Juggalos

Andrea Pellegrini

The old saying goes, “you can’t judge a book by its cover,” and it usually preaches that people are different on the inside, and generally for the better. That’s kind of a stupid saying when you think about it because a cover is an image specifically selected by the author and a publisher to entice people to read the book. It’s designed to reflect the book. If anything, a cover misleads the consumer into buying a book that’s not as good as the cover. So if you’re judging a book by its cover, there is only a risk that the reality is going to be worse.

This is all a roundabout way of pointing out that a business structured around a couple of guys who affirmatively choose to dress up like evil clowns and sing “F**k Celine Dion and f**k Dionne Warwick, you both make me sick, suck my dick,” have been sued for sexual harassment.

The allegations are kind of crazy, and claim other criminality as well….

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FOIA requests: how do they work?

As our resident Juggalo columnist mentioned in August, the minions of crazed rednecks who worship at the altar of Violent J and Shaggy2Dope — otherwise known as the Insane Clown Posse — are not at all happy that the FBI has labelled them a gang. To defend their honor, as well as their right to get wasted and throw absurd parties in the middle of nowhere, the Juggalo nation has decided to launch a Faygo attack on the Pentagon sue the FBI.

Looks like these clowns aren’t clowning around….

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Father of Our Country, Juggalo Washington

What is a juggalo?
Let me think for a second
Oh, he gets butt-naked
And then he walks through the streets
Winking at the freaks
With a two-liter stuck in his butt-cheeks

Insane Clown Posse

At the 1992 Republican National Convention, Pat Buchanan announced that America was in the midst of a culture war. In his view, this war was being waged between descendents of the 60′s counter-culture and those who sought to protect “traditional” values. In the field of law, this idea found a home in (who else?) Justice Antonin Scalia’s dissent in Romer v. Evans, in which he famously wrote that “[t]he Court has mistaken a Kulturkampf for a fit of spite.” Something about the original German sends a shiver down the spine, doesn’t it? Anyway, we can all surely agree that these two yahoos wouldn’t know a culture war if it slapped them in the face with a bottle of Faygo soda.

There’s a real culture war going on, ninjas. And it has nothing to do with gay marrying or abortions or the third rail of American politics, cockfighting. It has to do with the FBI’s insane decision to categorize Juggalos — i.e., fans of the Insane Clown Posse hip-hop duo — as a “loosely-organized hybrid gang.” It has to do with real persecution and honest-to-God discrimination against the Juggalo people.

Luckily for me and my fellow Juggalos, Insane Clown Posse doesn’t know the meaning of backing down. And that’s not a slam at all, it’s just a turn-of-phrase. They know the meaning. They just refuse to back down. Is what I’m saying….

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Ed. note: This column will be about sports. And the law. And the intersection of those two things. And whatever the hell else Juggalo Law can come up with.

One summer during my childhood, I wanted nothing more than five copies of X-Force number one. I must have spent a solid two months harassing my mother and, when she finally had had enough, she relented, saying she’d buy the comic book for me if I hit a home run in my next little league game. She could have just said no. Because I didn’t stand a chance that summer. I was afraid of the ball and would flinch ever-so-gently as soon as the ball was pitched towards the plate. I’d try to catch up to its trajectory, but I was toast every single time. When the next game arrived, I had forgotten about my mom’s promise. And, in my last at-bat, I flinched, closed my eyes, and then swung at what I could only hope was the ball. Home run. My only home run. My sweetest accomplishment ever in baseball. My only accomplishment, really. As we walked into the house after the game, I loudly reminded my mom of her promise. She shrugged and continued inside. And that’s when my sister asked me one seemingly innocuous question. “What’s that on your pants?” Do I have to tell you, dear readers? Do I have to confess to you that there was urine on my otherwise clean and unfortunately bright white pants, a memento left in loving memory of my fear or my relief or my pride?

Fact is, I can’t really remember why I peed a little. LET’S TALK SPORTS!

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That headband looked much better on the Childlike Empress in Neverending Story.

* Next week, people in Mississippi are going to vote on whether a clump of cells is a “person.” Are we really going to put this into the hands of people who can’t even spell the name of their own state? [New York Times]

* If you’re a trial lawyer, even imaginary friends will do. [Underdog]

* Finally, something entertaining and informative from a law professor that doesn’t cost $100,000: a series of rich shorts to give junior associates enough basics to avoid embarrassment when corporate assignments are handed out at the firm. [YouTube]

* I really wish that this comedian would actually sue Kim Kardashian over her sham marriage. Seriously. Next time, try to stay married until I finish watching your two-part wedding special. [VICE]

* Have you guys been wondering about Juggalo Law’s whereabouts? This might explain his absence. [Hit & Run / Reason]

* I am the 1%. And by that, I mean that I’m probably in the 1% of people who do not give one damn about this social movement. [Actually You're the 47%]