Doug Stanhope Johnny Depp - Digging up mother : a love story

Copyright 2016 by Doug Stanhope

Foreword copyright 2016 by Johnny Depp

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Set in 10.5-point Goudy Oldstyle Std

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First Da Capo Press edition 2016

ISBN: 978-0-306-82440-1 (ebook)

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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Bingo,

Youre a potatohead and I know youll never read this book.

Thats okay, I read you all the good parts

out loud while I was writing it.

Thanks for being there.

I love you.

Youd think Id dedicate this book to Mother.

Mother is dead and doesnt give a shit.

I am not a man of faith but I have faith in that.

Of all the things you cant take with you,

Hopefully ego is the first to be left behind.

Table of Contents

Contents

by Johnny Depp

The greatest tragedy in mankinds entire history may be the hijacking of morality by religion.

- - -Sir Arthur C. Clarke (Writer).

The superior man understands what is right, the inferior man understands what will sell.

- - -Confucius (Philosopher).

Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.

- - -Hunter S. Thompson (Writer).

Dont worry, dont be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.

- - -Bill Hicks (Comedian).

Im not going to censor myself to comfort your ignorance.

- - -Jon Stewart (Comedian).

Human dacency is not derived from religion. It precedes it.

- - -Christopher Hitchens (Writer).

Spare no man the fire should he make his ignorance yours.

- - -Richard Tude Wells (Moonshiner).

Life is like animal porn. Its not for everyone.

- - -Doug Stanhope (Drunk).

Dear Reader,

Hes a depraved reluctant visionary and debauched accidental guru who wears old suits that were likely once some dead fuckers Saturday night prowling outfit - hes a man of the people who says what must be said for no one else will - total honesty - consequence be damned - no fluffy outside no creamy inside - you get what you get and deal with it - he is our savior - for here in this life where the only guarantee is the ceasing of breath and a healthy death tax for our loved ones he is the one man who dares to plunge the cold dagger of truth deep into the collective brain-dead psyche of our species for the ultimate benefit of all humankind and certainly not since my dearest friend and mentor Hunter have I known an individual with such a profoundly strong sense of moral justice - it makes me sick so I suppose I must ultimately admit that I do not like this man I speak of I fucking love him.

Him being Doug Stanhope.

Johnny Depp

Los Angeles, CA.

19th February, 2016

AFTER THIRTY-SOME YEARS OF RUTHLESS DRINKING, ITS MORE THAN probable that Ive fucked up a few details. Perhaps it was a year before or after, the wrong town, a different hole. But Ive made every attempt to fact-check every story, and I thank all of you who took my relentless calls and emails to make this book as accurate as possible. Im sure some of you never expected to hear from me again, some probably didnt want to at all. Regardless, I couldnt have done it without you.

A lot of the people involved have grown into responsible adults with families and respectable professions. For that reason, I may have had to tone down a story or two on your behalf. Even if I wanted to smear you publicly, the lawyers wouldnt have it. For that same reason, almost every goddamned name in this book has been changed. If you are reading about yourself and thats not your name, its not because I got it wrong. They made me change it. I actually tried interchanging names: Molly Brown becomes Sally Jones and vice versa. Youd still be mentioned, just as the wrong person. They didnt buy it.

If the story is graphic and true and wrong and I could STILL use your real name, that is because you are fucking blessed to have nothing to hide, are proud of your scars, and have nothing to lose. Theres still a few of us out here and Im wealthy for still having you in my life.

ON THURSDAY, I GOT A CALL FROM ONE OF MOTHERS CAREGIVERS. Im here with your Mother. I think you should come over so you two can talk. She spoke like a mortician from a 1950s horror movie. Since I cant remember her name, Ill call her Morticia.

I knew this meant Mother was going to kill herself. There was no need to be mawkishly sentimental. Id been here waiting for the call. Im not the Sit down. Theres something I have to tell you type of guy. I freak out at traffic or figuring out gadgets. I punch dashboards and smash laptops. When serious shit happens, Im generally rational and grounded.

Is it time? I asked.

Yes, shes ready to go.

Now... as in today?

Yes.

In the background, Mother wheezed out Ive had enough with no less theater.

Wed had enough false flags of a Mother suicide over the years that there wasnt any immediate panic. In fact, there was no panic at all. At this point, she was in terminal care. So much had happened over the last short periodmidnight ambulance rides and helicopter medevacsthat we were happy to have her go, for her own sake. She had no reason to be alive.

Of course, at the forefront of my mind was the suspicion that this was another Mother ruse. There was enough history to consider she might be doing this just for attention.

Emphysema is not a disease you can see. Its a horrific, suffocating way to die, drowning in your own fluids like being endlessly waterboarded. But you cant tell how bad just by looking at a person. Mother wasnt a waifish cancer patient with her eyes bulging out. Not cirrhosis-yellow or covered in the sores of an AIDS patient. So although diagnosed terminal, and no doubt withered, there was no way of knowing how much shes embellishing for effect. Mother wasnt above using her own impending death as currency for patronage. I had lost all tolerance for her scheming years ago and now it wasnt necessary. She was dying and I would be there for her in whatever way she allowed me. I left my girlfriend Bingo at the house to make a short recon drive to Mothers place.

You could almost hear gothic church bells toll as you opened the door to her tiny apartment and into the rubble. Morticia had a way of making things overly dramatic and hokey, probably in her own self-interest. Mother was in bed. Inside her 300 square feet of filth, cat shit, and clutter she was now piled with an ER units worth of medical equipment. Morticia was playing her role of Sister Helen Prejean, head tilted in earnest sincerity. Mother was sat up, leaning forward as if to vomit up an alien, eyes closed but very alert.