Education: Not leading to Juggalism since 1995.

When I was younger, around the age of 15, I had a juvenile sense of humor.  Fart/pee jokes were finer than the wine I wasn't technically allowed to drink at the dinner table but did anyway.  That's why whenever somebody mentioned ICP at this age, I didn't realize that they were saying an acronym.  I literally thought the band was called "I See Pee."  Being young and retarded, this made me giggle.

I've grown up now, and my sense of humor has drastically expanded, but still, there's that 15 year old lurking in the back of my mind that smirks whenever I hear or read that acronym.

I remember, back in the halcyon days of my summer youth, this one girl asked me to come over to her house.  She was actually incredibly cute, and of course, the hormones that were my brain at the time commanded me to do as she said.  So I did.  She then proceeded to play ICP on her stereo system once we got to her place.  Being a child of Godsmack, and actually having played the saxophone for 7 years of my life, jamming to the tunes of both classical and jazz, I immediately detected severe waves of faggotry emanating from her stereo system.

This isn't music, I thought.  Other thoughts followed as well.

This sounds like bear sex on a bass drum kit.

What the sweet hell is a Juggalo?  Is that a guy who juggles dicks?

The last and final thought was pussy ain't worth listening to this shit.

And that's when she said the following words, and I quote, "I would totally kill my dad to this music."

Time kind of slowed down.  I realized that I was in the Twilight Zone.  Normal people don't say this kind of thing, I knew that for a fact, and I was kind of weirded out by the fact that everything in her room was ICP related.  I knew then that I had to get as far away from this girl as possible.

So I stood up, said "Yeah, uh, I got a science thing to do.  At home.  Now.  Please.  I'll talk to you later."

"What?  But we just got started!"

"Yeah.  Uh.  Science project.  Sorry."

I showed myself out, got into my car that I barely knew how to drive, and peeled out, doing 70 on the way home, even though it was only 10 minutes away.

Looking back at that incident now, I realize that had I stayed, I'd probably have 15 illegitmate children with that whore, and would have contracted some mutant form of AIDS which would rob me of my sight and turn all sounds I heard into jungle music about axes, and I'd probably weigh in at 400 pounds with a severe case of gout and would probably be an accessory to the murder of her father.

This is the same whore who later tried to contact me via facebook a couple years ago, and let's just say she gives fat a whole new meaning. I'm sure her ass has it's own congressional district and/or branch of the military.  Her ass is the moon that Newt Gingrich wants to colonize.  She has her own gravitational pull.  She affects the tides.  Look, I could go on forever.  Needles to say, this bitch created tectonic faults in her wake as she waddled from her rancid meth cave to hop on her moped so she could putz around at four miles per hour to the McDonalds down the street.

In response to her friend request I asked her the stock question "I don't get magnets.  How do they work?" and she raged like a sun going supernova and she sent me idle threats which made me laugh uncontrollably.  I told her to come at me on her power scooter, and she detonated.  The resulting messages were incomprehensible, as if she was bashing her hideously fat hands on the keyboard hoping that words came out.  Remember Gorilla Basic for Windows 3.1?  Some of you reading this might not remember that ancient game for it was before your time, but needless to say she looks just like them, except twice as ugly. 

Fortunately, my parents gave me a saxophone (There was a study out a while ago that said that kids in band got 20% better grades or something of that nature.  Food for thought.) and pushed higher education on me almost since I could speak, ensuring that I would not be some lowlife faggot who paints gelled sperm on their face and goes Porta Potty diving for rancid feces to throw at Tila Tequila at the age of 35. 

To put into context the type of people my parents are, it was my mother who introduced me to Godsmack, and it was my father who sat me down and made me listen to Rage Against the Machine.  My mother played the clarinet and guitar.  My father was a drummer.

I owe a lot of my successes to my parents because they pushed knowledge like it was crack, and they didn't take failure from me as an option, because they knew I could do anything if I had the right tools.   

The fact that Juggalos exist is because their parents pushed crack, as hers did as it later turned out two years ago.

JUST SAYING.