"Well," Violent J says, "science is ... we don't really ... that's like ..." He pauses. Then he waves his hands as if to say, "OK, an a.n.a.logy: If you're trying to f.u.c.k a girl, but her mom's home, f.u.c.k her mom! You understand? You want to f.u.c.k the girl, but her mom's home? f.u.c.k the mom. See?"

I look blankly at him. "You mean ..."

"Now, you don't really feel that way," Violent J says. "You don't really hate her mom. But for this moment when you're trying to f.u.c.k this girl, f.u.c.k her! And that's what we mean when we say f.u.c.k scientists. Sometimes they kill all the cool mysteries away. When I was a kid, they couldn't tell you how pyramids were made... ."

"Like Stonehenge and Easter Island," says s.h.a.ggy. "n.o.body knows how that s.h.i.t got there."

"But since then, scientists go, 'I've got an explanation for that.' It's, like, f.u.c.k you! I like to believe it was something out of this world."

Violent J's real name is Joseph Bruce, s.h.a.ggy's is Joseph Utsler. They're in their late thirties. Their career, while at times truly glittering, is littered with inadvertent mistakes. Born and raised in Christian homes in Detroit, they've known each other since high school. "We were dirt poor," s.h.a.ggy says. "You can't get no poorer. Fighting, food stamps, I was a f.u.c.king thief for a living, hustling, getting money, we were b.a.l.l.s-deep in that s.h.i.t."

Their first band, Inner City Posse, was without clown makeup. They were gangster rappers, and consequently found themselves behaving in a gangster-like manner. In 1989, Violent J was jailed for ninety days for death threats, robbery, and violating probation. When he got out, he and s.h.a.ggy made some life-defining decisions. How could they keep their rap career going but move away from the destructive gang lifestyle? How could they change the band's name but keep the initials ICP? People liked the initials ICP.

And then it came to them in a flash: Insane Clown Posse! Killer clown rap! It was the perfect outlet for their emotions. Write about the pain and the anger through the prism of horror-movie imagery. A whole new genre.

"We had to work our a.s.s off from the ground up," Violent J says. "We don't get radio play. We don't get video play. We get nothing. This is our video play... ." He indicates the dressing room. "Being on the road. We didn't have no Jay-Z telling everyone, 'Hey, look at these guys, we're friends with them, listen to them.' To this day, we don't get that."

This aspect of things might have turned out rather differently had Violent J not made their first big error. It was 1997. Insane Clown Posse were enjoying an early flush of success-their alb.u.ms Riddle Box and The Great Milenko had sold a million copies. One night they were in a club when a young man handed them a flyer inviting them to a party. The flyer read: "Featuring appearances by Esham, Kid Rock, and ICP (maybe)."

"What are you saying? We're going to be playing at your party when you haven't asked us?" Violent J yelled at the boy.

"It says 'maybe,'" he said. "Maybe you will be there. I don't know. That's why I'm asking you right now. Are you guys coming to my party or what?"

"f.u.c.k no," Violent J replied. "We might have, if you'd asked us first, before putting us on the f.u.c.king flyer."

That boy grew up to be Eminem and, incensed, he's been publicly deriding ICP ever since in lyrics such as "ICP are overrated and hated because of their false ident.i.ties."

An observation that turned out to be prophetic.

"From the very beginning of our music, G.o.d is in there," Violent J says, "in hidden messages."

"Can you give me some examples?" I ask.

There's a small silence. He looks torn between revealing them and maintaining the mystery. He shoots s.h.a.ggy a glance.

"The 'Riddle Box,'" he finally says.

"Hey, what's up, motherf.u.c.ker

This is s.h.a.ggs 2 Dope

Congratulating you on opening the box

The Riddlebox

It looks like you received your prize

The cost, what it cost, was your a.s.s,

b.i.t.c.hboy!

Hahahahah!"

("Riddle Box," 1995)

"If you died today, G.o.d forbid, if you were hit by a car and you had to turn the crank to your own riddle box, what would pop out?" Violent J peers at me. "Would it be G.o.d, or would it be the Devil? Only you truly know the answer to your own riddle box. We're asking the listener, what is in your own riddle box if you were to die today?"

"Cos you can't lie to yourself, man," says s.h.a.ggy.

"Only you know the answer to that riddle," Violent J says. "And then there's the Ringmaster. In the Ringmaster, we say when you die you have to face your own beast. Somebody who has lived a life of religion, they face a very small and weak beast when they die. But somebody who's an evil b.a.s.t.a.r.d will have to face a monster. The question is, how big is your ringmaster? If, G.o.d forbid, you were hit by a car. Ask yourself, Jon." Violent J looks me in the eye. "How big is your ringmaster?"

"How come it took you so long to make the announcement?" I ask.

"You had to gain everybody's attention," says Violent J. "You had to gain the entire world's trust and attention."

"So all those unpleasant characters in the songs," I ask, "like the narrator in 'I Stuck Her With My w.a.n.g,' they're examples of people you shouldn't be?"

"Huh?" Violent J says.

"Well, it's very unpleasant," I say. "'I stuck her with my w.a.n.g. / She hit me in the b.a.l.l.s. / I grabbed her by her neck. / And I bounced her off the walls. / She said it was an accident and then apologized. / But I still took my elbow and blackened both her eyes.' That's clearly a song about domestic violence. So your Christian message is ... don't be like that man?"

"Huh?" Violent J repeats, mystified.

There's a silence.

"'I Stuck Her With My w.a.n.g' is funny," Violent J says. "Jokes. Jokes, man. Jokes. Jokes. Jokes. It's just a ridiculous scenario. Silly stories, man. Silly stories. What's she doing kicking him in the b.a.l.l.s? We find it funny. But we're saying, while we're close, while we're hanging, hey, man, do you ever ask yourself what's in your riddle box? If you had to turn the crank today?"

"But still, given that you were secretly Christian, are there any lyrics you now regret?"

There's a silence. "Yeah," Violent J says quietly.

"Which ones?"

"Dumb, stupid, idiotic lyrics that I said without knowing any better. Back in the day."

"Like what?"

"I really don't want to say. There's one lyric ..." He trails off, suddenly looking really sad beneath the clown makeup. "Just dumb lyrics. I said one lyric one time that I hate. I may have been feeling really down that day. I said something, I live with that every day. I don't want to point it out."

I later do a search and find it difficult to pinpoint exactly which lyric he may be referring to. It just might, I suppose, be "I took aim at a stray dog, / and I blew out its brains, it was fresh as h.e.l.l ... no feelings for others, you gotta be cold."

Violent J says releasing "Thy Unveiling," coming out as religious, was the most exciting moment of his life. "It felt so good, brother. I was f.u.c.king in heaven. Let me tell you something: I would go running at night, and my feet wouldn't even touch the ground. I had my headphones on, I'd be listening to 'Thy Unveiling,' and I'd be in such a zone that my feet wouldn't even be touching the ground. I'd be literally levitating."

He was worried, of course, about the reaction from the juggalos, and, sure enough, "the emotional impact shook the whole juggalo foundation, for good and for ill," Violent J says.

"What did the juggalos who were opposed to it say?" I ask.

"They said, 'f.u.c.k that,'" says s.h.a.ggy.