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Violent J's Weekly Freekly — 2003, December, 18th

Man, to say the least, woah! What the fuck? What a crazy-ass week it was for me. I'mma about to peel your domes with sheer craziness. Ready? Ok. It's lookin' like it's about to be a typical week of recording. I'm chillin' up at the office/studio and talkin' with Alex. It's about noonish up in that piece. My phone rings. The area code is "801" which is Salt Lake City. The only reason I know that is because there was this chick I was once hooked up with from there. But I ain’t talked to her in like a fuckin' year or so. But she was a fresh chick... I did like that girl, she was hella cool. "Fuck it," I thought, "let me answer this..."


Man, she slapped my wig off like a wiffle ball. Oh yeah, and by the way... Merry-ass Christmas and happy fuckin' holiday-asses to all of yall mother fuckers. For real man, happy fuckin' Christmas. I love this holiday. Wait a minute; don’t let me get side tracked. Back to my crazy-ass story (it was crazy for me, anyway).

SO, this chick, she says, "Joe? Is that you?"

I was like, "I think so; is this who I think it is?"

She was like, "Probably. I hate to have to call you out of the blue and tell you this, but... I have to tell you something. Do you have your wig's chinstrap fastened? Because I'm about to blow it off your head."

I walked down stairs into the studio for the big stale news. I sat in the chair, "Go ahead, tell me."

She said, "Well, it goes like this. I don't mean to fuck your shit up or anything like that but, I think we, as in me and you, have a baby daughter. She's only 2 months old and she's got to be yours. It's either yours or this other ninja’s and there's little chance it's his. You’re a daddy-ass. Sorry Joe, but I think you have a baby daughter. With red-ass, Joe Bruce hair, and a big, lil', forehead... Joe... Joe? Hello?"

I was unconscious on the floor balder than "Stone Cold" Steve Rattlesnake.

No sooner than I’m able to recover my wig, strap it back on my head and pick the phone back up, Alex comes bustin' into the studio, "Hang that phone up you fuck. I'm about to peel your wig off! I got some hella big news! What are you doing? Hang that fuckin' phone up and get schooled!"

I had no choice but tell my baby mama, "I'll call ya back in a minute."

Alex busts out with the craziest news, "I got us 4 fresh-ass tickets for the BillBoard Music Awards! We’re gonna walk the fresh-ass, red carpet! Bitch, what! For the first time in our lives, we are going to walk down the red carpet, in front of the paparazzi, like WHUT!"

My wig was already off my head due to the baby news, so all Alex's news did was peel my eyebrows off. I looked like Kane at this point.

Holy shit yall. I got schooled by two major things in just five minutes time. The first little item, well obviously I needed some proof of because look, I wasn’t born yesterday, but I am stupid. The first thing I did was arrange a day to go to Salty-ass Lake City, and take that fresh DNA test. All fresh, DNA, Forensic Files style. We set it up for the day after the BillBoard awards, which was in two days.

Secondly, if we were going to the Billboard Awards, we gotta go fresh. We ran all over town, getting fitted and hooked up with the fresh-ass Scarface-style, vanilla white, tuxedos with the fresh ass matching $700 dollar crocodile-alligator shoes that we scooped. WHOOO!

Our thoughts are this, BillBoard is just that, the BillBoard Top 200 charts. Who is selling what, what they are selling, and where are they on the charts according to everybody else. When ICP drops albums, we’re always all up on them charts. BELIEVE THAT. SO, if we are on them charts too, even if it's strictly off underground Juggalo love, no radio, no MTV, just underground Juggalos, then why shouldn’t we be able to attend them awards too? Fuck that, we wanted to go and represent US and our shit!

So Alex called the main guy at BillBoard and, much to our surprise, he was fresh with it. He was like, "Yeah I agree. I think it would be great to see you guys there, and it would be awesome to have Insane Clown Posse walk our red carpet."

That's so fresh. Alex kept it quiet until he actually got the tickets in his hands, in case it didn’t go through and once he got them, he told us. Fuck yeah, it was on.

We got all of our shit together so that we look fresh reppin' Juggaloism, and we flew off to Las Vegas for the big gala event.

The night before, I had "baby nightmares" all night. I had the baby to worry about and that’s exactly what I did. I sat in the hotel room and worried about it all night... "Could the baby be mine? No way... Yes way... OK... maybe..."

Man, before I knew it, I was asleep in my hotel room having dreams about 295 other chicks all callin' me up and tellin' me the same thing. I had more kids than Old Dirty Bastard in this dream. I'm talkin' about every last, slimy-ass, tittie-barfly hoe I've, uh well, ever crossed paths with, all blowin' my shit up with news of my many trailer park babies. That's what was really on my mind. Not that I've got with any nasty hoes ever, but you know what they say: You can take the kid out of the scrubbiness, but you can’t take the scrubbiness out of the kid. And I ain’t talkin' about Kid fuckin' Rock.

The girl that called me though, luckily, she's no hoe. She's the bomb. She is for real with it. I thank God that if I had to have a kid this way, thank God it's with her and not some skank, because she knows how to be a mom. She gots two other kids and that's one of her best qualities, is her family. That’s what I liked about her when I met her a year ago. All she talked about was her 2 kids. I liked that so much about her, I had to fuck her, I guess. So, if it's going down like this, at least it's with a cool-ass chick and not some crazy bitch that I hate. BABIES! BABIES! BABIES! WHAT THE FUCK? Babies every-fuckin'-where. Some in diapers, some in strollers, some with cigars and some with guns. It is kind of fresh, though. I would like to carry on my saga into another life, but a girl? I don’t know nothin' about girls. Well, I guess that means I'mma have to beat mother fuckers down when she gets older and ninjas start comin' around. ARGH, fuck, that's a lot to think about!

It was time to get up and get ready for the BillBoard music awards. Me and Shaggy both painted up to match our two-toned suits and we fuckin' jumped right into the super-stretch limo with our fresh crew: Matt Lethal, Rudy Rude Boy, Alex "Double A" Abbiss, Shaggy Fresh-Ass, and, myself, Violent Jumbo. Alex had on the ultra fresh money-green tux. It was our moment to shine and we were doing it up big.

It was time. We were off to the fresh-ass, red carpet entrance of the MGM Grand. We called up and did the ICP Hotline right quick to let the Juggalos know that it was actually going down. We circled around a couple times while I murdered a Cuban-cigar-wrapped super blunt of that soopa shit. And then we pulled right up to the fuckin' real deal, actual red carpet.

The area that the cars drop you off was weird; one side of it was all fans. Hundreds of them all up front and lined up across the street, too. Yes, they were fans, but NOT our fans by any means. All of them were just watchin' and waiting to see who was gonna be walkin' down that red boy. They didn't look nothing like Juggalos. They were all clean, dry, stale, and lame as fuck. You couldn't even tell who they had come to see! They were just "fans." They were just there, waiting tough for ninjas like Justin Timberino, Kelly Clarksting, fuckin' Clay Adkins, and all them fuckin' idiot superstars. I know they weren’t waitin' for us, because when we stepped outta that limo and turned around revealing our clownly faces, all we heard was, "BOOOOOOOOO!" The minute they seen our clownly faces they started yellin', "Boooo! Eminem! Boo! ICP SUCKS!" It blew my mind with freshness. THINK ABOUT THAT.

Check this out: me and Shaggy don't do hardly any public shit outside of our own Juggalo shit. I mean, we never do Oz Fest, or any of them big summer tours, we always do our own thing. And we don’t open shows for anybody, because the Faygo ruins everything for the night. So after we play, the show's over. No matter who we play with, we always go on last. So the only people still around in the building is all Juggalos, everytime. We always receive nothing but Juggalo love. We've been gettin' so much love from Juggalos for so many years on the underground that we forgot how much the mainstream actually hates us.

"Boo!" Man, that shit was fresh. Me and Shaggy busted a few quick Hulk Hogan poses for them, and I grabbed my nuts and yelled, "I got your Eminem's hangin', bitches" Once I did that, they really started booin'.

But then we hit that red carpet. Thankfully, it was kind of around a corner from the pop fans that were booing. They could only see who was getting dropped off. The actual red carpet was off limits to the fans. Only press was allowed there. It was a whole other vibe. It was just a long, wide, fat red carpet, with a gate all down along the side of it. On the other side of the gate was mad PRESS ninjas. Honestly, there had to be about five or six hundred paparazzi ninjas there; some on top of each other, some with microphones and suits on, others holding cameras, some with camcorders, big shoulder-ass cameras, lil' Fuji cameras, you name it. And get this, Juggalos, no lie. All of them, ALL OF THEM, were all snapping pictures and screaming at me and Shaggy!

All we heard was, "Look over here! Hey! Clown! Over here! Yo! Over here! Violent J, look this way! Shaggy, up here! Top row please! Down here, look please!” It was crazy as hell. WE WERE HOLLYWOOD STARS ALL THE SUDDEN.

Man, the fuckin' crazy adventures I have in my life. All I kept thinking was, "what the fuck is happening here?” There were thousands of flashes as we walked and stopped, posed, walked, stop, posed, what the fuck.

Then I notice the fuckin' Backstreet Boys were right next to us, doing the same thing. I'm like, "Yeah, bitch, ICP is up in this bitch, too. What? We’re on the BillBoard charts, too! Mother fuckers! Move, bitch."

Well, that's what I was thinkin', anyway. Man, Rudy introduced us to fuckin' Pink, who by the way, has got a big-ass head. Her fuckin' head is enormous; I don't care what you say. Pink looks like a stop sign; skinny with a big-ass headpiece. We also met Kelly Clarkston, who needs her fat ass-piece spanked. We met fuckin' Carrot Top, who was hella cool. He even invited us to sit front row at his fresh show later that night at the MGM. But it looked like he had eyeliner on, so that was kind of stale. We also met stale-ass Ron Jeremy, who's only stale because he somehow gets to fuck all those fine hoes even though he looks like Super Mario. And we met "Gay" Clay Adkin and that hot lil' bitch, Nicole Richie. We was big timing, let me tell you.

That shit was fun as hell, we did interview after interview for all types of shows. Representin' us. People would ask, "What are you guys doing here?" My answer was, "Shit, you should be askin', ‘where the fuck have we been?’, cause we've been on these charts byatch."

Shaggy was like, "Yeah, baby bitch, peep..." and he'd show them his fresh-ass, iced-out ‘BillBoard #1 Ring’ that he got for Big Money Hustlas when it was #1 Home Video seller (You can only get one of those rings if you've been #1 on an official BillBoard chart. I would've had mine on, but somebody ripped mine off). They asked us about everything from Michael Jackson’s scandal to what we were wearing.

One ninja from the E Channel was like, "What are you wearing?"

I was like, "Huh? What's it look like? It's a fresh-ass tuxedo, like the one Scarface had on when he got shot up."

Then the guy said, "No, when I asked ‘what’, I meant what name brand is the tux?"

I was like, "Man, come on, fuck if I know. It's gotta be back Tuesday morning anyway, so who cares? In fact, go ahead and put down Hatchet Gear. That’s who made it, byatch." I was straight up lying.

Once we got inside, we seen Vanilla Ice chillin' with like four freaks. Anytime something fresh is going down you know the Ice Man will be up in that bitch. We said, "what's up" and kicked it with our fellow Juggalo homie for a minute. We talked about how fresh the Gathering was last year and how fresh it’s gonna be this year. But he had his hoes to get back to so we said peace.

The show was pretty good. Foo Fighters and R Kelly were fresh. One of Pink’s dancers was the same kid dancing in the Homies Video, somehow. That was fresh. But this one other kid dancing on stage for Pink, he was fuckin' unbelievable. He did the craziest thing I've ever seen a human being do. If you know anything about break dancin', this ninja did the Windmill... on his hands. That's all I'm saying.

During the show it was weird. If you get up outta your seat even for a minute, some other runner guy sits down in it until you get back. That way there is no empty seats on camera. They had about 200 runner ninjas runnin' around sittin' down all over the place. Shaggy and Rudy went to go piss and two ninjas came and sat on both sides of me and Alex. I was like, "Woah... you tryna get beat ninja? You know my boy is sittin' there." But then they explained it to us. This one chick sat down next to me one time and just said to me, "I'm a filler..." It was fresh. We signed mad autographs up in there. And the band 3 Doors Down was sitting right in front of us. And they won an award, so we cheered for them, even though they do suck.

On the way out after the show, we bumped into the Backseat Boys again in the back pickup area. This time they were pissed off, though. The ninja with the bushy-ass eyebrows said to me, "Dude your guy's an asshole man, damn, that ain’t even cool.” And, before he could finish his sentence, Matt Lethal (our shoot-fighter homie, who can put you in a headlock and pop your head just by flexing) came walkin' up behind them and said, "What are you doin', tellin' on me? Get the fuck outta here before you get hurt.” Right when they seen Matt, they jetted with the quickness. I asked Matt, "What the fuck did we miss?” Matt explained what happened...

Matt was sittin' in our limo waiting on us during the show. He was our outside man in case we needed to make a quick run or get away. Well, he was in there chillin' when he seen Paris Hilton walkin' around. So Matt jumped outta the car and kinda walked over towards Paris Hilton's ass. He was just kind of standing there, walking around casually peepin' Paris in person. At some point, he turned back around and peeped that there were some heads moving around in our limo! Matt ran back to the car and opened the door and, much to his surprise, it was the Backdoor Boys! In our fuckin' limo! Drinkin' our drinks!

Matt said, "What the fuck is going on here, guys?"

They said, "Oh, is this your limo?"

Matt said, "Yeah, and Insane Clown Posse's, so raise up outta this piece."

One of the Backwards Boys then said, "Brah, look dude, just let us borrow your limo to drop us off back at our hotel right quick." Matt, knew we wasn’t havin' that. The BillBoard Awards were over and we was gonna be walking out any second so Matt had to check that.

Matt said, "Man, yall need to get the fuck outta here, now!" He yelled and started gettin' hella pissed because they wouldn’t get out. He had to gorilla-punk them fools outta our shit. Finally, they got out and started walking away. That’s when we walked up and the dude started tryna tattletale on Matt.

Once Matt explained it to us, we all started yellin' back towards the Backhole Boys, "HAAAAAAAAAA yeah! HAAAAAA. That’s RIGHT, stay up out of our shit!"

It was the shit, though. What a bomb-ass page that was in my book of life. I'll remember that night forever. I'll be tellin' my newborn daughter about that shit one day. WAIT! What? Oh shit, I can’t believe how that sounds.

The next morning, I headed to the airport with the guys. Only they all caught a flight back to Detroit Murderous and I jetted off to Salt Lake Pretty, to see what the fuck is going on with my seeds.

I got there and it was too fuckin' late to take the test that day so I just chilled in the hotel. I walked all around Salt Lake City with my headphones on, bumpin' that new Psychopathics from Outer Space: Part 2. While I was out walking, believe it or not, I ran into this kid that I know. I met him once before in Dallas, Texas. He lives outta his car with his woman. They were hella cool. We met them when we were staying in Dallas recording The Wraith: Shangri-La. He asked me how the Shangri-La album was doing. I told him it was at about 300,000 copies. He remembers what that album meant to us because we last seen him while we were making it and he remembers our shine. And he remembers how much we talked about it back then and how much we loved that record. We snapped a quick photo together and he was off again. I wonder if I’ll bump into that traveling couple ever again in some other state? Probably.

The whole city of Salt Lake is surrounded by enormous huge mountains with snow all over them. It's a beautiful peaceful little place. I kept thinking, "Yeah I can live with raising a daughter here. This place is nice as fuck. I walked all around in through the mall and all that shit. I seen a Juggalo at the mall, he had on a bootleg, fake-ass, red Riddlebox hoodie on. It was fake but it's just as fresh. That night, I went to sleep watching Court TV with the host of Forensic Files talking in my sleep. As soon as I was out, I had more baby dreams. Babies were having babies, and babies were growing off trees and everywhere… all calling me daddy. I was being chased by 300 babies with poopy-ass pants. I felt like Barney.

Then, next day, the chick pulled up in a big-ass truck. She said it was her brother's truck and that he was a Salt Lake Championship fisherman. But a fuck I couldn’t have givin' less. I wanted to peep what was under that blanket in the back seat. There, in the extra secure lil' baby seat, was a lil' somethin'. I had to peep. She was asleep so I had to quietly peep. I lifted the little blankey and WOAH! It's me! Bright red-ass hair, big lil' forehead, everything. I'm tryna tell you that if I had seen this child in a magazine or something I would have to wonder if she was mine. She looked like a lil' Jolene Bruce. She looked like me more than I did. I was trippin' out... She was so small, I could hold her in my hand, but I didn't even play like that. Besides, she was asleep, probably having baby daddy dreams... She was fresh.

We got straight to the stale-ass DNA place and went right in. The lady that worked there was fuckin' crazy. She kept saying, "Oh, you guys are soooooo lucky. She's so pretty... Oh look, she looks like her daddy, too! Oh, I'm so happy for you guys."

I was thinkin', "Hold up, bitch. You guys nuttin'. What the fuck you think we're doing here? We don't know shit yet for sure." When the lady pricked my daughter's lil' footsy for her blood sample, she woke up. Her eyes woke right up. She didn’t cry or anything. In fact she was smiling cause the crazy lady was making her laugh with her crazy-lady-ass face. The lady was fuckin' crazy.

Now that she was awake, I could clearly see she had my eyes. Same color, same everything. I could’ve told you right then that she was mine. When she looked over at me, she stared right into my eyes for like 20 seconds probably. Almost like she recognized me, too somehow. I was like wwwoooaaaaaaaa. That was crazy.

But fuck that, I'm out until I get the test results. We went straight to the airport and she dropped me off. I walked in and missed my fuckin' flight. Five hours later, I finally flew home.

I got home and I told everybody: Esham, Rudy, Alex, Shaggy, my Moms, everybody. I told them all chances are very good that I have a two-month-old daughter. I planned on being the shit about it, too. I'm ready to do this. Shit, I'm 31 years old, I better be ready!

Three Days later I get the call to my cell phone.


"Joe Bruce?"

"Yeah, it's me..."

"Hi, this is Diane, that crazy lady from the ‘Who's Yo Daddy’ Center with the results to your DNA test."

"Spit 'em," I said

"First, what's your password (I forgot to mention. They wanted me to give them a fresh password. So they know it’s me they’re talking to)?"

"The password is ‘Ninjalo’."

"Ok. The results are as follows... Joe, I'm going to inform you that she is NOT your child."

She wasn’t mine. That chick must have went and fucked my evil twin brother, or maybe there's some ninja walking around Salt Lake City that looks just like me or something, because I really don’t know how that could be. But it was. The baby wasn’t mine.

Man, I didn’t know what to think. Half of me was happy as hell, and the other half felt stupid as hell, and the other half was sad as hell. I felt so stupid because I thought she was mine, I really did. I even told everybody that. It felt like she was mine. Man, I just guess I don't really know shit these days. What a crazy-ass week that was. Holy fuckin' shit holes. That was a crazy-ass week for a ninja.

I’m not depressed or upset at all about it. Fate is fate and God works in mysterious ways. So it's all to the good. One day, I'll get mine and you'll get yours. We all get ours. I'll just have trouble trusting my own instincts for a while because they were way off on this one.

The fresh-ass Big Baller Christmas Party should help bring things back to ordinary order. A lil' holiday cheer and beer, maybe a lil' neden somewhere. That's gonna be the shit because, me and Shaggy plan on doin' a lil' somethin', and ABK is gonna do a lil' somethin', and who knows who else will be up in that piece. Maybe a lil' E Boom. Maybe a lil' Zuggy Izzo, maybe? You don't know. Byatch.

We have some major announcements to make after the New Year arrives. So get ready for that. Man, have yourselves a happy-ass, merry holidays. And yo, chicks? Now is the time to put it on your ninja. It's cold outside. Peace and I'm outta this bitch like Saddam's beard.

Peace and Happy Holidays,
Violent J

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