How about a normal world where party primaries aren’t a coronation of connected next-in-liners and the respectable, hard-working, social-democratic-republican politicians have a chance? How about that?
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I voted for Hillary Clinton because I felt I had to.
Regardless, she was not my preferred candidate at all.
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I’ve never known one individually, that I know of, but I know them as a group.
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The reason I wrote in Sanders is that it was going to count as a Clinton vote anyway. I’m just saying that if we’re doing woulda-coulda-shoulda, lets raise our sights a bit.
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Then I raise my sights to social democracy, which is what the rest of the developed world has.
Instead, Trump not only had legitimacy, but he’s the president now.
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Despite a sizable population of female fans (dubbed Juggalettes), ICP’s following is made up mostly of young white men from working-class backgrounds. They tend to feel that they’ve been misunderstood outsiders their whole lives, whether for being overweight, looking weird, being poor, or even for just liking ICP in the first place. It’s a world where man boobs are on proud display, where long-hairs and pink-hairs mingle, where nobody makes fun of the fat kid toweling off near Lake Hepatitis. For them, the Gathering is a place they can be accepted, a feeling reinforced by the constant chants of the Juggalo credo “Fam-uh-LEE! Fam-uh-LEE!” “You’re surrounded by people who love you,” says Corey Lewter, a 23-year-old from Algonquin, Illinois. “Even though we’ve never met each other, we all relate.” Adds Nick Wolff, a 20-year-old prep cook from Willowbrook, Illinois, “We’re all family, no matter what race, color, weight, whatever.”
Like most Juggalos, Wolff and Lewter began listening to ICP as teenagers, and anyone perplexed by the band’s continued success would do well to recall just how alienating those years can be. Bruce and Utsler haven’t forgotten this pain. Though the Gathering hosts a massive merch tent—complete with $350 leather jackets and an on-site ATM—the group is really selling an off-the-rack social identity: instant entrée to a band of outsiders. It’s an image ICP pushes constantly, pimping otherness with its “Most Hated Band” T-shirts and middle-of-nowhere confab, and it’s undoubtedly the single biggest factor in ICP’s success. With so many artists pitching a lifestyle of aspirational fabulosity, ICP extols the virtue of average-shmo egalitarianism, even if the actual ICP members don’t live an entirely down-and-out life these days.
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From what we understand, the “Dark Carnival” is a sort of roving purgatory–a band of macabre clowns and wagons that transports dead souls to either Hell or “Shangri-La,” depending on how you’ve lived your life. ICP is a messenger, enlightening people of the afterlife. Each ICP record represents a different “card,” which in turn represent aspects of one’s life that can be examined and improved.
“But if they laugh at us now and continue living life as an evil bastard, I’ll laugh at them as I take them to Hell,” clarifies J.
Confused? So is everyone in the Expo parking lot. Brian–a shoddily painted Juggalo from Everett, Washington–explains. “It took me years to become a Juggalo. We don’t know what it is. We’re Juggalos.” Brian stops to shout across the parking lot to a fellow Juggalo. “Hey! What’s a Juggalo?” Answerless, he turns back to us. “See? Nobody knows.”
http://portlandmercury.com/music/the-world-of-the-juggalo/Content?oid=32574
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His encore is Insane Clown Posse’s “Chicken Huntin’, ” a metal-riffed rap-rock anthem about killing rednecks. In ICP’s arsenal of enemies, the most contemptible are bigots—in many ways, the Juggalo identity, however imprecise it is, is a direct rejection of the shotgun-toting Confederate-flag wavers that hometown foes Ted Nugent and Kid Rock have embraced—and the chorus boasts the spoils of their spree, a chant Andrew leads for the crowd: “Blood, Guts, Fingers, and Toes!” When the soon-to-be seventh-grader is finished collecting his Gathering of the Juggalos T-shirt prize, his family is waiting.
http://villagevoice.com/2010/09/08/live-from-insane-clown-posses-gathering-of-the-juggalos
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at this point im pretty sure the cern black hole experiment split us off onto another timeline. we are the mirror world.
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Huh! I haven’t seen anything that surprises me. I’ve been watching the situation develop since the '80s. For that matter, the older I get, the more I realise that the causes predate my time: imperial presidencies, expensive elections (leading to corrupt and/or plutocratic politicians), the kind of conservative feudal attitudes that lead to the neoliberalism scam, racism and classism hiding behind a mask of “meritocracy”, exceptionalism, etc…
We’ve been complacent for too long, and this is the result.
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That’s the first like I’ve ever given to someone who called me an asshole.
But you’re right.
Is this some clever portmanteau that I don’t quite get? 
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Nah, pure typo. 
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Ah. I was hoping it was a portmanteau of pudendum and pendulum.
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maybe a bit off topic, but i’ve always wondered about this part of multi-verse theory:
The stakes are high. Each alternate universe carries its own different version of reality. There will be one where you wrote this column and I read it; one where the Guardian is an alt-right propaganda rag; even a really weird one in which Donald Trump uses twitter to spread nothing but amusing cat videos.
as i understand it there are different orders of infinity. so, just because there might be an infinite number of universes doesn’t seem to imply that there must be a universe for every possible sequence of events.
i’d imagine it’s more like a mandelbrot: certain possibilities will never exist.
did your lecture say anything about how infinite infinite is?
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The lecture was at the Brookhaven National Conservatory, which is not far from here. Home to many famous astrophysicists and other super smart people.
It was refreshing to see that even among this astute audience, there was a lot of confusion about how multiverses worked due to the way they were depicted on the powerpoint as red, green, and blue diamonds. People wondered, how are the red universes different from the blue universes? And he was like, guys, it’s just a Powerpoint representation, not like, how those universes really are.
The thrust of his talk was to show that the evidence points so strongly to multiverses that it is the onus of the scientific community to find another theory that can account for the evidence.
He talked about some of the universes being so chaotic that physics was impossible on them - meaning that mathematical models could not work since there were no fundamental laws that operated on them.
We didn’t get into the fine points of Trump’s twitter account on alternate realities, or any kind of sci fi exploration of what life would be like beyond the fact that physics isn’t on the curriculum in some universes.
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This makes me think Juggalos are like deadheads, a subculture founded around a band that will continue to fizzle long after the band itself dissolves
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This is why they’re marching
https://www.juggalomarch.com/editorials
ALL AMERICANS SHOULD DEFEND JUGGALOS’ RIGHT TO BE DOWN WITH THE CLOWN
As a reporter, I have interviewed many controversial Americans, from Mike “Bite Off His Opponent’s Ear” Tyson to literal Nazis, but my family and friends have only expressed concerned for my safety over my time with Juggalos. “Don’t die!” someone texts me every year before I travel to Thornville, Ohio, for the annual Gathering of the Juggalos. “Juggalos are dangerous!”
I always laugh at their hysteria. Sure, crazy shit goes down at the Gathering. Juggalos shot firecrackers off RVs last year. Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J ripped up scarecrows in 2015. And who can forget the year Ratchet Regi bathed in milk? But I’ve never seen a fight at the Gathering, and I have witnessed teenagers snort way more drugs at Ultra, an annual EDM festival sponsored by corporations like Uber and Heineken.
The attack on ICP is often an attack on what people view as symbols of white poverty. Many ICP fans call themselves “scrubs.” They grew up poor, like ICP. Violent J and Shaggy inverted symbols of poverty—Faygo, broken-down bikes, shitty clothes—and turned them into swagger…
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