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It’s Official. I’m An Adult

April 13, 2012

Years ago my cousin Daniela would say “You’re such an adult!” with the same accusatory tone that you’d say “You’re such an asshole!” Being an adult was the worst possible thing of which she could conceive. For the most part I would have to agree with her. Being an adult implies that you’ve given in and given up. That you’ve accepted your fate and have begun to embrace the tenets of maturity. That you are responsible. That you think things through. That you no longer engage in rebellion for the sake of rebellion. That you are, let’s face it, boring. Well today I had a sudden realization that I am, if not full-fledged, well on my way to becoming an official adult. And who do I have to thank for this? The Insane Clown Posse, that’s who. (Well that and Daniela’s sister Jessica who brought them into my life.)

I mean, look at them. No. Really. Take a good long look. It’s like looking into the faces of the love children of Gene Simmons and John Wayne Gacy. Now, seriously, I’m not a total clown hater. I mean, I’m sure there are some clowns that don’t scare the shit out of small children and scar them for life. Personally I’m a huge fan of Ouchy The Clown who is a full-service bondage clown and meeting facilitator. I’d love to get him in my company’s offices for a team building exercise.

But these Insane Clown Posse characters are one step beyond for me. I mean first it’s the face paint. Yeah. I’m a face painter hater. It’s just silly and it clogs your pores. The Raider Nation folks up in Oakland. Need I say more? But it’s not just the face paint, no. It’s the music. No, wait. It’s the lyrics. It’s the whole freakin’ package. On one album they have songs about dead kids in a pond and happy miracles with rainbows and giraffes. WTF?

Off lickety trail there’s a pond where many a children died,
Its a place to run to and disappear a place where some folks hide.
But they will tell you about the rumors that swell around this lake,
Some say there’s something in the water them deaths are no mistake.
The fog that rides along the top has been said to carry voices,
Those of the dead who took the dare and jumped in they made bad choices,
some have seen and others heard that they seen along the bottom,
Are all the bodies of the girls and boys preserved and remaining half-rotten.

And I see miracles everyday
Oceans spanning beyond my sight
And a million stars way above em at night
We don’t have to be high to look in the sky
And know that’s a miracle opened wide
Look at the mountains, trees, the seven seas
And everything chilling underwater, please
Hot lava, snow, rain and fog
Long neck giraffes, and pet cats and dogs

Sure, in every generation there are rebel musicians. I get it. Our parents had Elvis. We had Ozzy Osbourne. And apparently kids today have the Insane Clown Posse. Whodathunk I’d be itching for more Justin Bieber? And while I get looking up to a musician and wanting to have their style. Really I do. In the 80s I was desperate to be Madonna. I would have killed for a belt that said Boy Toy on it. (Still would if you have one going spare.) I can understand wanting to follow a band and emulate their style. My sister Parrish was a Deadhead who followed The Grateful Dead all over the country. Heck Elvis Costello has threatened me with a restraining order on more than one occasion. But the Insane Clown Posse devotees, collectively known as “Jugaloos“, take it to a whole ‘nother level. Oh, and yes, you’re welcome for the addition to your vocabulary. And no, you’re not alone if you’re hearing David Lee Roth singing “Just a Jugaloo” in your head.

Yeah, I know. You’re all thinkin’ “Hot damn! Surly you’re awful heavy with the judgy-judgy here. What happened to your live and let live philosophy?” It’s gone. It died. You know why? ’cause I’m a fuckin’ adult. That’s why. Fuckin’ clowns. They are always to blame.

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