Vermin Supreme outside the Republican National Convention in Cleveland, Ohio on July 21, 2016. Credit: a katz / Shutterstock
I first met Vermin Supreme after we were both released after an overnight stay at the Los Angeles County Jail, following the infamous Rage Against the Machine police riot at the 2000 Democratic National Convention (see Weekly Planet, August 2000). By then, he was already a veteran of the American political protest scene. Even in the pre-smart phone era, his antics as a political prankster, anarchist agitator, and perennial candidate for public office were legendary. Four decades into his “career” of heckling politicians, police and the ruling class, the tyrant you can trust’s long running joke has aged like a fine boot-on-the-head.
The 64-year-old has two Tampa performances this weekend: A Friday comedy cabaret at the Commodore, and an appearance before the screening of the documentary ‘Who Is Vermin Supreme’ happening at Sun-Ray Cinema.
Creative Loafing Tampa Bay caught up with Vermin Supreme to discuss his origin story, evolution as a cultural figure and internet meme, and why the absurdity of the American political process deserves both a mirror and a sledgehammer.
How long has this been going on now?
Well, I ran my first campaign as Vermin Supreme against Kurt Schmoke, the mayor of Baltimore, in 1987. Before that, I tried out the names Hypester Magneto and Bagel Pizazz as back then punk rockers and art weirdos used a lot of strange names, but as all politicians are Vermin, I knew I had something with Vermin Supreme.
How’d that campaign go?
It wasn’t really political in nature, more of a lark, really. But of course, I won, just not in the conventional sense. Shortly after that, I picked up a copy of Mother Jones and read a story about the great peace march for global nuclear disarmament. It was sort of a mobile city of peace activists complete with kitchens on trailers, and a school for children, and giant water tanks, and their own city hall, and even their own zip code. It was a very impressive thing for me at this point in my life so I went to a thrift store and bought a sleeping bag and I signed up. That’s where I learned about anarchism and the practical practice of American dissent.
How did Vermin Supreme evolve from that?
Probably through the Rainbow Gatherings. After the march ended, I was fully politicized but transient. I spent a lot of time at Rainbow Gathering in the woods in the late-’80s and early-’90s, outside of regular society, honing my clown skills and making people laugh and while I was doing that, I became very much aware that, because of the nature of the gatherings, security was very important. We’d have local cops and state troopers coming in at all hours ramrod straight looking to harass and bust people so, seeing the need, I sort of took on this role, using my clowning skills, to greet them, distract them, joke with them and let the hippies know of their presence by walking in front of the troopers and saying things like, “I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but I think I’m being followed by the cops!”
Vermin Supreme in Tampa, Florida during the 2012 Republican National Convention earning the vote of then Tampa Police Chief Jane Castor. Credit: Kelly Benjamin / Creative Loafing Tampa Bay
Over time, I developed a method of smoothing over the friction through laughter. I’d make fun of the cops and the hippies would laugh but also poke fun at the hippies and the cops would laugh so essentially, I was able to learn to use humor in these tense situations to deescalate and put people at ease and it mostly worked.
When I went back into politics and the protest world, I took those skills to the streets. I discovered that, between the riot police and protesters, there’s usually this void where a cop or a protester could do something stupid and everything would go haywire and people could get hurt. What I realized is that I could occupy this no man’s land during this volatile powder keg type situation and crack a few jokes when tensions were really high and things would typically defuse.
Sometimes I’d take my bullhorn and read from their riot control manuals to let them know that we know what they’re supposed to be doing and what their limitations are supposed to be.
When did you begin to accessorize with the boot?
Sometime around ‘91, I discovered that people like seeing a boot on my head. It took off at the Rainbow Gatherings so I wore it to the New Hampshire primaries when I ran that year—they’re both full tilt circuses, really. Every Democratic and Republican candidate and their massive entourages, buses, every media outlet in the world all show up with their talking heads…it’s a singular happening. I found out quick that if I went up there with a boot on my head and started talking authoritatively, people paid attention and I’d wind up in a photo or two on the wire and get a mention on NPR. So I started running for office every four years spending a week in New Hampshire during the primaries, making appearances at both the Republican and Democratic Conventions and then of course at the Inauguration. I’ve been doing this every cycle since 1992.
How did you wind up a meme?
It was probably the glitter bombing of Randall Terry in 2011. I paid to get on the ballot that year and noticed a lot was changing as opposed to previous election years, handheld gadgets everywhere for example. Anyway, Randall Terry is a staunch anti-abortion, anti-gay scumbag who I wound up sitting next to at the alphabetical “lesser known candidates” debate that year. I thought it only appropriate that I fuck with him so I went to the craft shack and filled my pockets with glitter and we ended up with the glitter bomb heard around the world.
The stakes are high in this political moment and dissent is increasingly being met with state violence. How do you keep doing this in times like these?
As horrific as things are right now, as these fascists psychologically torture communities, I’m inspired to see activists who are, once again, facing down evil with absurdity, shining a mirror to it and fighting back in a way that is clearly grounded in love and light. When you have people showing up in inflatable frog costumes facing off against gangs of masked thugs in tactical gear with assault weapons, it’s pretty clear who the bad guys are. Essentially, they’re disarming the police in the public opinion with levity. It’s much harder to demonize your opponents when they’re wearing inflatable animal costumes.
This article appears in Feb. 05 – 11, 2026.
Related