September 28, 2023
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In Rememberance of Daniel Muir “ABK” Anglero: A Story of Suicide and Survival

Well juggalos, you might be wondering what the fuck you’re about to read, but I got some editorial shit for ya’ll that I’d hope you’d take the time to read. It’s been a long crazy journey since I lost my old juggalo homie, and I would like to take the chance to be able to reflect on shit that’s happened since. It’s weird, because over ten years ago, my homie and our crew would check this website to keep up with shit, and fast forward ten years in the future, now I’m here, and I still am in wonderment of how it all happened. Some days my head still spins.

Alright, so let’s catch you guys up with the story. In this editorial segment, you get to learn a little bit about the personal me before I was BeZerk and I was still just Ken. Back in the days of my crew… ECHOSIDE (spelled that way too lol). I’m not going to get too in depth like I used too, but I’m just going to sum up some shit.

So about 11 years ago or so, when I was first really starting to get down, I became friends with a clique of juggalos in which I previously mentioned was known to the world simply as ECHOSIDE based off the Amazing Jeckel Brothers’ track. I was actually never really an official member of the crew, but more just loosely associated because I was friends with everyone and was a juggalo myself, I was introduced to everyone by my homie Josh who we knew as Jumpsteady (to this day I still know him as Jump). Lead by a schizophrenic under the pseudonym J, there were a few lo’s and lette’s that were down as fuck. We used to paint our faces up, walking around town, steal shit, get kicked out of school, run a muk, etc. Typical juggalo shit. But the one person who kind of held the clique together was a quiet and tall ginger kid once known by his real name Dan, but we knew him as ABK.


We used to sit outside of what was known as the Technical Building of our high school, play hackie sack and talk about the best ways to torture people.  I remember one time at the teen center, someone tried busting me out (for some dumb reason) for calling him Danny instead of Dan or ABK. Danny looked at them and goes, “He can call me Danny all he wants. I call him Kenny, so what the fuck is the problem?” Though the person, of whom I forgot who it was even, was just being a douche, it meant the world to me to have someone stick up for me, because that is something I never really had in my life.

Growing up, I never really had too many friends in the first place. I thought I had more friends then I really did. I remember my mom always telling me that all my juggalo homies would backstab me and leave me in the dust. Ten years later, I can look back and laugh. I look back ten years ago and remember times where Jump and ABK would show up at my house to go over to the Teen Center. These were like the only kids that actually came over to come get me to hang out. Outside that, I spent the vast majority of my time alone or with my older sister of whom I don’t speak to anymore. If my mom said I couldn’t hang out, they’d be like, “Well fuck her.” haha. Good times. I can remember days of skipping school to play Resident Evil Directors Cut over at Jump’s house. His mom was a hardcore Jehovah’s Witness, so that shit wasn’t even supposed to be in his house. YOLO bitch!

Anyways, I’m rambling. So needless to say though, back ten years ago, when I had no friends, I found a place to fit in, and this place I found back then we knew as the Carnival. You see, by the time I became down, the 6th Joker’s Card had not dropped yet, and the Carnival saga was still going. It was something cool to have a subculture of a bunch of misfits and weirdos who seemed to have their own culture, language, following, etc. I’m fucking weird myself, so I fit in really well amongst juggalos.



Anyways, let’s just jump into the more interesting shit before I get too far off topic. Please forgive me. It’s been a while since I’ve reminisced about this shit, and this is the largest audience I’ve ever shared this experience with, so I’m trying to find a way to put this shit into words. It’s been a whole decade later, and shit still seems so jumbled.

Well let’s rewind to 3 days ago ten years in the past (December 8th, 2003). Day started off like any other lame ass day in the Queen City, so I went to school in the freezing fucking cold like it always is in Minnesota. Back then, I was build more like I am now, just not nearly as much muscle mass. I had a fucking 6 pack to rival Chris Masters’s though.  Anyways, we’ll fast forward to the end of school for that day.

I was “in wrestling” at the time, which actually meant, I got sick of dealing with a team full of assholes, so to actually get the fuck out of the house, I told my mom I was still in wrestling, while I was really running around hanging out with my girlfriend (at the time) and friends. Well this day, just so happened to be the day I got busted, and my little charade ran up. It just so happened to be the last time I ever spoke to Danny too.

On my walk to my girlfriend’s house (who lived like 2 blocks from me, and it was probably a 6 block walk from the school), I ran into Danny who had lived like 4 blocks down. We sat and chit chatted for a bit; about what, I don’t remember. The only thing I can clearly remember is telling him goodbye and that I’d see him tomorrow. Well within 20 minutes, that shit got turned the fuck upside down.


I went into the alley way that actually was in between his house and downtown which lead to the alley way behind my girlfriends house. I get a few hundred feet in before I am stopped by who is now my current roommate. Once stopped by her to look at a necklace that she had made, I hear a familiar shouting behind me telling me to get the fuck in a van. The voice was familiar, the van part wasn’t. I turn around, and guess who it just so happens to be? My mother. Busted…

Well after getting into my social worker’s van, I found out not only was I busted for skipping wrestling for the whole year, but that my mom had somehow gained access to personal emails of mine to another friend (J). How these were obtained, I do not know to this day. The messages for from months prior after Jump had a little fit in which landed him in Wilmar State Hospital, in which I’m not going to get too big into my friend’s personal business, but the result was a terroristic threat towards Jump’s mom that was never meant to be seen by anyone outside of me and J. Low and behold, it gets seen.

I’m brought to the police station. Shit gets said, and the officer determines that I am too mentally unfit to go back home, so I have to take the hours drive south to Duluth to be put in their youth psychiatric unit known as Miller Dwan. So, I get there on a Monday, and guess who just so happens to be there too……. J….. on the same damn shit lol. By Wednesday, they actually shipped him to Texas or some southern state like that. It was kind of weird to see him sent so far away.


Anyways, after J left, I kind of had to be on my own there for a few days. That Friday though, would indefinitely change my life. And here is how one moment in time can stand forever still.

The day started out like any other while I was in there. I was more of a goof then anything. All these “crazy” issues I had seemed not to be so apparent, though something was obviously wrong. I just kind of played along because I wanted to get out.

Night time broke, and I got a phone call from my mom. My mom had called me a couple times I think beforehand, but it’s been so long now, I’m having troubles recalling. Anyways, midway through our conversation, I asked my mom if she figured out who hacked my email (because somebody else apparently was logged into my shit when I was all locked up). She must have missed what I said because she goes, “You know Dan Anglero?” And when I heard that, I thought she meant Danny was all up in my shit, and all I could think is, “how the fuck did he figure out my password.” Then next thing that was told to me would devastate me as my mother would then utter, “yeah he died.”

I can remember like while she was saying that, I was going to lean up against the wall. I could feel myself falling safely back to lean up against the wall, but I was so distraught, I don’t ever remember making contact with the wall. I literally remember everything going blank and dark for a bit. I don’t know how long it was like that for, but when I came to, I told my mom I had to go.


The next day, I would later find out that it was a suicide, and my mom didn’t want to tell me right away because she didn’t know how I’d handle it. It was probably a good thing, because I don’t now how I would have handled all that info at once. Not like 24 hours is much time to really cope, but yeah.

Now here’s where things get really tough for me. Danny’s funeral was held on the 16th of December 2003. I had a staffing on the 15th, and I had been behaving so I could get a day pass to go to my friend’s funeral. On the 15th, I went into my staffing expecting that they’re going to give me a pass like they said they most likely would, but here’s where things take a turn for the worst and has indefinitely fucked with me and left me with a scar for the rest of my life.

It was decided, behind my back, that I was too crazy to go to my friend’s funeral, and that it would be bad for me. It was common for my mother to go into places like this and talk to the staff privately, basically so she could shit on me as much as possible. It’s sick, but the fucked up part is, the Miller Dwan staff played right into it. That was EXTREMELY IRRESPONSIBLE TO NOT ALLOW ME TO HAVE CLOSURE OVER MY FRIENDS DEATH AND THOSE WHO WERE INVOLVED SHOULD BE ASHAMED IN THEMSELVES! THEY HAVE LEFT ME WITH A SCAR FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE AND THEY DO NOT GIVE A SHIT NOR WILL THEY EVER CARE ABOUT WHAT THEY DID TO ME! MILLER DWAN OWES ME AN APOLOGY AT LEAST. I WISH I COULD DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS, BECAUSE I AM LEFT WITH A POST TRAUMATIC SCAR THAT STILL MESSES WITH ME TO THIS DAY. WHERE IS MY JUSTICE?


Anyways, this isn’t necessarily about the scars left on me by the carelessness of the adults in my life who fucking sucked and they all should be ashamed in themselves. Very very few people ever really did anything for me, even when they knew the type of bullshit my mother put me through. Very careless and irresponsible, but hey, fuck Ken. It’s not like he needs anybody when he has no one there for him. He’ll be just fine…

Anyways, not only would they burden me with the thought that I couldn’t really say goodbye to my friend, but they told me they were shipping me to Brainerd the very next day on the funeral… for long term treatment. Wow, how fucking responsible these people are who are in the care of vulnerable children. Part of me really really really hopes this article causes a fuss, and gets a lot of fuckers in that unit in trouble. Whether they are still there or not, they are too reckless to be in the position that they are in. Like I said, I will probably never ever hear an apology, I will never get justice, and I still haven’t been able to even see the grave of my friend, BECAUSE I MISSED HIS FUCKING FUNERAL AND DON’T KNOW WHERE IT’S AT! THAT WAS NOT MY FAULT! THE FUCK!

Anyways juggalos, over the next month and a half, I would spent in Brainerd trying to sort parts of my life out. I was 14 at the time, and going through so much turmoil. It seemed as though my mother was out to get me, then she would keep me locked inside, so I was extremely isolated and alone. My mother is another one of those types of people that will not accept what she’s not and will NEVER admit to it. In her eyes, everyone else is the problem. Everyone else has the issues. She has some, but it’s always someone else’s fault. I hate people like that, and think they should be holocausted so others don’t have to deal with their misery. Maybe I’m just ranting angrily.


Over the next ten years, I would try to kill myself every single year since, including several attempts this year. During that time, within the same week (during different years though), I would know 3 more people who would kill themselves. 3 of the 4 that killed themselves in December have death date anniversaries back to back. From the 10th to the 12th, straight darkness for me. Today, I cut my hair under Native American tradition. A warrior cuts his hair when he’s in mourning of a loss. Though it’s been ten years, doesn’t mean it isn’t the same as it was ten years ago. The same feelings of hurt and confusion still bother me and plague me. The confusing part was, no one would have ever guessed in a million years that Dan was hurting and struggling, and that’s the scary thing about suicide. Those are usually the types that kill themselves. Not the people who post about it on Facebook, but the people who hide everything from everyone, and take ever precaution to keep people from their plans. When they become isolated from the world, then suddenly, happy. It’s hard to tell sometimes, and if Dan proved anything, sometimes impossible to tell.

Ten years later, I look on my life. I made a promise to Dan that I would never put the hatchet down. Ten years later, I’m still repping the hatchet though most of my original crew has dismembered and moved on with their life. Now I write for the biggest juggalo new source to ever hit the Internet. We used to check this website as a kid. I’ve been in music videos, booked shows, been involved in all sorts of cool projects, etc. I wasn’t supposed to make it, but because of you guys… you juggalos… you SicFux…. you Faygoluvers. I made it… and now my homie can look down on me and smile.

As far as I know, there wasn’t any note ever. I was kept out of the loop by so many people on shit (outside my juggalo homies, they filled me in on what they knew). I will never know what made him take his life. I will never be able to tell him how much he meant to me. I will never be able to hear his voice or jokes again. I will never be able to chill with him. He will not be able to attend Logan and my wedding. I won’t ever get to play hackie with him again. And on December 8th, 2003; it was the last time I ever got to see my homie again. Please, if you are reading this, and you are struggling with thoughts and feelings of taking your own life, please get help. The pain doesn’t go away until you speak up and do something about it…




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    Faygoluvers Comments

  1. Carnivalkilla44

    Comment posted on Thursday, December 12th, 2013 07:01 am GMT -5 at 7:01 am

    Real talk man. Keep a chin up ninja. Great read.

  2. twiztidkillaxxx2

    Comment posted on Thursday, December 12th, 2013 01:36 pm GMT -5 at 1:36 pm

    This was a good read. Thanks for the story.. I’m sorry to hear about your struggle, and I hope that place burns to the ground

  3. BeZerk

    Comment posted on Thursday, December 12th, 2013 04:11 pm GMT -5 at 4:11 pm

    Thank you guys for your kind words and support. All of you.

  4. Breanna

    Comment posted on Friday, December 13th, 2019 04:41 pm GMT -5 at 4:41 pm

    It’s been 16yrs and I’m still having problems myself… Although I was able to attend his funeral…. The thing I’m struggling with and wishing I could change is the last 2 words I said to him…. It’s been 16 years….. But I remember it as it was yesterday… Thank you for sharing your story..

  5. Breanna

    Comment posted on Friday, December 13th, 2019 05:01 pm GMT -5 at 5:01 pm

    And I’m sorry you had to deal with that and that you weren’t allowed to attend his funeral and day your goodbyes…

  6. BeZerkaveli

    Comment posted on Friday, December 13th, 2019 05:07 pm GMT -5 at 5:07 pm

    Thank you. I appreciate that

  7. BeZerkaveli

    Comment posted on Friday, December 13th, 2019 04:53 pm GMT -5 at 4:53 pm

    Years later and this article is still making an impact. I hope this reaches out to all those out there struggling.

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