5 Bizarre Subcultures Way Crazier Than Anything from Japan

We couldn't find any stories about tribal men botching a triple Lutz and impaling themselves on their own footwear, so apparently you can move in these things. The average pair costs about $30, but they're more if you make them sparkle and glitter like a rhinestone cowboy. Luckily, cardboard and colorful tape are all a poor kid needs to inadvertently kick himself in the junk with flair and panache.

This whole weaponized phallic footwear thing started thanks to one man, known as "Cesar of Huizache," who just showed up at a cobbler's shop and requested boots with curly, 3-foot-long toes. Since the customer is always right (even if they're clearly not right in the head), the cobbler made the boots. Cesar then went out dancing with them, and the rest is confusing, imbalanced history.

Look, we know "this guy showed up and wanted them and everybody else thought it was great for reasons you cannot comprehend" isn't the best origin story, but sometimes reality is disappointing. If it makes you feel any better, you can pretend the dude had crippling toe gigantism or something.

Bronies fetishize cartoons. The Pony Kids of Dublin, Ireland, prefer the real deal.

These are mostly young children and teenagers who have grown up poor and alone. As an escape from such a crap life, they've turned to ponies. Stroll through the right project at the right time, and you'll encounter dozens of tough-looking street urchins flitting about atop their horsies like a dressage convention.

Of course, as Lisa Simpson will sadly attest, ponies are goddamn expensive. So how the hell could a slew of impoverished kids afford them? Nobody's quite sure. It could be that horse culture is a leftover from the preindustrial revolution, which hit Dublin a bit softer than most places, or they could be rogue horses that escaped from Irish gypsies. Seriously, that is a legitimate possibility. But most likely it's down to boring old supply and demand: If you want to join the Pony Kid Brigade, you can easily pick up a Black Beauty of your own at the Smithfield Horse Market. Twice a year, the market heads gather up ponies and sell them for about the price of a pair of shoes -- no regulation, license, or anything else required.

Seriously, much like motorcycles, knowing how to ride that thing is in no way related to owning one:

These aren't just a bunch of adorably foreign greasers adopting elements of another culture because it's exotic, it looks cool, and "getting drunk on a hot rod" is a more satisfying hobby than elk wrestling (or whatever it is the Swedes do on the weekends). The raggare didn't "adopt" the greaser thing as a bit of ironic nostalgia -- the '50s never ended for them. They've been doing this for 60 years, and the subculture only grows in popularity with each passing day. A huge part of the scene is the raggare brawls -- organized honor-based mass fistfights that rove from town to town, like a mashup between The Wild One and Street Fighter II.

And of course, what happenin' smorgasbord of Eurockabilly is complete without a healthy dose of Deep South casual racism:

It's not always racist on purpose -- most raggare probably just like the way the symbol looks, or at best only got the general gist of "good old boys who think the man should go fuck himself until he walks funny" from the flag. But that still won't help your jet-lagged confusion any when you stumble off a flight in Stockholm and right into a line of Elvis impersonators doing burnouts in the General Lee, who all, at some unseen cue, start beating the shit out of each other.

Boasting hardcore gang names like the Wonderlanders, the Hidden Mickeys, Walt's Misfits, and the Main Street Elite, the 20+ roving gangs of Disneyland wear denim vests with custom-made patches honoring their favorite characters and rides.

If you squint your eyes from a great distance, their images might initially suggest a pack of drunken psychopaths blasting past the admission gates in their Harleys to fuck up Goofy and just plain fuck Snow White, but, of course, the truth is that everybody in Heck's Angels is a complete teddy bear.

Disney Social Clubs (their preferred nomenclature) eschew motorcycles and switchblades in favor of flying elephants and snow cones. They're very kid-friendly, accepting of all races, genders, and sexual orientations, and extremely respectful of other organizations. It's basically how gangs in Canada work. There aren't even any infringing on a rival's territory, but that's mostly because the whole park is Walt's territory, and -- dead or not -- that guy will seriously cut your face for the slightest offense.

If you're interested in joining a Disneyland Gang, induction typically involves an intense Sons of Anarchy-style hazing process, consisting of asking nicely, showing up on time, and always letting your conscience be your guide. Who knows? Maybe you'll rise up in the ranks and branch off to form your own group. The Teacup Terrors need to be a thing.

The Botswana metalheads (complete with amazing nicknames like Bone Machine, Apothecary Dethrok, and Venerated Villain) are a small, 1,500-strong subculture devoted to music normally associated with white American kids from the suburbs whose parents totally don't understand them. But they don't just look the part of insane Roadie Warriors; they're pretty damn metal in practice, too. They carry around knives and drink from hollow cow horns. Shake their hands, and they'll shake your entire body.

Of course, many of these Cowboy Terminator Metalheads play their own music, which sounds like ... heavy metal. What were you expecting?

But despite their scene, wardrobe, and general behavior centering entirely on power and aggression, they insist they're not thugs or bullies. They see themselves as role models and do all they can to help both their communities and their "brothers in metal."

Related Reading: Down to get even crazier? Check out these subcultures that are crazy, even for Japan. And have you heard about these lunatics who want to be living anime characters? But hey, the Japanese 'panty-sniffing' craze isn't originally from the island. We brought it to them.