Insane Clown Posse

The fans/admirers/followers/defenders/disciples/groupies -- whatever you want to call them -- of Insane Clown Posse protesting ICP's concert cancellation on the steps of City Hall have gotten plenty of coverage the last 24 hours. All the TV stations, and the Post Register were there.

This is America and I applaud them for being concerned enough to take time out of (what I'm sure are) their busy and productive schedules to make their voices heard. Not only did they spend time protesting, they clearly spent some important time -- away from raking leaves in grandma's yard and raising money for cancer patients -- to paint their faces up like clowns. I've always believed that nothing creates a sense of credibility like a big ugly clown face.

On KIDK's report with Danica Lawrence, she interviewed one of the Juggaloes who coolly puffed his cigarrette before answering her question, then went on to say that ICP is actually protesting all the things they seem to be praising and graphically portraying in their music. That's a novel approach to protesting. It never has crossed my meager mind that to fight such ills as gang rape, murder, and bestiality -- we ought to describe them, in detail, glowingly. Hmm, I'll have to think about that one. Maybe it would make more sense to me if I made myself look like Ronald McDonald.

As I've reluctantly glanced over the controversial lyrics of Insane Clown Posse, here are some gems (edited):

This one is from the poetically titled "Guts on the Ceiling":
----------------------------------------------------
I'll never be one to boast
But there's my tongue hanging off the lightpost
Cuz my head exploded
And my brains unloaded
All over this beautiful city
Teeth and bones to the nitty gritty
There's my eyeball stuck to the wall
Right next to my splattered jaw
I don't dig this game
Chasing my brains all through the sewer drains
My head's all over the block
Cuz I done went lunatick-tock tick-tock
Come on, dawg, what's wrong with my head?
It blew apart but I still ain't dead
I get no respect

And how about these lines from "Thrill of the Kill":
---------------------------------------------------
Sweatin' and my chest is burnin' like I'm on fire
So much pressure in my head I could blow air in through a car tire
I'm about to burst pop shatter explode
And everybody's pokin'sticks at me like they wanna splat me

No one sees me when I creep I stay behind s**t
Check for open windows I scale across and climb s**t
Get inside and choke an old lady in her Craftmatic
And like fresh oxygen to an asthmatic I get a thrill

And -- by the way -- I specifically picked the least profane verses to share.... If you want to find the plethora of lyrics with all the "F" and "B" and "S" and "C" words you can find them yourself.

One last point -- perhaps minus the previous sarcasm. Is ICP the cause of many ills? Or is it simply a symtom of some very deep underlying problems. The youth are painting their faces like clowns! They're not only listening to graphic descriptions of humanity's worst behaviors, they are defending them.

Sometimes people cry for help in strange ways. Perhaps this is one of them.

Why in the world would anyone be drawn to this?

That's really what we need to figure out.