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 Peoria, Illinois. July 19th, 2002. The three day festival that makes Ozzfest look like a petting zoo (and Lollapolooza resemble one of those faggy medieval thingys), the third annual "Gathering of the Juggalos" kicks off. Music, hardcore wrestling, and more "extras" than one could ever imagine. For the first time ever, a major (well, us anyway) wrestling website sent two reporters to cover all the craziness. What they got was more than they bargained for, as some of the biggest and most recognizable unsigned names in the industry took to the ring for an experience most assuredly unlike any they'd ever had. There is most certainly going to be some overlap in the stories, so to make things nice and easy to read we've color coded the reports. Here's how it breaks down: Barbwire J= Red Madrox 2 Dope= Gold Jugular Juggling juggalos Folded, fat, floppy-tittied freaks I C FUCKIN’ P IN THE HAUGH!!” DAY ONE 13 hours on the road, a friend who has disappeared off the face of the earth and a retarded night manager that can't figure out which room to tell Maddy I'm in behind me... it's time for the Gathering. Figuring there's going a heavy police presence (the press was treating it like the gates of Hell had opened up in the middle of their town), I smoke up in the room and then we head out. God DAMN there are a lot of mother fuckers at this thing. A line stretches completely around the block to get in. FUCK THAT! We do a little creative moving and get close enough to the door to not make us want to kill somebody and wait for the doors to open. Unless you're down with the clown, you probably have no idea why it was so funny that people yelled "Honk if you love Suger, you fuckers!" every time a police car went by, but it really was hilarious (of course, it was about noon and I had a full day's worth of weed in me so the standards were way down. "Hah, look at that dog... all having spots and shit. HAHAHA!!") Well my weekend started with me picking up the third in our party from work at 8pm Thursday night. We start to head out of town when a light rain starts and I realize that my windshield wipers are fucked and that there's no way we'll make it without replacements. After 25 minutes of fiddling with the mechanism that held the old ones in, trying at first not to fuck anything up, then resorting to sheer force based solely on frustration, we're off. To 4 days of absolutely NO FUCKING RAIN. Oh well. I guess something was going to have to motivate me to finally replace them. We roll in at about 1:30am (I love living within a state of each Gathering so far) and I'm excited to finally meet Mike. However, I'm told that he's not checked in yet (which would have made him about 5 and 1/2 hours late at this point) but they'll call when he does. When 7am finally rolls around, after the "broken" A/C just kicks on by itself, I decide that Mike was either here the whole time....or dead. Time to salvage some sleep and get ready for tomorrow. Oh, and don't let Mike pass this "creative moving" shit on you, he means we cut the line. We didn't mean to, as it didn't look like a line until we started moving inside (more just a group of ninjas standing around trying to figure out where to go), but that's what ended up happening. It's all good though, as we FOR SURE paid our line dues on Sunday. Finally inside, we head towards the exhibits. Surrounded by more painted faces than I've ever seen in my life, only one thought passes through my head: "I'm in King Mob's Hell". Even though we beat the rest of the scrubs (not an insult, but a juggalo term of endearment) inside there's already a line winding across the building for Dark Lotus (ICP, Twiztid, ABK, Blaze, etc.). While this seems to be a bad thing, in reality it rules since SABU is scheduled to give his at the same time and there's like NO line at all. I'm not sure if I'd ever seen him break character and crack up laughing before, but if you ever want to see it just tell him "I named my cat after you". In recognition of BwM, he signed his name with barbed wire all over the "S". The weekend is off to a KICK ASS start. It's true. Mob is a hater. May he grow an ever better, and less hairy leg in heaven. ;-)   This was immediately followed by what would turn out to be the only truly depressing news of the whole carnival. The selling point on getting me up there, the early release of STRANGLEMANIA 3 (all-Sabu) is not available. I should be upset but if they hadn't claimed it was going to be there I might not have gone, so I buy the graphic novel with CD instead and we head towards the hall with the wrestling ring in it. This was very stale news, but we (well at least I, not sure about Mike) got over it quickly (there's shit that came out at this year's event that was scheduled to be released at LAST year's, and I've gotten used to it), and I finally picked up Volume 2 on Sunday. Let me just say that any tape with a "match" where the winner turns into a werewolf, is shot by the police and then turns into a bat and flies away is worth a 4 hour trip ANY day in my book. Mad Man Pondo comes out and introduces the JCW (that's "Juggalo Championshit Wrestling" if you're not aware) talent that will be serving as his teacher's aides. These sessions are among the highlights of the weekend, and it's a total pisser we don't get all three days (explanation coming). The concept is simple, they call a spot, then bring in people from the crowd to act them out. Day one is pretty basic, which is sweet because it suckers people in for tomorrow. The highlights are a Jericho-looking kid tasting a Van Terminator (Pondo explains "I'll get sued if I use his name... but his initials are 'R...V...D'") and the first of the gals. Mad Man finds a real cutie with HUGE knockers, and explains to her that her spot will involve getting hit from behind, stripped, and powerbombed through a table. Homegirl is down, but asks if she can give him a nut shot first. "You do realize wrestling is fake?" he asks apprehensively. Anyway, she's stripped and given the spot as a monster testosterone-charged cheer rings out. Pondo reminds the crowd that even though they are showing love now they need to be player-hating later when he's a "bad guy" (obviously not fully realizing what he was asking for).   He may only be an indy "trash" wrestler, but after these last two years of his wrestling school at the Gathering, I firmly believe that he has at least as much charisma as a Rock or Austin. He's a genuinely funny guy, and as you can see in this picture, he LOVES him some Asians:  We grab some food and look at some of the shit they got going on. "American Gladiators" jousting, boxing, dodgeball (I only see one bloody nose throughout the weekend... pussies). There just aint time to get to everything, so we head back to the wrestling area. I saw one guy get a solid nutshot at some point and have to be dragged off the "battlefield" by a couple of his homies. Other than that I would have schooled them all if I didn't feel that using my weekend that I paid $100 for to stand in line to play fucking dodgeball wouldn't be the biggest waste of time since that fag-shitter Patterson came back to the forums. Oh, and we had TACOS for lunch Mandy!! TACOS!!!! According to the website, JCW is now the #3 wrestling company in America (I think that was before TNA, so they're probably fourth now). Still, what a show. Pondo, Hollywood Chuck Hogan, ICP, NecroButcher, the Cowboy from Hell, Mr. Insanity... really solid workers all (well, except the Clowns, but technical acheivement has never really been their goal). And in addition to the core staff, they present a veritible "who's who" of unsigned wrestling names: Chris Candido and Sunny, Norman Smiley, Lenny and Lodi, Disco Inferno, Juventud Geurrera, Missy Hyatt, and of course the Almighty SABU!! For whatever reason, they hold the matches in a six-sided ring that makes running the ropes a real chore and any moves from the top sloppy because the wrestlers are used to having their feet a certain way (also, the chairs are like movie chairs that fold up when no one is sitting in them, turning Sabu's triple jump moonsault into a total comedy of errors). After the initial shellshock I really dug the six sided ring. It wouldn't work for your typical match in your typical promotion, but JCW is neither. I'm pretty sure they were going for the effect of being different, and it worked to do its job if nothing else. Both Lodi and Disco are injured, so neither really work much. In fact, their main job throughout the weekend is being targets for the literally THOUSANDS of drinks that fly throughout all three days. Highlights of the "straight" wrestling include Disco debuting his new "most electrifying move in sports entertainment: The Village People's Elbow" (Y-M-C-A hand motions before delivering), the ladies shilling wrestlingvixxxens.com so heavily Madrox thought I was giving them lessons, and the new name for the "wiggle" which I forget but didn't make it any less gay (my "give him AIDS" chant didn't take off for some odd reason), along with Sabu and the Clowns teaming to take on the West Hollywood Blondes and Inferno. But that was just the backdrop... we came to get EXTREME!! The atmosphere for the match (the first time many of us saw ICP that weekend) was hopping, and some great comedy took place between Violent J and the other three members of the team, including J trying three times before finally press-slamming one of the poofters. The greatest comedy, though, had to be watching Sabu earn the weed necklace he was wearing earlier during autographs by trying time after time to fold the seat of the chair down for the triple-jump. He cracked up when he caught onto the joke that he was playing on himself, and you could tell that he was feeling the juggalo's love since he just chuckled and improvised the spot. "Hollywood" Chuck Hogan (guy in a crypt-keeper mask. See, because his skin is rubber... get it?) takes on Rude Boy (JCW's resident bleeder) in a falls count anywhere match. Sadly, most of this takes place out in the lobby, but if you look below you'll see the gash in Hogan's arm that went WAY into the muscle (and him choking me out with it). Total bloodbath, but nothing out of the ordinary. I sure can't say that about what happened next...   Pondo comes out and gets cheered despite his reminder to the students earlier. Knowing he's got to change things immediately he says the one thing that is unforgivable at any Juggalo event: "FUCK INSANE CLOWN POSSE! ALL THEY DO IS RIP OFF EMINEM!!" (and comes out to Slim Shady music as well. Madrox calls this "Heel Heat 101".) Well, there obviously weren't enough drinks still in the building to throw, so the crowd starting winging QUARTERS at him (Pondo was barely able to get "fuck you, you can't hit shit" out before getting NAILED in the eye). At this point, the most hardcorecrazyextremepsychotic match I've ever seen live takes place: THE FLOURESCENT LIGHT BULB DEATH MATCH! My God it was brutal, with broken glass all over the ring and in the skin of the competitors. The most totally insane spot was putting a trash can onto a table, filling it up with light bulbs, and then pressing Pondo off the top rope INTO THE TRASH CAN, which then of course crashed to the floor. Now I know how a pedophile feels at a "Toys R Us" back to school sale. Holy Fuck, kids... that was better than porn. I actually called it "Cheap Heat 101", but that's understandable when he has three days (well...two when all was said and done) to try to get people to hate him, especially with the aforementioned face bias from those of us who watched him piledrive naked bitches through furniture right beforehand. Afterwards we spend more money and get our seats for the first night of shows. Dark Lotus rocks the place HARD! Day finally over, MAN I need a joint. I could used one as well, but thankfully something in the back of my exhausted mind (a drug test that I took on the next Wednesday) told me to pass. That was a close one, and after watching an hour of Batman on Nick at Nite I finally end the first crazy day. If only I'd have known how tame it would have seemed compared to Saturday... DAY TWO Not too worried about being the first in today, which is a good thing because Madrox and company oversleep. Thankfully I don't risk carrying anything since they're checking cigarette packs today. We arrive about 1 and head straight for the wrestling school. Pondo gives a brief dissertation about the physics involved in metal coins coming into contact with eyeballs and again reminds everyone this is fake so don't throw fucking quarters (about four suggestions later people finally caught on, really the only time I was disgusted with the crowd all weekend which is pretty amazing all things considered). Today we start off with "stop sign" class. Rather than wait for volunteers we throw the guy in front of us, our new homeboy "Ted" (now addicted to Lethal for life), into the ring. He sells it hardcore then comes back to join us. In case anyone thought all that stuff was gimmicked, almost an hour later he's still feeling the effects.  Then the shit gets HARDCORE! A guy steps up looking all bad-ass, and is chopped across the chest until he nearly cries. This is followed by a big S.O.B. who is supposed to take a cane shot from Hogan, but is scared shitless and puts his hands up to block the blows... causing Chuck to GO THE FUCK OFF! He must've hit this poor sap a good 20 times, including many shots after the dude had balled up into the fetal position. MAN that was comedy (he had a big lump on his head the rest of the weekend... HA!). The class ends with another chickie... although this time she had to strip out of Pondo's field of vision since he'd been threatened with arrest for yesterday's antics (we were just about to find out how little patience they had for nekkid chicks at this venue). Pondo again reminds everybody not to throw coins at the wrestlers and we go grab some more food before JCW.   One anecdote that Mike forgot to mention was this fucking idiot:  Not sure where he comes from, but all of a sudden he's standing on the ramp when they're asking for someone to participate in the next school. Anyway, when asked his name he says "That mother fucker knows me" pointing to the Cowboy From Hell. After he denies that he knows this mother fucker from MMN, Pondo calls all the wrestlers in the ring. He then proceeds to give them permission to all perform their finishers. A beatdown, a leg drop from the top rope, a couple of VICIOUS stop sign shots and one missing shoe later, and this kid definitely learned not to claim to know people you don't, especially wrestlers. The wrestling begins with Violent J starting to ask the crowd not to throw coins, but then hates being the authoritarian and changes the request to "don't hit them with Chinese throwing stars at least". Since no one takes the hint the ref gets on the mic and tells everyone to cut it the fuck out (the crowd finally listens, covering him with three full drinks in the process which seems to satisfy everybody). After a couple of warm-up matches, it's time to get to the good shit. Chuck brings down the board, and Pondo carries the biggest bag of thumbtacks I've ever seen to ringside. We're in perfect position, and the pictures promise to be out of this world... Then "it" happens. We look out towards the hall and see it completely darkened by smoke. The rumors start to filter in but we hope against hope that there's no meat to them. Sadly, there is and within moments the cops are herding us out of the building. Turns out that a couple of girls were flashing tit in the hall and when the pigs went to arrest them a few juggalos tried to prevent it, setting off a full-scale riot complete with tear gas. (see pictures below, courtesty of RealJuggalos.com) Outside, J's brother Jump Steady is on a megaphone assuring the crowd that the authorities want the festival to continue and please don't burn down Peoria. In any other situation this would've pissed me off, but I was SOO ready to do some drinking .     We find a pub a few blocks away and I knock back five Jagers with a (totally puss size, I THOUGHT YOU MICKS KNEW HOW TO DRINK) beer chaser. After heading back, we take our seats in the concert hall and ICP comes out.  J explains the situation, thanks us for not destroying the city since there aren't many places that will allow this gathering to happen, and surmises that "they must not like titties in Peoria. Maybe if there had been some big cocks swinging they'd have been happy with that." Anyway, the mystery guest turned out to be not Danzig but something 55 who Maddy assured me rocked and indeed they did. Twiztid then came out and kicked ass all over the place. *Ahem*...Primer 55. DAY THREE Madrox wants to go get ICP autographs, so they make plans to be first in line when the doors open. This means leaving at 8 a.m. I tell them I'll meet up with them about 1 or so. Sadly, because so much has to be fit into today after the riot cut everything short there is no day three of the wrestling school. So rather than hang there with the biggest ICP sucker marks on the planet (one jackass paid $2,100 for three Twiztid jerseys) I decide to go watch "The Neden Game" where Missy Hyatt asks questions of juggalos hoping to score with her. Of all fucking people, NORMAN SMILEY is there... and I swear he was one of the most entertaining people I've ever watched ("I brought my last date home and fucked prison style... no kissing, no foreplay, just bend that bitch over then get the FUCK OUT!") Four years of hatred evaporated in that 15 minute interval. Norman's the man (even now, I can't believe I'm typing that). Never underestimate the devotion of the mutha fuckin' juggalos. We get there and get in a different line than the last two days that my nephew recommended because we'd be closer to the door. We were, and after about an hour of standing in the sweltering late morning heat they open the doors. The plan was for my nephew to run his little skinny self up through the crowd and get in line for ICP's autographs, and hold me and my homie a spot in line. We were maybe 25 feet away from the doors when they open, but somehow by the time he gets in there the line is already wrapped CLEAR around the huge room and almost out the doors right next to the booth. Fuck. After accepting the fact that it's impossible to see these guys at such an event, we decide to check out what else is going on. After getting Juvi, Lodi, Norman Smiley and a fourth person's (who I can't think of for some reason) autograph, we head up to check out the Juggalo Court. The basic idea is that if you had a dispute with anyone you could come here and have it decided. It was basically modeled after Jerry Springer, with "evidence" being free t-shirts and the punishments ranging from being in a 3x3x8 cell during the duration of the next case to actually having to run from point A and back to the court room dressed as one Marshall Mathers. After that freshness we hit up the movie room and watched probably a 15 year old video of Alex Abbiss (ICP's manager, playing the character he would later revise in Big Money Hustlas), J and Shaggy hawking a "fabulous fruit juicer" for the "Low, low price of $99.99". Funny stuff. Next up is the Don for a Day contest, in which one lucky winner from each day would earn the chance to be "in charge" of Psychopathic's offices for a day, complete with posting whatever you want on the website and meeting many Psy recording artists. The video projector they were gonna use for the contest broke, so Alex Abbiss (from the videos earlier) improvised and a few dice games later and I was down to the final 5 out of about 80 at the start!! I rolled a 13 with 5 die somehow though, and found my hopes dashed (Imagine the shill on ICP.com). Maybe next year. I was able to get a quick pic with Alex and then a little later with J's brother Jumpsteady, who had his album come out that weekend. Both were very nice guys, and luckily Alex never recognized me as the guy who he was gonna make sure to charge for my tickets LAST year since they had no record of our purchase when we arrived to pick them up will call. I was just happy to get out of there without a shank in my side or Billy Bill's footprint on my ass.   From there it's back to the wrestling area and hook up with the crew. The last day of JCW is a total clusterfuck since they're having to book two shows in one. The main is supposed to be a three way dance for the belt between Shaggy, Sabu, and Pondo but with the shortened amount of time they turn the already-scheduled battle royal into one. Shaggy is the eventual winner which makes the Clown-loving crowd quite happy, and prior to that we do get our thumbtack match which is quite the hardcore event. JCW is the fucking bomb, point blank.  Back in the activity hall there's this pimp fellow named "Steve". His gimmick is that you have to entertain him to get free shit. I watch as everyone gets programs to last year's show and know this is going to take some thought. As I reach the front I explain "I'm a juggalo, so I'll juggle". He's impressed enough to pull out a copy of the "Forgotten Freshness Vol. 3" CD which would've been amazingly great if fate hadn't decided to mock me by having me buy the damn thing five minutes earlier. Fuck me. (I also bought "Hatchet History" at this point. You can see the review from Abnormal Status HERE.) I chokeslammed my nephew fairly stiffly on the ground (at his request), simply because he wouldn't let me put him through his autograph table. We got some programs from last year, which was good since mine was worn as fuck from carrying it around, much like this one's is now. My homie Mowery punched himself in the face, and was given a program (which he then traded Mike for FF Vol. 3) by Steve who was begging for him to stop. It's fitting that Mowery is of Irish descent, as those were some fucking stiff potato shots he was dishing out to himself. He earned his CD. Madrox isn't lying. Mowery was BELTING himself (he's "Jack Osbourne" in the pic with me and Sabu). He kept asking me if I was sure he wasn't ripping me off with the trade, but he truly did earn that mother fucker. We split up after that, as Madrox and Co. go check out the "mystery seminar" (Shaggy) while I go scope Violent J's. It's powerful stuff, as he takes us card by Joker's Card through the entire ICP history; the groundwork, the deals with record companies that bring the Sex Pistols "swindles" to mind, the growth, the story of the juggalos, him saying no to drugs forever then finally starting to smoke pot last year (accentuated with everyone onstage, Sabu included, blazing a big fatty). It closed with finally unveiling "The Wraith", the long awaited "6th Joker's Card". If I hadn't been proud of my fandom prior to that seminar, I sure the fuck would be now. Much more spiritual than I could've imagined us bearing witness to considering the venue. The mystery seminar was very cool as well, as it entailed a face-paintless Shaggy explaining about his kids, the history of the beef with Eminem, and absolutely anything else that people wanted to ask. Some of the major highlights were some kid asking if he'd sign his tape of their ABSOLUTELY first album, Basement Cuts, which surprised even Shaggy. He quipped that he hadn't seen one of those since its (very limited) release. However the coolest thing that I saw all weekend had to be what happened next. Before the seminar began, a kid was going around asking juggalos to bid on a rare T-shirt he was selling, or just plain donate money (into a cup he made out of duct tape) in order to get him money to get home. Anyway, he's kind of doing his thing when Shaggy comes in and things get started, after receiving a pretty good amount from the always helpful juggalos. Here's what blew my mind. One of his homies stood up during the seminar and explained the kid's situation to Shaggs, who then hands him the last ten bucks he had in his pockets (more one time donation than anyone else had given). He told him he would have had more for him, but he was buying the drinks the night before at the strip club and with the Psychopathic crew $150 quickly turned into $10. Now THAT is why I'm down with the mutha fuckin clown. Try and find that devotion from any other famous person to his/her fans. Unbelievable. With the weekend winding down we head to Damon's and I get loaded on Jager again. Back at the arena, we're told we missed Bubba Sparxxx getting punked out by the crowd and storming off after two songs while getting pelted with food (HAHAHA!!). Finally, the payoff... Insane Clown Posse whips the place up into a frenzy and then never stop. Sabu is onstage with them for the whole set stabbing Faygo bottles with his spike and drenching the crowd. The crowd continues the "ICP" chant way past the end of the set and into the streets as we make our final departure from the site of truly one of the best weekends of my life. The term "second-wind" was redefined for me once ICP hit the stage (even though it would have probably been more like the 7th wind of the weekend). We were chilling up in the seats, sure that nothing short of free neden would pry our exhausted bodies from those relatively comfortable arena seats. Well once the beginning of "Assassins" kicks on we're on our way down there to be drenched in Faygo and pass juggalos towards the source of the impromptu cola-shower. They played an amazing set, and here's the setlist: Murder (new song from the 6th) Assassins Dead Body Man Down With The Clown Night of the Axe Hey Vato Tilt-A-Whirl Wizard of the Hood The Juggla Southwest Voodoo Toy Box Dog Beats Hokus Pokus Chicken Huntin' $50 Bucks Fuck The World (they dedicated it to Bubba Sparxx) My Axe Southwest Strangla Bring It On My Kind of Bitch House of Horrors Wagon Wagon Boogie Woogie Wu Let's Go All The Way Never Die Needless to say it was a great mix of old and new, and about 3 minutes after the sixth was revealed and the lights were up I was dead on my feet once again.... On the way back to the motel, I stop at a convenience store. Not sure if it was the request for a "Playboy", the medallion from the Gathering that had gotten so much press over the last week, or a mixture of the two... but the look in her eye told me the woman behind the counter fully believed this God-fearing southern boy had just brought "da debil" to El Paso, Illinois. I left that state behind along with Indiana and Kentucky and bedded down for the night in Knoxville, TN... with my hopes of ending the trip on a perfect note DASHED by the high prices of escort services there. I don't know about you, but the day I pay more than $150 to have a slut dress up like Bat Girl and get captured by the Joker is the day I say "fuck the nonsense" and start dating again. Bagel Bites and warm Red Fusion = a happy Madrox. There's no one else out there like ICP. For all the talk about "no sell out" and "keeping it real" in the music industry today, NOBODY with as many fans as them can still brag about being underground and mean it as more than a buzz word. They've never done one thing to alienate their fan base in order to appeal to a broader market, they release their albums on their own label, and if they didn't have anything to do with one of the most powerful women in the music industry getting cancer it certainly wasn't because we weren't all praying for it hard enough (mother fuck Sharon Osbourne, the only thing depressing about her disease is that it isn't contagious to other family members). Let's see here. First off, FUCK Sharon Osbourne. As far as my experience this year, it was by far the best three days of my life, and while it seemed like last year's Gathering would be hard if not impossible to top, they did it 10 fold this year. It was just a couple of great days filled with unity, many many fresh events and of course MUCH CLOWN LOVE!!!! All I can say is watch out MMN, we're coming to your town next year and Vegas will NEVER be the same. Next year, Las Vegas (rumored). Time to take "fear and loathing" to a whole new level. The Dark Carnival continues, makko fakkos. WICKED CLOWNS WILL NEVER DIE!! "Killers kick the anthem like this Juggalos up in this bitch...up in this biiiiiiiiitch" "I'll always have the juggalos, And I'll never give another second to those other hoes" Madrox/Barbwire Mike Til we’re dead in the ground… FO’ REAL, YO |