My grandmother's husband, who isn't my biological grandfather, was more of a grandpa to me than the actual dude who beefed her in the first place. I got a fair bit of my sense of humor from him, because I really loved that old guy style of humor that my entire generation just doesn't relate to. That Norm McDonald-on-Conan level shit. I eat it up.
One of his recurring jokes that he loved to hit me with was insisting that I was Irish because I have green eyes. This was really just an excuse to go balls-out every St. Patrick's Day.
Back in 2009 he came into my room while I was at school and decorated my entire room with St. Patrick's Day decorations, which I never bothered to take down until I left the forest.
I have seen his penis twice.
My point is: I'm not Irish, and I don't relate to the Irish. So House of Pain's Irish-powered rap music never really spoke to me that much.
I do like Jump Around, Shamrocks and Shenanigans (the Butch Vig mix) and Everlast's solo career where he sings about abortions. It's all quality shit. But if we're going to talk about Jump Around, we're going to talk about the Insane Clown Posse cover.
This is for my ninjas!
Oh cool. I love ninjas.
Real ninjas! Who ain't afraid to get looney!
Uh... that's not really what ninjas are known for as far as I know, but then again I'm a dumb whore.
This video tells the tale of how the FBI consider Juggalos to be a gang, despite the fact that the majority of them are just smelly weed addicts who fuck their sisters.
Pull it out, stab it in.
I don't want to.
Let me begin. Cut under the chin, fresh out the looney bin.
Is the looney bin a mental asylum? Or is it the discount bin at the thrift store with those Looney Toons VHS tapes that nobody wants? Because either way, someone being from one of those two places is absolutely terrifying for completely different reasons.
You don't want me to act up.
That's very true. I tend to like it when people aren't being massive disruptive shitheads.
Get up, stand up. Bloodying my hands up. Can't control the feeling, here comes a wig peelin'.
These men are very aggressive and I find it slightly intimidating.
Wait, did I say intimidating? I meant gay.
I can chop a hater up even though I'm drunk, stab him in his eye, and then take the punk's hoe.
If a girl is willing to be with the guy who stabbed her boyfriend in the eye, she's probably a whore anyway. Either that or a groupie, which is worse.
Freakshow funkin', bodies in a trunk and pull a drive-by on the cops at a Dunkin Donuts shop. My hatchet goes chop. Guts hit the floor, I'm losin' it and I won't stop. I came here to clown, I came here to clown. So get up out your seat and jump around.
So you want me to dance around because you're talking about murdering people? That's fucked up. I'm totally doing it, but still. I can take a step outside myself and realize that I'm bobbing my head to some activities that I would not partake in, as I am not a psycho-murderous clown. I'm willing to change that aspect of myself though if it would make people like me more. I'm very insecure.
I feel confident in saying that if I were having problems with the FBI, the last motherfucking thing I would do is antagonize them by releasing a rap song about murdering them. I would instead put up a broadcast that makes fun of them and calls them a bunch of crossdressing perverts. That's what separates Human Raccoon from the Insane Clown Posse.