Thuggalo: A tough-ass ninja who doesn’t take shit from anybody. Likely to be found on the receiving end of a “FAM-I-LY” chant, usually called out to break up a fight. He walks with a fake limp, and maybe carries a cane with a joker head at the handle. Definitely has a giant, gold Hatchet man necklace on a chintzy chain.
Huggalo: The opposite of a Thuggalo. He will give hugs to both topless and beshirted Juggalettes. Hell, he’ll hug anyone if they let him—the face paint on his cheeks is often a little more worn than on the rest of his face from nuzzling into shoulders. A sensitive clown by nature, he can be found sniffling in his tent, wailing a sad refrain of Woot, woot well into the night, like a lone wolf looking for his pack.
Druggalo: It’s rumored that you can generally buy just about any drug ever made—by nature or by man—at the Gathering of the Juggalos. This is Juggalo is your typical pusher. He’ll sell you acid, cocaine, and Vicodin, but he won’t sell you any of those “fucking bath salts shit, man. That shit’s really bad for you. Made Jizzy Whiz C’s girlfriend jump out a window. It was fucked up. Try this PCP instead.”
Chuggalo: This monstrosity is half Juggalo, half frat boy, and doesn’t just sip those 24-oz. Miller Lites, he chugs them, bongs them, or shotguns them. His Woop Woop is harsh and ‘roid-ragey. Will definitely pay $1 to see your boobs. Maybe more.
Smuggalo: (pictured above) These are the journalists or intellectuals who go to the gathering and end up having a great time, but report that they were scared, anxious, and unable to really understand this foreign, uneducated, poor culture of fun and savage delights, but at night they put on a little clown make-up, toke some premium weed from a hand-blown glass one-hitter, and wander their houses mouthing Violent J’s revelations in The Dark Carnival, feeling, for perhaps the first time, the freedom to be their ninja selves.