are more comic books coming out in the series, the ICP discography, when viewed chronologically, is like watching comic books, or series in an anime series, have new installments released. Like, people may be excited about the new Kanye West album and enjoy listening to it, but it's not like upon finishing the album you'll be like, ok, what's next in the story? I want to hear more!!! So there's a lot of speculation about the mythos, and people want to know what the message will be and how it will change. ICP are still going really strong with this approach too, and with Violent J having lost weight and neither of them doing any serious drug use in recent years, they are in better physical health and have more energy to keep pumping out albums and touring.
I do understand that ICP's humor is low-brow, but does music have to be high-brow to be good? Like, if the big appeal in your city is the "screamo" sound/look, the absolute best thing would be to produce that type of emo/metalcore music while also enjoying the shit out of it. If you're just making fad music for money and don't actually enjoy the genre, then it's just an unrewarding/unfulfilling way of making money. But Violent J in particular lives and breathes the Dark Carnival, and loves spreading the message through rap. So would it make sense at all for Violent J to step away from it and decide he needs to stop rapping and instead take lessons on the guitar, flute, and drums to make a different type of music? Or stop cursing, and use a more academic vocabulary? Or to elevate his sense of humor to one that is more high-brow? Violent J knows what he's doing, likes it, and does well with it.
Lastly, the Juggalos are one of the most notable groups (aside from bronies) that promote acceptance of weirdness/unusual people/outcasts. Granted, the Juggalos of early years were a more savage bunch and not always eager to welcome them into the fold, but as they have matured and as more people came to know the scene, it evolved into a welcoming and love-filled environment where fans refer to each other as family and always have each other's backs.
If I were Violent J, I would be proud as hell!

THE MASKED NINJA’S BEST CAMPSITE COMPETITION
Shimmer Fuckin Forest, Dawg! Family, ninjas, jugglas, and neck cuttaz—Where you postin’ up? Camp Superballs? Hero Mountain? Big Ballas? The masked ninja wants to see you get hype about your home base. Hook that shit up, and your camp could win one of several prizes the masked ninja himself will have as he rolls through the grounds of our Soopa Family Gathering! The best and most creative campsites will win a mystery box full of freshness! Are you ready for the masked ninja to descend on your campsite? May the most ninjatastic campsite win!

JUGGALO CATCH 21 GAME SHOW
This often-hilarious trivia game show will test the entire span of your Juggalo knowledge and then some! Each round, three contestants will attempt to answer trivia questions in order to earn points. For every correct questioned answered, the winner will get to draw a giant card to either add it to their hand to try to get to 21 or give it to an opponent’s hand to bust them out! Whoever is still standing in the end wins! Want to put your Juggalo knowledge to the test? Then come on down! Prizes: 1st place—Collector’s GOTJ Amulet and a chance to win up to a $100 Gift Certificate in the bonus round.

ART CONTEST
Every artist is welcome to enter their masterwork creations in this epic art contest to see who among them can rate the best! If you wish to join, simply bring up to 3 pieces of your art (sculpting, painting, computer graphics, photography, etc.) to set up your presentation so you can contribute to the massive gallery of dope art that will be on hand. A panel of judges will then rate each exhibit on skill, originality, and inspiration to determine the top three winners, which will be announced at 2pm. Even if you don’t enter, make sure to stop by to check out all the awesomeness. Prizes: 1st Place—GOTJ Gold Plaque, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and $100 Gift Certificate; 2nd Place—$100 Gift Certificate; and 3rd Place—$50 Gift Certificate.

WET T-SHIRT CONTEST
Cascading Faygo glistening in the afternoon sun, as it pours over curvaceous twerk-a-liscous Juggalette hotties…it just doesn’t get any better than this! Join your host Mike Busey and his bevy of Busey Beauties as they take you on a joy-filled bouncy ride along the raunchy wet highway of unadulterated fun! You ready for your adrenaline to kick into overdrive? Then come witness this carbonated chaos-filled spectacle that remains one of the most highly anticipated events of the year. Prizes: 1st Place—$300 in Cash and a Collectors GOTJ Amulet; 2nd Place—$150 Gift Certificate; and 3rd Place—$50 Gift Certificate. Those wishing to compete should show up at least 15 minutes before the contest begins with a white t-shirt, if possible. A Private dressing room will be provided.

JUGGALO PSYPHER AUDITIONS
Do you want to be in a Psychopathic filmed, edited, and produced music video to be officially aired on the Psychopathic YouTube channel for the entire world to see?!?! Stop playin’, homie! This is one of the greatest fuckin contests of all time and your chance to be immortalized forever! All you need to do is show up for these auditions, wait in line, and when your turn comes, spit 16 to 20 bars of your dopest rap in front of a panel of judges (a beat will be provided). Each performance will be rated on flow, lyrical content, and confidence. Afterwards the names of the top 6 performers will then be posted at the Info Tent. Winners will then show up at Cannibal’s House on Friday at Midnight for the filming of the 2019 Juggalo Psypher!!! So fuckin dope!!!

JUGGALO GONG SHOW
This wildly fun, albeit underrated, game show hosted by the ambiguously gay Chuck Bareass is an elaborate production to say the least. Anyone can compete by taking the stage to display whatever talent they possess; be it jump roping, clenching a 2-liter in your butt cheeks, burp singing, playing an instrument, a backflip presentation, etc. (but please no rapping). You can perform for up to 2 minutes alone or with friends. If you don’t school it, you may get gonged, but last till the end and the judges will rate your performance, with the top scores winning! Did we mention there will also be tearful man babies, mallet-wielding exotic dancers, glitter showers, scantily clad Bronies, balloon animals, and giant inflatable puppets!?! Prizes: 1st Place—GOTJ Gold Plaque, Collectors GOTJ Amulet, Mr. T’s Latex Headpiece with Sideburns, and an empty Gray Poupon Jar filled with $62.47; 2nd Place—$80 gift certificate, Pair of BluBlocker sunglasses, and a lap dance from a Gong Show dancer; and 3rd Place—Mystery gift.

COSTUME CONTEST
This is a spectacle the likes of which will need to be seen to be believed. Come witness a parade of costumed visionaries who have transformed themselves into the embodiment of their wildest (and wickedest) imaginations. Here you will see everything from a sword-wielding ninja giraffe to a blood-splattered Santa Claus with a gift bag of severed body parts. This is one of the greatest traditions at the Gathering each year and is a wonderful way to showcase the amazing talent and imagination that our family has to offer.Prizes: 1st Place—GOTJ Gold Plaque, Collectors GOTJ Amulet, and $100 gift certificate; 2nd Place—$100 gift certificate; and 3rd Place—$50 gift certificate.Show dancer; and 3rd Place—Mystery gift.

TATTOO CONTEST
It’s time to show some skin and pledge your pride to the Juggalo side! The world famous Gathering of the Juggalos tattoo contest returns! Show off your best ink and body art in the Freakshow Tent, where you will be proudly displayed and on stage like the work of art you are. No matter what or where your tattoos are, bring ‘em to the stage and strut your stuff, as we prepare to determine the best of the best before a crowd of your Juggalo homies! Don’t have any ink? Then come and bear witness to this dazzling display of inked flesh at its finest. Back by popular demand, it’s the Gathering of the Juggalos Tattoo Contest! Soooooopa edition! Prizes: 1st Place—GOTJ Gold Plaque, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and $100 gift certificate; 2nd Place—$50 gift certificate; and 3rd Place—$20 gift certificate.

JUGGALO FAMILY FEUD
Its back again like herpes simplex Z…its Juggalo Family Feud! In order to compete, gather a crew of 4 or 5 of your homies and head over to the Kapow Club to battle face to face with another crew to see who will come out on top and who will leave the stage in humiliating defeat! During the game, your crew will try to give the top answers to questions surveyed to 100 Juggalos! The first crew to reach 300 points wins the game and earns the right to move on to the fast money round, for a chance to win a $200 gift certificate! Each member of the winning crew will also win a Collectors GOTJ amulet. Survey says…“I’m dope, hoe!”

FLOW MASTER RAP BATTLE
Are you ready to see just how good your raps really are? Here is where verbal assassins gather in a competition that will put their rap abilities to the ultimate test! It is a mental warfare of creativity, skill, and confidence, with the ultimate casualties being that of pride, dignity, and humility. Many will stand upon the staged arena but only one will remain in the end as the champion of MCs…. Could this be you? For this contest, rappers will first freestyle for 30 seconds to a provided beat. Those deemed worthy by the judges will then move into an elimination style battle, where two rappers at a time will compete directly against each other. In the end, there can be only one! Prizes: 1st Place—GOTJ Gold Plaque, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and $300 in cash; 2nd Place—$100 gift certificate; and 3rd Place—$50 gift certificate.

LINGERIE CONTEST
This tantalizing contest hosted by the beautiful women of Juggalesque will take you on a wondrous journey of silk, satin, lace, and leather, as a plethora of curvaceous Juggalettes free themselves of the restrictive clothing of everyday life to show off some of their sexiest sleepwear. You will think you are dreaming when the lines of fantasy and reality become blurred as you lay witness to sexiness taken to a whole new level of fun! Prizes: 1st Place—$300 in cash and a Collectors GOTJ Amulet; Second Place—$150 gift certificate; and Third Place—$50 gift certificate.

FAYGO LAUNCHING CONTEST
Get ready for carbonated explosive fun as you try to launch Faygo bottles the furthest distance using whatever method you can devise. If you achieve the greatest distance, you will be able to sit on the Faygo throne…that is, until someone beats your score! The last contestant still sitting on the throne at the end wins and is bestowed the honorary title of Faygo King! Prize: Furthest distance—$100 Gift Certificate and Collectors GOTJ Amulet

THE NEDEN GAME
Got Neden? No? Then this is where you need to be! Five players will be chosen from the crowd for each round of this adult game show for a chance to win a date with a hot Juggalette or debonair Juggalo. Contestants will answer rather bizarre, risqué, and revealing questions from their perspective suitor while they remain hidden from view. If you want to win, you will have to do it on personality alone. Do you have what it takes to master the Neden? We will see my Vaseline-handed friend…we will see. Prizes: The winner of each game will then get to go a date (8pm—mid) while hanging out in the Soopa backstage area!!!

BEAT THE DJ GAME SHOW
This Name-That-Tune style gameshow pits three competitors at a time against each other as they try to name classic underground songs as quickly as possible. This game will test each player’s musical knowledge to the limit in four different challenges to determine who among them is a true musical guru, allowing them to come out on top. Prizes: The winner of each game will receive a Collectable GOTJ Amulet and go onto a bonus round for a chance to win a $100 gift certificate.

SOOPA MISS JUGGALETTE PAGEANT
Beauty. Grace. Talent. And that sinister, seductive style. Poised with a perfect stature, yet with a shiny, sharp axe clutched behind her picturesque frame. She is the Soopa Queen of the Juggalos…And she is here to snatch the crown and astound the world as she claims her rightful place on the throne! Do you have what it takes to snatch the trophy and wear the crown upon your perfect, clown-painted brow? Then enter the Soopa Miss Juggalette Pageant and dare to compete in three scintillating rounds! Round 1: Personality, where you will be asked a question as you let your charisma shine. Round 2: Talent, where you will be given several minutes to showcase your skills (anything from acrobatics, to dancing, to fire breathing, to singing, to art, etc.). Round 3: Swimsuit, where you can work the runway and let the crowd be amazed by your beauty! Step up to claim your title–The Soopa Queen! It’s the world famous, notorious, Soopa Miss Juggalette Pageant! Mad love and respect to the Soopa Queen! Prizes: 1st Place—GOTJ Gold Plaque, Backstage Pass, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and $200 Gift Certificate; 2nd Place—$200 Gift Certificate; and 3rd Place—$100 gift certificate.

DARK CARNIVAL GAMES PAVILION
The DCG Pavilion is a place where you can sit back and play a game or two, from noon til 4am! There will not only be a games library for you to choose from, but there will be various gaming tournaments running throughout the GOTJ (see below). The Masters Tournament for each game will be held on Sunday at 4pm. In order to enter the Master Tournament, you will need to have previously won a standard tournament of the respective game. A player who wins the Masters Tournament will receive a GOTJ Gold Plaque and become the GOTJ 2019 champion for that game!

JUGGALOS AGAINST SANITY TOURNAMENTS
It just doesn’t get any more politically incorrect, offensive or vulgar then playing a game of Juggalos Against Sanity. The only real question is how far are you willing to go in order to win this tournament which requires all human decency to be set aside? Tournament Prizes: 1st Place—JAS Booster Pack (10 unique cards), 6” DCG Magnet, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and admission into the Masters Tournament. 2nd Place—6” DCG Magnet and admission into the Masters Tournament. Master Tournament Prize: 1st Place Only—GOTJ Gold Plaque.

INTO THE ECHOSIDE TOURNAMENTS
As the never-ending demonic hoard pours through the rift into our mortal realm, the light of humanity fades amidst the tortured screams of those with the will left to fight. Do you have what it takes to assemble an army capable of defeating such a force of infinite evil? Tournament Prizes: 1st Place—Set of 15 foil Epic cards, 6” DCG Magnet, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and admission into the Masters Tournament. 2nd Place—6” DCG Magnet. Master Tournament Prize: 1st Place Only—GOTJ Gold Plaque.

QUEST FOR SHANGRI-LA TOURNAMENTS
Shangri-La has come under a dark shadow created by some unknown nefarious power. You have embarked on a dangerous quest to traverse Detroit, the Nethervoid and the Dark Carnival to uncover the mystery of this otherworldly threat. Will you even survive long enough to cross the sacred bridge? Tournament Prizes: 1st Place—Set of 10 Holographic Ending Cards, 6” DCG Magnet, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and admission into the Masters Tournament. 2nd Place—6” DCG Magnet. Master Tournament Prize: 1st Place Only—GOTJ Gold Plaque.

TEXAS HOLD’EM TOURNAMENTS
This game is all about being calm and collect even in the midst of extreme pressure. Can you go all in with your tournament life on the line, on a stone-cold bluff and not even bat an eye? It will take much more that, if you want to go deep through the field of sharks! Tournament Prizes: 1st Place—DCG Zippo Lighter, 6” DCG Magnet, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and admission into the Masters Tournament. 2nd Place—6” DCG Magnet and admission into the Masters Tournament. 3rd Place—Admission into the Masters Tournament. Master Tournament Prize: 1st Place Only—GOTJ Gold Plaque and a custom Hatchetman Poker Chip Set.

MORTON’S LIST TOURNAMENTS
This dope game of random reality, which is the first DCG game ever produced, would see players engaged in Quests that have them doing an infinite number of various things that encompass the entire range of human activity. Anything can and probably will happen at one point or another when you play this adventurous game long enough…so play at your own risk ninjas! Tournament Prizes: 1st Place (for each member of the winning Inner Circle) —6” DCG Magnet and Collectors GOTJ Amulet. Also, the two players deemed to have schooled it the hardest during the Quest will gain admission into the Masters Tournament. Master Tournament Prize: 1st Place Only—GOTJ Gold Plaque.

RENO RYDAS FOWLARAMA TOURNAMENTS
Hosted by your homies the Reno Rydas, come try your hand at this game that is quickly becoming a Juggalo favorite (make sure to bring a teammate). It sounds easy enough. All you have to do is throw a football at a group of bowling pins and knock them down. Except it’s not easy. And those pins…they mock you. There is always a few left teasing you…those…pins. You will have nightmares. AHHHHHHHH…THOSE…FUCKIN…PINS! Tournament Prizes (for each team member): 1st Place Only — DCG Zippo Lighter, 6” DCG Magnet, Collectors GOTJ Amulet and admission into the Masters Tournament. 2nd Place—6” DCG Magnet. Master Tournament Prize: 1st Place Only—GOTJ Gold Plaque.

When I tell strangers that I'm a Juggalo, people tend to automatically make assumptions about me such as: I'm half literate at best, I'm trash, etc. etc.
Here's somethings I do which doesn't fit their stereotyping:
I'm an author (latest book just published, the paperback version is coming soon) https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N301MKV
I'm also a talented musician: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmDvLSkTHCA (you can find my other videos by clicking my name).
I'm a programmer (you can find my games under Anarchos at FaygoLuvers.net)...
What do you guys do to break others clouded perceptions about you?
Do you guys excel in things which would put these haters to shame?
Tell me about it :)

I decided to rip off T_Mace's format for tobacco reviews. Hope he doesn't mind.
Specs:

percentage used: 3%
1.5 months
PG/VG ratio: 60/40
vaped on Mutation X, single 26/32 Clapton; .67 ohms; ~50 watts

Type of Tobacco:

aromatic

Flavor Properties:

Sweet
Light
Slight bit of smokiness
Fruity

Relatable Flavors:

Grape soda. It's kind of hard to taste much more than grape soda. Really strong in the beginning, but it's still quite up front at the month and a half point.
Smoke. After aging a while the smoke and grape soda kind of finds a balance. Hardly detectable at the beginning, it comes in eventually. It's not an FA Black Fire type of wood smoke. More like a heavily filtered flavored cigar. Think along the lines of Cheyenne cigars, if you were ever broke and desperate enough to buy those.
Cigarette shop. Not that it tastes like cigarettes, but every cigarette shop I've been in has this smell to it. Like they're all smoking in there, but they sell incense and you can kind of smell that mixed with the smoke in the air. That's the best I can describe it.

Mouth Feel:

medium density

Off Flavors:

Considering Inawera describes this as a typical tobacco flavor like a cigarette, I guess grape soda is kind of out of place.

Position In A Recipe:

I've got a feeling that this little guy is going to pop up as a top note no matter what.

Suggested Percentage:

.5-2%

Pairings:

tobaccos
If you're looking for a grape soda shake and vape, single flavor at 3% and get 'er gone before the smoke shows up
Anything that might taste good with grape soda? Maybe pair it with a gathering of the Juggalos? Hash tag Faygo hash tag ICP

Conclusion:

I read a review that the grape goes away after a long steep. A month and a half is as long as I'm willing to wait. I have a feeling that to get it completely gone, you'd just have to wait until all the flavor molecules completely go away.
I gave it a shot in a mix, just to see.

INW DNB-1.5% INW Garuda- 1% INW Tobacco Symphony- 2.5% INW Tuscan Garden- .5%
It tastes like a grape Cheyenne. So take that as you will.
DIY_eJuice Flavor Reviews

I know this is long, and I apologize. I just needed to write this out to get it off my chest.
I'll bet my freshman year was a million times crazier than yours. The average high school freshman is first embarking on love, sex, interests, and just finding themselves. I was a very different story. Everyone in the school knew Kat, be it for good reasons or bad. Here is the story of the craziest 9 months of my life I have and probably will ever experience.
Let's start at the beginning. For reference, I'm a sophomore; these events are all fairly recent, no matter how far away they seem in my head. Anyway, I wasn't even supposed to be in 9th grade this year. I'm 14, I was supposed to be in 8th. However, I was always really advanced throughout grade school and I felt like I was just learning the same thing over and over again, so my mom and I agreed that skipping a grade would be the best option for me. She and I walked into the doors at North Little Rock High on September 7th, 2016 and enrolled me as a freshman. Surprisingly enough, they let me in. I came back the next day and got my schedule, a tour, and then was sent off to class.
My first day was fairly painless. I went to every class like I was supposed to, met all my teachers, and got contact information from the few people I talked to that day. It was all really painless for the first month or so. Just the same routine every day, nothing out of the ordinary. No trouble, nothing wrong at all.
Aaaaand then I met.... let's call him Dick for this story. I'm not mean enough to give out real names. He was in my second period class. We'd never really talked, until one day he walked up to me and started a conversation. I was being my normal super sweet self to him of course. Anyways, the conversation gradually turned to drugs. I admitted to him that I'd never even tried weed, despite wanting to ever since I was 8. Suddenly, he pulled out a little nug of weed! In the middle of class! MADMAN!!!
That weekend, we all went to the mall. It was me, Dick, and another girl that he was friends with. When I asked what the plan was for that night, they told me they were gonna get me super fucked up. Of course I was down! I'd dreamed of smoking weed ever since I found out my dad smokes. Low and behold, I found myself sitting on the chick's couch a few hours later with her bubbler in my hand taking my first ever hit. AAH MY THROAT! commence endless coughing session
After a few more hits and a few shots, we decided to go to a skate park. I later learned that I laid in an anthill for 2 hours straight. I remember thinking that the ground was so comfortable and that the stars were so pretty! After we left there, we decided to go to a trail that overlooks all of downtown, including the river. (I still have yet to find that trail! I want to go back!) After sitting there for a while, we all decided to go back to... Jenny's house. (Obviously not a real name for privacy) When we got back, we decided to hotbox her closet. Oh god. That was such a bad idea. We all climbed into the closet and spent a good hour just smoking each other out. By the time we got done I wasn't in reality anymore at all. I'll be completely honest , my memory fades out pretty much completely here, but I'll try to recollect as much as I can. I have flashes of just laying on the floor staring at the ceiling, then suddenly I was in the bathroom giving Dick a blowjob. I had no idea how I'd gotten there and I stopped to lay on the bathroom floor, but he got really mad and guilted me into finishing. When I left, Jenny's aunt was screaming at me about how much of a dirty whore I was and telling me that if she ever saw me again she'd beat the shit out of me. This night was what started everything.
The next few weeks were uneventful, aside from a relationship between myself and a boy named Dave beginning and blossoming over that time. I desperately wanted to get high again, but very rarely stumbled across any form of marijuana. That is, until I met... let's call her Cherry. Cherry and I were in band together, but we'd never really talked. To be honest, I don't really remember how we started talking, but we became fast friends. She had a lot of connections, so we used to hang out after school pretty much every day to smoke.
We continued this trend for a few months, both of us gradually caring less and less about school and more and more about drugs. My relationship with Dave gradually fell apart because of my obsession with drugs and lack of care for anything else. By the time he and I broke up, I had no idea what was right and what was wrong. I'd done so many bad things to him. I really regret everything I did. I fucked with his head so much. But, at the time it didn't matter. Nothing mattered as long as I was high out of my mind.
Timestamp: we've gotten to about November. I was talking to another guy shorty after Dave and I broke up. Thing is, I still had really strong feelings for him. To the point that when we saw each other and he was with his new girlfriend, I legitimately tried to gouge her eyes out, and probably would have at least done some damage had it not been for Jack holding me back. Jack and I ended up together, but didn't last long. He always wanted sex, no matter how much I didn't. I just ended up giving in and giving him what he wanted.
Eventually I came to my senses and ended things with Jack. Dave and I had become really good friends over this time. We'd hang out all the time and paint together. It was actually a really good time in my life. He ended up setting me up with one of his friends, sparking a half-ass relationship that lasted about a month. No further details are really necessary on that.
Back to Cherry! She and I had been really good friends and smoke buddies this whole time. One night, we were both in a band concert. After our portion of the performance, she and I decided to sneak out of the stage and explore the building, since it wasn't the one we had all of our classes in. Eventually, we stumbled across the construction area. Naturally, we scanned everywhere for loot. We managed to pick up a bottle of yellow spray paint and a bottle of black spray paint. And what do you do when you find spray paint and are surrounded by walls? TAG! TAG LIKE THE WIND!!!
Of course, we received the consequence of our actions the next day. The school just couldn't ignore a giant mural in their courtyard with a giant weed leaf on it. I'll never forget the principal coming to my 4th period class to get me personally. From the redness in his cheeks, I knew what this was about. When we reached his office, I was greeted by our school police officer sitting on the far right side of the room and Cherry sitting in the chair next to the one assigned to me. As expected, he informed us why we were there. To make it as painless as possible, we just nodded our heads and listened to our punishment. 10 days of out of school suspension, a $350 dollar bill from the school, and an assignment to the alternative court program our school offers that gives less severe punishments and keeps everything off of your record. Thank god for that program.
Timestamp: December 31st, 2016, almost New Year. I was supposed to be having a party. It was going to be fun! Everything was planned out, we had a bunch to drink and smoke, everything was going to work out! But, of course, the world hates me and everything went wrong. Cherry got sick, Dave (who was dating cherry at the time) was freaking out, everybody was either fighting or passed out, everything was just fucked. Fuck that party.
A few days after the New Years disaster, everything was back to normal. Well, normal from our perspective. Cherry and I had started trying new drugs and smoking all the time, even skipping school. However, this was routine to us. We didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
One day, she and I met in the bathroom after 1st period to pop some adderall before class. That was such a mistake. We ended up having to leave campus because I could barely keep myself from literally punching everybody in the face. That was the day she and I got caught off campus. The school cop, who already knew us from the tagging incident, brought us back to school where we received our punishments. Only this time it was different. That goddamned drug had messed me up. I had a complete breakdown in front of the administrators, to the point where they actually felt bad for me and told me I didn't have to go back to class. Later that day I was admitted to a mental hospital. Nothing new for me, considering I'd been there twice before.
When I was discharged, I returned to school like normal. Everything was going great, until I started hanging out with, uhh, John. John was a horrible influence, but I was okay with it. See, John is your model Juggalo. Running around with a hatchet screaming shit, popping pills, practically inhaling faygo, you know the image. I'd spend weeks at a time at his house. I didn't go to school at all, I popped things that I couldn't even identify, I tagged all the time, everything your model bad kid does. I think my absence count got up to about 23.
Eventually I stopped hanging out with John all the time, although I still was quite frequently. One of the times we were hanging out, we decided to go to my dealer's house for some weed. Now, my dealer is a really suspicious person. He doesn't like strangers. Knowing this, I had him stay outside. Haha. Big mistake. When I got inside, I sat down to wait for him to bring my my product. A chick who was visiting him joined me and pulled out her meth pipe. She looked up at me and told me not to tell anyone. After assuring her I wouldn't talk, she offered me a hit. Of course me, being the idiot I am, took it. I tried meth.
The way back to John's house was a blur. I was superman! It felt like I was barely moving as when I was running full speed. Jesus Christ it was insane. When we got back, I settled down and stared at a tree for 3 hours straight.
The week following was honestly really hard. I was going through a lot of emotional stress because of this one person I was talking to. I really wanted to get my hands on more of those sweet sweet hard drugs.
Eventually, I realized what I was becoming. What I was doing to myself. I tried really hard to straighten myself up. I started going to every class every day, trying to reconnect with everyone I'd fucked over this year, and I even started drawing again. That felt so good. I hadn't actually drawn something in months. I rode out the rest of the school year in peace.
And that's where the story of my freshman year ends. I have no idea how any of this happened, but I know it did. All of these experiences have really opened up my eyes. I'll be honest. I'm still really struggling with staying away from all of my bad habits, but I think I'm doing okay. No doubt this year was one of the most memorable experiences in my life, and I sincerely hope it never repeats itself.

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