The Two-Headed Beast Behind 'Dope Clown Comics' Tells All
By O.A. CARRY FOR: 65,000〡PUBLISHED: April 6th, 2025
Abusive clown stroking his shit comics on Twitter. / Source
The smell of a USB stick burning on a stove top. A nail pierces through the tiny bones in your foot. Human poop is excreted from the source (onto your head) as Slender Man flashes you top bush. There are no more pages to collect. There's barely empathy. In this four-paneled world, there's only an Abusive clown stroking his shit. And he's watching you.
He's been crawling across my Twitter feed since last summer.
The webcomics are crude, brash and decaying. Haphazard, barely conscious—just bastard motherfuckers—do everything violent before they weep.
Something foul, but familiar about the modern condition emits from the page. The art is angry and scary, but a deep earnestness feels trapped inside its bleeding heart. Or maybe, that earnestness is the black hole, sucking in all of the stars and lights that flash tortured stick figures, chaos, and a crazy, clown character who's forced to watch it all.
On a cold January night when we were all probably balding, I got to speak to the account's two admins. I was transported into the shitty room they call a studio.
"This is my favorite room to make comics in," said the first. "The light in here is from a ceiling fan, but it doesn't have the bulb cover or any of the blades anymore. That's my favorite lighting. I'm staring at hoards of fucking equipment. I kinda feel bad describing it. We're passing this wine bottle back and forth… Grassini. Where is this from? 711?"
"It's very fancy."
"It's from 2015."
They're sitting in the open spaces on couch and floor where piles of discarded shirts are not. It's the merch they've been selling online—all cursed with the page's artwork.
"I'm a failed painter," the first admin says. "This is my job now. I print shirts. I draw clown shit. I make clown money. But I feel like your job is cool. You work a trade. I'm like a gay retard who draws."
Admin 2 is a car mechanic. "But I don't want to be doing that," he says. "I just want to be drawing. And every time I draw, it just turns out like shit."
"You're a perfectionist, you're a perfectionist," Admin 1 repeats—simultaneously caked to the carpeted bladder that said perfectionist calls a home.
"My house is kind of a dungeon," he says. "It's really dim in here, really dusty."
The ammonia fisting their lungs brings back hallucinations of their past. It's summer, when the page first started.
"We were living in this nice '70s-ass house with this huge beautiful window … We're sitting there, playing fucking Elden Ring on a bean bag. It's sweltering outside. We're just fucking locked in."
South Park and Aqua Teen are playing on a monitor. A constant humming of peasant groans and nasally, cartoon voices echoes. But it's peaceful. I imagine Admin 1 glued to the screen. He comes out of his trance hours later, summoned by the moon.
"At night, we drove UberEats. We made no money. And then we'd come home and drink fucking jack, hanging out with nobody. We're not going out, doing anything. We're not making friends. We're just in this place, and we're setting up this arena where we PvP people."
They laugh, remembering the joy that the slaughterhouse gave.
"Then we'd go get these really solid burgers and fries, and drink some jack and cokes, and get mad, and draw, and throw up in the shower a little."
"Yeah, that's kind of how the clown was born. It was a mixture of all that."
The two-headed beast, on hot summer nights, squeezed its body into a suped-up car to deliver UberEats. Not DoorDash. Not Grubhub. That green logo with the German prefix. 1 would pop out. 2 would drive. They'd split the cash on rent and booze.
"At first we were drawing from the persona of this one, singular, sad, chud guy who's driving UberEats, who's developmentally stunted. We ditched that idea pretty quickly."
"We would get really mad and dangerously need to piss. We'd go pick up their fucking Nobu or whatever and deliver it to a mansion. And we'd be like, 'Well, this guy has no right to get mad at me pissing on his tree.'"
"And then we'd draw someone jacking off when we got home."
"Yeah, we'd draw someone getting killed, and then kill people in Elden Ring. It was a release from the fact that we made $500 and spent it on ten bottles of LeBron Hennessy."
But on one fateful night, there was this guy under an overpass.
"We encountered the abusive clown," they said in unison. "He was a shirtless, homeless guy wearing a red clown mask. He was lying there. We were joking in the car like, what if someone made a call-out post for that clown underneath the overpass: 'Deplatform this person. Don't let them play your DIY shows because he's an abusive clown stroking his shit!'"
He began taking form, coagulating from the boner up. Tall. Buff. Cocky. Archaic. His red, curly sideburns are two-pixels wide, but he seems to tower over every other creature in each frame. His nipples are usually out—with a red button nose—and his weiner's slumped in his hand. He's too horny to be pinned down (unless you try).
After they saw him, they looked for him every day. Same spot. Same overpass. But he was never seen again. Same spot. Same overpass. And the same UberEats delivery. Same piss. Same tree. And the same sketchbook they'd go home to. "These little books that we stapled together for an audience of no one."
Anger built. The food became more expensive. The deliveries paid no money. The bean bag was peeling. Twitter sucked. They moved into Admin 2's dungeon. And their old rage comic instincts kicked in. Or so one would think…
Raging Against the Blobslop
…Because, there's something about the lines, the pixels, the almost-illegible text in Abusive clown stroking his shit that devolves from the history of rage comics, building on the prior mutations in schizoposting that made Cereal Guy uncanny or Troll Face withered—transforming the "rage" into "psychosis."
While the eerification of rage comics in the late 2010s to early 2020s uses the templates, bastardizes the characters, and plays with the formula, Abusive clown cartoons keep the ingredients but throw out the recipe. Like that old saying, "We got ingredients," but it's a pen, a syringe, and a calculator, sitting on the cutting board, already smashed and brushed into a pile.
"Of course, we were inspired by rage comics," says Admin 1. "But we had a limited exposure to that when it was happening."
"Yeah, like I made retarded ass rage comics about being 11 years old," said Admin 2, "and everyone hated that shit, commenting that I'm stupid, that I'm a little kid, and they were right. I was 11, on iFunny, trying to get featured, trying to say I got mad about the shower getting cold."
Their age prevented them from witnessing the rise of rage comics. They only got to see the height, not the sweat and tears put into the formats. They were the children, trying to replicate it, putting themselves at the adult table and getting embarrassed.
Wojaks and Soyjaks are, of course, the modern equivalent. They angrily scratch the same itch.
"When I see the weird shit on 4chan," said Admin 1, "Like a green, chicken Soyjak holding up a picture of another Soyjak who loves limes—it's just incompressible. I love that shit. People put the same amount of effort into that as I did into a clown comic. That kind of internet drawing is really vital to what we do. There's such a vitality to the things people draw anonymously, like works of art that obviously have a lot in them, posted by people who don't have the self-esteem, or have fear for their situation and can't be associated with the final product. That's really inspiring. It has a lot of blood and feeling in it, in a way that I understand and resonate with."
"Never surrender" Abusive clown comic. (Source)An old delivery-themed comic. (Source)
"And that's what your page is achieving now?" I asked.
"Honestly, no. I think we fall short. We have this audience that's very, at least in my estimation, it's multi-polar … People who are Nazis follow us," he hesitantly says, "'A10 eyes confirmed on the clown.' The other end is people who post trans cartoon porn every single day."
In this light, I picture the admins pulling on the clown. They each have an arm, and these other groups—the two "polars"—are yanking on each leg. Each group is trying to co-opt him for their identity. But he's trying to wiggle out.
"I've thought about alienating both groups, but you kind of need to banish that fear because you have to do the thing that makes the clown work."
Admin 1 gave an example. "The 'Store opens Friday' thing I just drew, it's based on that video of that furry with the stinky feet, being like, 'And they get a pass because they're minorities.' He air quotes with his feet and hands. 'And don't even get me started on crime statistics.' They both laugh at the absurdity—the image combines the extremes of their audience. "I obviously had a moment of trepidation with that one."
Abusive clown toes that cultural line, not because they're trying to appease everyone, but because a stinkiness needs to be harvested and it needs to radiate from their work—derived from images that cross that stinky intersection into the underbellies of both sides.
"And we gotta make some shit that doesn't have the stupid ass clown in it because that feels like Tumblr," said Admin 1.
"And no fucking offense to Tumblr whatsoever. I'm friends with people who draw fucking OCs and shit but I never wanted to be part of that ecosystem. And I've seen kids who are like, 'I'm hyper-fixating on the clown.' No, no, no, you're a child."
With "hyper-fixating," the clowns were using lingo integral to mid-level Twitter art, liked by tweens and normies. The genre of webcomic is commonly referred to as "blobslop." It describes the edgeless comics that Twitter artists share, in which they vent about tropes in media. The characters are white and blob-like. They lack character, and the plots lack depth. They often express a gripe with the world that feels obvious or redundant.
Between rage comics, Wojaks, and the current state of blobslop, the Abusive clown feels like the anti-OC character poised to kill them all. He's antithetical to the genre; he's ugly, and his form is fluid. Plus, his creators are actively trying to banish him, unlike the codependency that self-inserts demand.
"I think having a character is good," Admin 2 interjects. He says this like he's reminding the other that there's still good in the world.
"I'm happy to have a mascot," 1 says, automatically reducing the character to a bumbling butt-of-the-joke, who runs around on the sidelines, and the jocks don't envy him.
"He's nice to have. I think the clown is lovely, personally," says one of the jocks.
"I like what the clown is able to promote in terms of attitude, especially when I'm drawing on top of other people's stuff," which is often Blobslop on the page. It's always trying to prove some point, which is then interrupted by the Abusive clown, who pops in for a quick hello, wearing a thong, deflecting the original meaning with his "abusive" ways.
At this point, the voices in my head try and convince me to watch Joker 2.
"No?!" They gasp when I say I never saw it.
"The Joker 2 is great. This is important to the clown … The archetype of the Joker is, he does fucking crimes—we love it (yada yada yada)—but in the Joker 2, he's fucked up but, you see, not because he's a fucking criminal—not because he's an abusive clown out here stroking his shit. He's- He's an artist who's a weird person—a person who was never going to be that accepted."
Every other sentence, the other voice faintly coos, "You should watch it. You should really, really watch it."
"And ultimately, the point of that movie is, everybody wants him to be a monster, but what he is is a sensitive person; he has a song in his heart (hence the musical element), and he pays the ultimate price for trying to live up to what people want of him. He has this artistic, inner self who can't possibly be expressed."
"So that's what you view the Abusive clown as, like a misunderstood character who has good in his heart?" I asked.
"'Abuse' is the filter," they both agreed. "If you see that word and think, 'Abuse is bad man, I can't fuck with that,' then the page is not for you. It's the filter that allows you access to this character who is actually a nice guy. Freaky, misunderstood, fucked up, whatever… Mentally disabled, retarded, whatever … If you wanna enjoy this, then fix something in your brain because what we're making is pretty chill."
I started thinking, maybe the Abusive clown is a self-insert. The crazed duo—hell bent on obscuring meaning, and focused on the feeling in their work—were also just "freaky, misunderstood, mentally disabled" and "retarded."
Going viral was not necessarily their main goal. It had become a means to an end: making something that felt impactful.
"There are people who are big fans," they said. "That's so much different than showing fucking paintings in a garage gallery that nobody knows about, where people show up and drink wine, and maybe post a story on Instagram about you. And they're not famous either. They're pretending to be out on the town. And I love them, they're fun to hang out with, but it feels like nothing."
"So much of what I've gleamed from the real art world, as someone who's not a eugenic specimen for that, is that it's nothing. It feels fun for the moment, but it ultimately isn't relevant and has very little to do with anything."
"And does drawing clown comics on the internet achieve more than nothing?" I asked.
"Uh, in the sense that I get the fucking dopamine stream from it," they both laugh at this, sounding deprived. "In the sense that these people paid my last month of rent at the place I'm getting kicked out of."
"In the sense that people are clearly having a great time with it. It has way more of an effect on people than most things."
"And it's hard, like, to not feel weird about loving that, but I do love it; that people feel compelled to say like, 'Yo, this is a masterpiece Mr. Clownnn.' 'Yo, this is great Mr. Clownnn.' Like, 'Another classic to stroke it to Mr. Clownnn.'
"It's hard not to get swept up in that and feel like you're doing something that at least people see and spend one second on. Especially, when you've gone through the trouble of going to fucking community college for three years to transfer to a highly regarded fucking art school and get nothing out of it."
"Knowing someone had a moment with something you made is like the most I could ask for, that any of us could ask for."
"Yeah, it's very humbling and corny in that way. You know?"
No matter how disgusting and horrid the beast is—sitting in its dungeon, fiending for its next dopamine hit from the drawing tablet across the room—I could see them crying and embracing from the sheer weight of Joaquin Phoenix and Lady Gaga singing the most malnourished duet in a courtroom of evil monsters. (I still haven't seen the film.)
At this point in the interview, each voice is fighting a burp—one of those fruity, wine burps that takes a second to digest. Multiple potty breaks have occurred, but I hadn't heard a single flush.
"I think the clown needs to be … corporate," said Admin 2. "I think the clown needs to be a business, and he needs to suck everything dry because … he's abusive." They both howl with laughter.
"Yeah, let's face it, the clown is a sinking ship, like how much longer can I draw this fucking guy, and not make a movie or something?"
Their idea is live-action, performance, something confrontational with the public. I'm imagining Bad Grandpa 2 but starring Joaquin Phoenix as Art the Abusive Clown (co-starring Lady Gaga).
"For instance, I was shroomed out on Halloween, dressed as the clown in downtown, Main Street USA, making faces at people … We've always liked the idea of doing something outside and live. Because, I won't lie, I personally have artistic ambitions that go beyond drawing the clown with his dick out."
"We want to make something more ambitious because the truth is, as much as somebody might love these drawings, they take between 10 minutes and an hour to make."
"It can go deeper."
"It can go bigger."
"It's time to lose the plot a little."
Dr. Katz in a session with the Abusive clown. (Source)
There are a thousand ways to dress
And 1
There are a thousand ways to dress
And 1
I'm going for that
And 1
You feel me?
You see me?
There are a thousand ways to dress
And 1
