Enough horror to sink a fucking ship
It was over 2 years ago. It was Cody Kelley, my friend Jessica, and myself over here at the Campbell house. We were taping some promos and angles hyping up the next KWO live event. While we were taping, I heard the phone ring but decided not to answer it because we were in the middle of taping a promo. I heard someone leave a message, but I couldn't make out what the words were saying because I was in the other room. We got done and I decided to call Ben (The FU Kid) to talk to him and make sure he was coming to our show in about a week. I called over there and his mom answered. I asked if Ben was there and she said that he wasn't, he was out trying to clear his head. She then broke some news to me that still haunts me to this day... she told me that Homeless Kris had died. I didn't really fathom what she said until after I got off the phone with her. I broke the news to Cody who was outside and it was one of the most surreal moments in my life. The message on my machine you ask? It was Chad (Mongo) telling me that our friend was dead, holding back tears.
A year earlier, just a couple weeks to the day... I lost my father to cancer. My dad, someone who in my eyes was invincible died because of fucking cancer. This guy had 4 brain anyurisms, a few heart attacks, gotten hit by a car, fell two stories and was electrocuted at the same time, and fell (or, depending on who you believed jumped out and broke his leg to get sent home) out of a fucking plane during vietnam... this guy, who had been through so much shit in his life and was pretty much a modern-day badass, died of cancer. I always thought my dad would die beating up a gang nazis or having a foursome with models or something fucking cool.... but he died of cancer. And people wonder why I don't smoke... The day after he died, i went into his apartment, got his personal phonebook, and proceeded to call every fucking number in that book from A to Z and tell them the most horrible news that I could think of. Between calls I would have to kind of steady myself and calm myself down because I would have started crying and convulsing so I could make the next phonecall. It took a couple of days of frantic moving, but we proceeded to move every piece of furnature out of his apartment. My dad had a ton of stuff, but it was mostly all junk. That's how he was, a pack-rat who never through anything away. While cleaning out his house, I found my dad's old hunting riffle. For weeks afterward, it took everything I had not to take that fucking gun, put it under my chin, and blow my god-damned brains out.
All that tough talk about killing people and that hard gang type of shit that I hear almost on a daily basis where I live in a town full of hicks and wannabe thugs... it's fucked up and stupid. When someone dies, it's not like in the movies where they die and then it's kinda overwith. You know what happens when people get shot? They don't struggle or say something clever and then die... the fucking drop to the ground, shit themselves, and then it's all over.
The past month has been really rough, but there's one upside to the whole thing. Like the subject line says, I have enough horror to sink a ship, but who needs to hear it right? It's just gonna bum you out, ruin your day, and it's just a self-indulgent rant that nobody really needs to hear because I've put your through it enough. When something powerful like this happens, there's always some kind of lesson that you can get. That lesson is that I like you. If you're reading this, that means you're alive, and I love your life because you have one. If Chris was here, or my Dad was here, or anyone else that I've lost in the past was here... then the world would be a perfect place, but it's not. People die, and they don't come back. When you die, and you're dead... you're fucked, and then you don't get to hang out or do cool shit anymore.
If you're gonna go out tonight, and put a needle in your arm and shoot heroin, know one thing. In my opinion, that's fucked. There's no time for drinking Jack Daniels poison, there's no time for hanging yourself, there's no time for blowing your brains out of the back of your skull. As bad as life is, people like those two little twin girls that sing racist nazi songs and are training people to be racist from birth, as bad as things in life are... life is fucking awesome. The alternative, going to a funeral and looking at the remains of your friend inside of a coffin or in a little plastic box really fucking sucks. Everyone's the same, nobody's different. We all have a heartbeat, we all have oxygen pumping into our lungs, and you have to go with that because there's nothing else to go with. That's the only break you get, you get to live tomorrow, you get to go forward, and I know it doesn't sound like much but that's all we really have going for us at the end of the day.
On that note, thanks for reading this blog. I'm not really sure what inspired me to write it, or why I even did... but if it helped you out in any way, or if you think it's complete and utter bullshit... at least you read what I had to say. Thank you.
Your Friend,
John Campbell
A year earlier, just a couple weeks to the day... I lost my father to cancer. My dad, someone who in my eyes was invincible died because of fucking cancer. This guy had 4 brain anyurisms, a few heart attacks, gotten hit by a car, fell two stories and was electrocuted at the same time, and fell (or, depending on who you believed jumped out and broke his leg to get sent home) out of a fucking plane during vietnam... this guy, who had been through so much shit in his life and was pretty much a modern-day badass, died of cancer. I always thought my dad would die beating up a gang nazis or having a foursome with models or something fucking cool.... but he died of cancer. And people wonder why I don't smoke... The day after he died, i went into his apartment, got his personal phonebook, and proceeded to call every fucking number in that book from A to Z and tell them the most horrible news that I could think of. Between calls I would have to kind of steady myself and calm myself down because I would have started crying and convulsing so I could make the next phonecall. It took a couple of days of frantic moving, but we proceeded to move every piece of furnature out of his apartment. My dad had a ton of stuff, but it was mostly all junk. That's how he was, a pack-rat who never through anything away. While cleaning out his house, I found my dad's old hunting riffle. For weeks afterward, it took everything I had not to take that fucking gun, put it under my chin, and blow my god-damned brains out.
All that tough talk about killing people and that hard gang type of shit that I hear almost on a daily basis where I live in a town full of hicks and wannabe thugs... it's fucked up and stupid. When someone dies, it's not like in the movies where they die and then it's kinda overwith. You know what happens when people get shot? They don't struggle or say something clever and then die... the fucking drop to the ground, shit themselves, and then it's all over.
The past month has been really rough, but there's one upside to the whole thing. Like the subject line says, I have enough horror to sink a ship, but who needs to hear it right? It's just gonna bum you out, ruin your day, and it's just a self-indulgent rant that nobody really needs to hear because I've put your through it enough. When something powerful like this happens, there's always some kind of lesson that you can get. That lesson is that I like you. If you're reading this, that means you're alive, and I love your life because you have one. If Chris was here, or my Dad was here, or anyone else that I've lost in the past was here... then the world would be a perfect place, but it's not. People die, and they don't come back. When you die, and you're dead... you're fucked, and then you don't get to hang out or do cool shit anymore.
If you're gonna go out tonight, and put a needle in your arm and shoot heroin, know one thing. In my opinion, that's fucked. There's no time for drinking Jack Daniels poison, there's no time for hanging yourself, there's no time for blowing your brains out of the back of your skull. As bad as life is, people like those two little twin girls that sing racist nazi songs and are training people to be racist from birth, as bad as things in life are... life is fucking awesome. The alternative, going to a funeral and looking at the remains of your friend inside of a coffin or in a little plastic box really fucking sucks. Everyone's the same, nobody's different. We all have a heartbeat, we all have oxygen pumping into our lungs, and you have to go with that because there's nothing else to go with. That's the only break you get, you get to live tomorrow, you get to go forward, and I know it doesn't sound like much but that's all we really have going for us at the end of the day.
On that note, thanks for reading this blog. I'm not really sure what inspired me to write it, or why I even did... but if it helped you out in any way, or if you think it's complete and utter bullshit... at least you read what I had to say. Thank you.
Your Friend,
John Campbell