I heard them coming long before I saw them...
The haunting strains of ICP from the car window as their
matte black, 1984 Cadillac Coupe de Ville pulled up next to me and the three of
them jumped out.
All three wore full, black and white demon-clown war paint
across their faces, two wore dreadlocks. The third’s head was shaved, and all
three wore matching “Hatchet Man” medallions around their necks.
The first, their leader I presume, wore a faux hockey jersey
proclaiming him to be named “Thug Ballz”, and as they approached he looked me
dead in the eye.
I consider myself a generally open-minded person, accepting
of all to the degree that I can be, but I admit, in that moment I was afraid.
Involuntarily, I took a step back, frightened of impending attack, scared that
they might hurt me…
Instead, they put their arms around, and held me tight.
“You are not alone.” One told me.
“We are all in this together.” Said another.
“You are the real miracle.” Thug Ballz added, and then they
got back into their car and were gone, as though they’d never been there in the
first place…
…this was my first experience, though by no means my last,
with the Contact Juggalos.
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