FUCKHEAD STYLE

;D

What the fuck am I doing in the club on Monday morning? Jaded on too? Jaded even still on? I'm aiming to get back to wherever I can crash and tune into a bit of Billy Bunter from back in the day bruv, right on twelve-ish! Nothing like a Mad Bastard Monday locking in for Music Mondays! Fucking wallop one-hundred percent! Still cracking up just thinking of Psycho MC! What a fuckin' legend!

I got that empty bubble-head feeling; my lips are flaking, vibe riding - I've chewed me gums rotten, like all fucked trying to swallow, everything seems to be looking at me. Right into me eyes. A wall beam grows a face, like something out of Return to Oz. Fucking Gnome King tripping - proper trippy slippers, dude!

Fucked up wrinkly face winks at me. No more of that research compound, it's fucking real trippy! Still see a wrinkly, pickled, face – shit, it’s me innit! Young old man bizzle. Fucking not even a CGI trip out! What the fuck going on? Where did that DMT all go? Feel cheated as didn't chat to God, must be cut with some fucking mad legal high shit too! Though, it's real hot, real sweaty. Think there's more sweat on the walls here than at the last club. I'm sure we're in different places with - wait up a fucking minute! Who was with me and where the fuck am I?

Ain’t it a fucker? Can't think who I came with, who the fuck sold me that fucking funky shit? Legal or illegal rave, I don't fucking care! I’ll do it all again later – wait and see! I'm a right zombie, still drooling everywhere, me eyes all bugging out. Amazed I ain't pissed me pants yet! Heads down for when moody security stroll by, or I sip me water. Wide-eyed and more wakeful. Bit more Slipmatt in the mix though.

Shit, I wish I could turn out tunes like that. Fucking mental. LionDub’s shit hot too! Him, Papa Gee and Jayline are always proper quality. Well under-rated. And Chopstick Dubplate, all those dudes - Aries and Gold Dubs really smash it up too; I suppose I shouldn't care, fuck it all, right? But I proper love it, proper wish I could blag a mad hit.

Feeling fucking old here, just a few cagey teens, more old 'un's left in the other club. The rest look like they might still be in full-time education. Fuck, I still got shitloads of pills left, I've already served up a shitload, where the other bag come from? I need to light me spliff again, but me fucking lighter’s fucked, won't spark!

A girl who looks like a cute pixie drag queen, all Jessie J style, says to me like right in me ear, Yeah dude, hey bro, you know Grooverider and IC3 are going to be on next door? They're doing a secret after-party set thing, she adds, smiling at me. One of those, I'm-secretly-kinky-smiles. Fuck me, she ain't bad I suppose if a bit on the ugly lesbo side, but I’ll fuck any munter, I’m a total minger too, so it all good. Me standards are consistently low!

She chats more to me in her little cutesy voice, which she probably does for every possible casual fuck she encounters. I can't really hear her too well, but I’m good at nodding. It sounded like Grooverider and IC3. Fucking heavy. I check her out a bit more, getting the evil horn. I feel her breath on me ear, smells of Benson and Hedges, Red Bull and Cherry Lollies. Even if she does look like a tranny, I still think I can get it on with her. I just hope I managed to keep it up and stop thinking of trannies!

I start to get that blurry slow motion vision you get when you spend the best part of the week getting totally fucked. Did five minutes or five hours just fly by? Let's go then, I say to the cute pixie Jessie J tranny bird. Just playing trance in here. Be different if Bunter, Uncle Dugs, Slipmatt were all going back-to-back, proper having it right out for the raver massive; but this room got that weird end of the rave feel.

I need to see this set next door - how rare you get to see Groove and IC3 having it out? I'm sure I didn't miss Hype. Fuck no way, I must be zoning out! Fucking power hour next door, sounds banging. I wondered where that sound was coming from. When I'm fucked I forget to wander around. The dealers always come to you anyway.

Yeah, Grooverider and IC3? I'll catch that, I say right in her cute Hobbit-imp ear. I nuzzle her tiny ear, as I'm slurring I lick her ear lobe; tastes of peaches and Radox. Can't resist hugging her and getting a good old feel. Skinny feels wicked, but curvy definitely real sweet too! Yeah, she's got tiny little cupcake tits, cherry nipples, a proper tight ass, like a couple of tasty burger baps. Something to jizz over. Might jizz over her jugs first, though! I get para if she cool for me to shoot a load up her kooch. How do I know if she on the pill? We all doing pills 'n' shit. For me it's strictly chemical romancing!

I can tell she's going to have a tight little pussy too. Makes me feel a right dirty old man, just like that Faithless tune! I got to be at least a decade older than her, so I know she ain’t thinking of taking me back to meet her folks! I look around the place: randoms flaking everywhere, ket-heads throw up and piss themselves against the walls, as coke-heads all get moody after pebble-dashing the bogs, they wanna get out of here to score better blow and probably to take another runny shit. Never get that shit on a quality E. You more likely to come up while taking a dump!

It don't bother me, we all getting proper fucked up. That's the thinking anyway, when you're proper mashed they know you might be broke anyway, so they might just leave you alone. I look at the chick and think if I know her name. I don't, she hasn't said her name to me, has she? She smiles at me, all bright white teeth shining at me. Like a fucking TV host. We're just grooving to some remix of something by Fluke, I think.

Maybe I'm zoning on me come down, riding the last of those good time vibes. All I smell: ganja, sweat and rancid shit farts. We start to dance a real slow fucked dance, slowly feeling each other, getting real emotional. Fucking wicked value, shit gotta be some PMMA in there with the 2C-B – yes yes, I think I'm coming up again! Gonna tuck into more 2C-P with the rest of that DMT I got later one. Trippy-tubby wig out: you fucking know it – I'm going to have the charcoal on standby! No sweet tea and rich tea help you out with these synthetic psychedelics and old organic ones, does no good for GHB too – it's the stomach pump for you fuckers if you get a bit careless with those drops! Can hear those wavy-vibey nutters cheer as Grooverider and IC3 must've come on next door.

I need the bog babe, she goes to me. Fucking typical, right? Just as I’m about to bop to the next room. Gives me an idea though!

=0

We go to the bog, cubicle sneak style; she takes a piss and she sucks me sweaty cock, really ramming it in her gob, like a tasty glory hole promo.

You know I'm a bit of a lesbian, she says to me coming up to chew me ear.

Oh right, I go, thinking to myself: Thank fuck for bisexual lesbians!

I say to her: I'm a Junglist! I'M A JUNGLIST! YEAAAAABOOOOYEEE!!!

She suddenly kisses me again, proper chewing me gums, catching me tongue. We tongue like kids having their first Frenchie, getting all slobbery’n’sloppy, tongue-job and it real gooey. I get the taste of me cock back. Lovely! Taste of sweaty cum- cheese licks.

She lowers her head again and starts nibbling at me foreskin. I get me cock and slap it across her cute pixie face, me pre-cum dripping all over her face. Weird, I thought I was going to shoot me load all over her, but those beans must be doing something real fucking screwy with me! Dig the creep-out, but I'll need some nose candy with a couple more dingers to stay on it for power hour!

Ain't even going there! Maybe it's the skunk? I don't know, do I? I can't remember if I done all those trips Custard gave me. I just love doing it! Fucking and moving, my life on paper may be totally shit, like unemployable loser dosser who can't DJ too good and makes shit tunes, is professionally a total epic fail but, I gotta say it, that I am really loving this, proper in me element. Makes fucking up all so worth it! Me cock should've exploded by now.

Babe, that's so sweet, I say like some blaxploitation bad-ass pimp motherfucker. King George styley, she won't get it anyway, she probably never heard of Shaft either. She laughs at me accent, don't ask why. I don't do Freddie's funny high-pitched stoner laugh out of Superfly, might freak her out! She's got to be no older than twenty, so she ain't going to like proper get it, is she?

She looks proper young, but we're getting real loved up. I get her out of her thin little hotpants and lace tight things. She takes off her Smiths Tee and I'm right on, she's got cute fairy cake tits for sure. I nibble at them like those little ready-made cupcakes. Proper fucking tasty!

She laughs again, as she takes off her little skidded thong and I ram me cock in her tight little pussy. She starts riding hard for a little lady, she mounting me like a proper jockey. Buffalo Bill, fucking ride on vibes! Watch her riiiidddeee!!! Need some cream, or like some kinda proper lube, as she's burning me cock off. I got to sit on the bog; I'm feeling me legs go numb, seize up, get the painful cramps. Too many dingers innit! But if I have any more water, I'm gonna vom loads! Somehow I keep pumping, her pussy grips me prick like a clam as I pound her harder, faster! Shit, her cunt proper tight; fucking wicked poon-vibeosphere! Thank fuck no fucker knocks on the door!

Yeah, she's squeezing me as good as the Grooverider set. Nice one tune selector, nice one pussy selector! Shit, the Rider must be really going for it as I hear The Warning pounding. IC3 on the mic, proper hyping the crowd up just the way IC3 can do it. Makes me keep on pounding her gooey little pop-tart pussy, feel like I'm sixteen again.

Deeper, darker, faster, danger, danger! LORD HAVE MERCY

MERCEEMERCEEMERCEEEE! I ain't shooting me load, I just want to fuck forever! I think I'm coming up again! Heart beating like a crazy fucker. Fuckin' A, fuck yeah! FUCK YEAH!

I could die this fucking high and be cool with it. I hate and love life in equal measures. Life, like all our societies, just some massive con trick anyway, but getting fucked up has to be worth it. When I die, going to miss music, getting high and fucking. And, I guess, some wicked comics and films and some of the fuckers I met and got to know on this crazy fucking world. Telling you, this some fucking wicked funky shit!

Wicked tunes, wicked pussy! Keep thinking of super-cool cream-pies, proper gooey bliss! I think I'm proper feeling it after all! Hope I don't forget to sign on again tomorrow; that would be a total fucker but I'm well used to getting sanctioned!

;/

I stop thinking for a bit as the slow sore fuck thing flows into a proper loved up zoned out zombie slow fuck vibe. Think of two fucked up sweaty zombies fucking, like in Braindead or some shit like it. Real intense, like a bit cute. Nothing like a weird-as-fuck zombie fuck, end up drooling everywhere.

I feel sweat drops gather between me arse crack. Fucking funky for sure! She looks red faced, like real tired. I want to know her name, but she hasn't said. Maybe she's scared to tell me her real name, who knows she might be a bit posh. Or she don’t want me stalking her on fucking Facebook!

I can't be fucked to ask her anyway. She gasps, I gasp, then flinch as me dick burns again. Hurry up and cum dude, she says to me, I want to see this fucking set!

Sounds fucking mental! You know it! I say to her, still trying to get me breath back. Me cock's still hard, I don't know how. I ain't huge like some huge well hung porn star kind of guy. Never going to be called Donkey Kong. I suppose I'm average, fucking story of how me shit life pans out. Fucking lucky just to be average; make a load of shit tunes no one really likes, you got to give them away for fuck all and it the same with everything else too. I do have poor luck, so I suss that I'm proper born to lose! It all cool though, I'm fucked all the time anyway - shit, this no therapy kinda trip, I'm proper used to it all.

But I don't really think about that shit, not when you’re getting right on it, and I don't think about what my cock should be like either. I don't give a fuck no more. I want to be too busy fucking to care! I ain't bothered, but me cock's gone demon tonight! Don't ask how. Must have been Bungle's MDMA. Did I do all those trips, too? I hate having no fucking memory sometimes.

A bit of clear pre-cum trickles down me nut sack. I think I’ve cum it's just, you know, it ain't much? I say, trying to think of more to say, but end up mumbling that I can't feel a thing.

She giggles, staring at her kippered thong. We gaze at each other for what seems like an eternity but it probably just thirty seconds. I really like her.

I like you, let's just groove for a bit, I go to her, licking sweat off her face, smudging her silver lipstick. For a little girl, she's got moves.

What's your name again? I say, but she starts laughing at me. I look in her eyes and can't see her pupils.

Your eyes are fucked, she says to me.

Great, like I ain't heard that before!

I dig her like anything. She's getting bored, as the legendary IC3 hypes the crowd up even more. We can hear the vibes, the pulsating bass and drums vibrating through us, and we're both bang on it. Fucking bang on fuckers! We kiss real gently, a sweaty tender film kiss. Like they used to do in those soft focus 1970s porno flicks. It always corny but corny can be cool. I think I'm coming up again, me heart's pumping like some alien waiting to burst out.

Then her phone goes with a random ringtone, fucking Tinie Tempah or something. She grabs her mobile, real quick reflexes, giggling to herself. She starts sending a text message, texting real quick. Got some new iphone whatever thing. She takes a quick photo of me; maybe one for the scrapbook. Maybe to help with remembering shit in the morning. She don’t want me number to go to GUM with her, that’s for sure. Or she can track me on Facebook and ask for an AIDS test. Sure ain't forgotten to text real quick, though. Fucking kids, man. How they text that quick?

Everything she does makes me feel proper old. I got a mobile four years ago and still got it, it works, does the shit a piece of shit phone meant to do. And people, mainly the kids, think it looks like a relic already. Crazy! I ain't even old yet, though I am getting on. I don't get into it all too much.

And I ain't one for computer geek shit, I just figured out internet porn and left it at that. All that mobile shit can be proper fucking pricey and I just end up exchanging it, breaking it and using it way too much or just losing it. With me, same could be said for gear too!

After a while, she gives me one of those fucked-up pout looks, and after a bit more hippy-dippy face-licking she drops some pills with me, they’re some wicked ones called OAPs. We kiss on the lips as if we've just got married in Heaven.

I think they're me last ones, I whisper to her. I don't know why I'm whispering. Feel like Mouth from Goonies! Sure, I got some blue smileys and red peace and love's somewhere, too.

Maybe I'm getting para too, we could get kicked out for fucking in the bogs! Dig these vibes those, we get a bit emotional, like all deep. I think I'm crying, tears, sweat and UV paint all mixed together.

Yeah, she goes to me, I'm getting a bit sore now.

Sure thing, I say, though I'm thinking I got to get back into that tight little pussy again. Fuck me, fucking perfect! She really did have a tight pussy. I get all sorted and wipe me gooey dribbling cock with cheap bog roll.

She don't care, she don't bother putting her tights or thong back on, just slipping her hot-pants and Smiths T-Shirt on real quick, the tights and thong somehow manage to fit in her little bag thing. How do women fit everything in these little bags? Crazy - ain't it? I don't know. I think I need one sometimes. Stash bags. She smiles at me, kissing me slow. A slow good-bye random fuck kiss. I suddenly think: I hope she ain't got herpes like the other one but I did forget to get tested, too.

I'll see you in there, she says to me. I nod, thinking fuck yeah right! I ain’t ever going to see her again!

 

;)

I need to roll a zoot and then I’ll get out there, might as well crown a couple more pills. Skin up and crown should’ve been the name of me label! Yeah, I know we’ll probably not see each other for the rest of the rave. I try to look for her but I know it’s useless. She's vanished, for sure. It always happens. I never even said I was a DJ. Usually works with the ladies. I know, I'm a right sly cunt – a real ugly one too!

They don't know that I don't really do too much on the decks no more. I cashed me third-hand decks in, mixer's busted anyway, and done it all on a laptop. Still learning Reason and all that geeky nerdy shit. But fuck it, what a wicked after-party. I just love fucking raving, getting totally fucked and fucking pretty much whoever. When you just got dole, no-one can live off dole properly, you got to think how you can save and scam shit. You have to do it to top it up! I started subbing me flat out to some dudes time ago. Better than getting cuckooed but they're all crazy fuckers, every one of them, from all over the globe. Lucky for me they've all ended up in good old Blighty, Big Smoke chilling! I go back sometimes when one forgets to transfer me the rent, but it's fucking mental. Think there's six of them all squashed in there for fuck's sake. Smells like baboon shit, too. Not that I smell loads of baboon shit. Just smells like London, raw sewage poverty tripping. It just raw, need a zoot burning just to sweeten me nozzle!

I can't be fucked to think too much about it, but you got to shift a bit. I'm too soft to be a real dealer - as in a proper cold dealer fucker, like the big man - or whatever you want to call them these days. I hate chasing fuckers up, all the stress and hassles, getting angry at other fuckers moving to your punter; getting all paranoid all the fucking time. Fuck it, I can't be fucked. I ain't heavy with it. I can't be fucked with it all. Been there, done it. I am shit at it, I just like getting proper fucked up! Let it flow, let it flow, that’s me motto. In all honesty, real dealing – like shifting kilos, large amounts, not tiny bits – it's proper pure fucking stress! That’s when I clocked it all, getting stoned in an attic with Goofer. I just said to him that I just like getting loaded, he had no idea what I meant. I dig being a loyal consumer of funky shit. With total blind faith, the rave will save us all!

I shouldn't put it down. I'll probably get done under a terror law, where you can't say shit. All that political bullshit don't work with me as if they were all legal I'd be the best taxpayer ever and it'd be a society worth working for. At least they'd want you to have a wicked time and all the wicked times I had since I was well young, I been off me nut on all kinds of drugs. Acid, shrooms, weed, hash, pills, whizz, benzos, the lot. Fucking banging! I even surf some of the pharmaceuticals that get bashed down. The legit shit, fucks you right up innit. I didn't give a shit what they call it, whatever I get me hands on. Life's too fucking short, that’s for sure. And who wants to live to ninety and remember a dull life? If I ever reach the grand old age of ninety I might as well properly start shooting smack, instead of just toking it now and again, fuck it!

I used to go a bit crazy and be a bit of a contact fuck, ticking loads of shit and not paying for it, getting hunted, taking some beatings and heavy threats, just proper fearing everyone. I took some proper beatings and a fucked up run-in with a fucking brick cutter thing. That really shit me up for good. Proper changed how I looked, got some dreads, the whole Camden Crusty makeover.

I just ponce and tick and surround me self with slightly better off hangers on. I still get sorted, but I see myself as the link man, a safe ‘n’ sound dude to trust. A righteous one. I’m fair to everyone these days. It’s an easier vibe for an easier crew. And you got to jump around if you got the stamina!

I had a nightmare that I might forget who I really am. Me mind has proper blown. Got Energy Rush, nah it Energy Flash – that mad Joey Beltram tune! It's still caught in me mind, I fucking love that tune. Some mental night, all sweat boxed proper underground club, kissing random birds, I can’t even remember. I blink, time flies, bouncers want me to leave quickly and quietly. It must have been an Acid House vibe, everyone all happy and hugging at the end, proper loved up to the max!

 

8D

I get a few crazy mind-flashes of me mates, Custard Cream and Bungle Bob, shouting ACIIIIIEEEEEEED! down me ear, then right in me face.

Must’ve wandered into the Acid House arena, fucking mental fuckers! Can still feel the spit on me face! Maybe I’m just sweating, who knows? Need some junglist vibes after this, hoping they don’t cancel Telepathy again. But I do fuck all these days, not like I got to get up for something, so every fucker's got to do something. I reckon I’m tripping off the darkside, just losing me mind for kicks. What a wicked death-trip dudes!

That's Bungle Bob for being a total mentalist. He’s proper darkside, like darker side of hardcore tip. He’s losing it quicker than me. I'm a bit grey, not as in going grey but like unknown origin kind of thing – where does all this weird hair come from? I don't know what I'm chatting about but those who know will definitely know. I just ride with the flow, going where the party goes down, hoping I'm down on the guestlist - I'm just having it wherever there's a rave going on! You knows it, I'm gonna be hitting that high and I'm always cutting shapes!

And it ain’t too pricey to get in, that whole buy four tickets get one free kinda vibe, I dig that! Fuck, hate getting me wallet raped on the door, it’s usually at the bar. Got to beat that, though, just might be some tight house party pussy just waiting to get it on. If not, you’re just dead, it’s just time. And if you ain’t living it, it’s just dead time, ain’t it?

Yeah, I fucking love getting wasted! YES! YES! YES! I been doing it for too long now. I think Bungle Bob works as well, don't ask how. I don't know much about Bungle Bob, since I first met him at those acid nights, though I've known him for about five years. I can’t exactly say we're like brothers from other mothers, but we always know how to find each other when we want to get on it and get proper fucked up.

I try to be chilled, I know I can feel real cotton-mouth, droney-MD throat; me gob's real sore and dry, like a fucking porn star's fisted arse, where the fuck did I put that water bottle? I’ll be spitting cotton; why I chucked the socials, can't look pretty online chalking to shit. Look like a rabid dawg – yeah big up the E.G.C.!It cool, started to see me hand flicker, proper shining on a star, like I'm in some old computer game. You know that thing when you got hit in a game - like in Street Fighter II or Mortal Kombat - and whoever you were playing as they got all like dazed a bit, usually before when you clocked you probably going to lose!

Yeah, that's when you know you eyes are totally fucked: always Day-Glo dazing, properly confused up! Me eyes are going gamma, really tripping out like a psychedelic Cyclops. I ain't blasting people with me red bug eye, though I'm turning into a proper eye-popping freak. I scare a couple of girls who see me eyes proper spasm like some kind of weird wig out. Going all Easy Rider, for real! I'm all shaking and winking me eye at two hundred MPH, in riddim to the one hundred and forty plus BPM. Freaks them out, freaks me out. I got to think again.

End up chatting about how Krome and Time's London Talk proper seminal. Wicked when Invisible Man's The Beginning gets dropped, too. I'm clucking for Autoload, Scotty - pancake it for Golden Hen - Ricky and Sound Murderer, who the fuck wouldn't be going proper mad for it? This getting proper rubadub, real ruffneck and deep down and dirty. Fucking losing me mind in the vibes!

 

:-]

That's it! I'm still buzzing, but I had to find Bungle Bob, I been here before - just a little trippy freak out. I wig out a lot, just the vibe wigging me out even more. It's wiping me fucked up mind, fucking with me mad thoughts.

I love the vibe; I'm dancing like a motherfucker, scared some slick hair posh looking kid in tight jeans, pointy shoes and a Fred Perry shirt. Looks like a poof, you never know these days, do you? Shirt-lifters look well tonk these days! Probably a politically correct militant asexual, so watch your chatter! Done a bit of me old skool raggamuffin stoner-shuffle-skanker dance! Jokes man, fucking pure jokes and vibes!

I was proper laughing! Everyone's laughing. Sure, maybe not everyone. But we're all smiley here, loved up people. Big up positive vibes! I don't give a fuck if people laugh at me. Who the fuck gets scared of me? Just looking fucked don't mean you're a fucked up fucker looking to rob them up, rape them then kill them. Fucking middle-class knee-jerk bullshit!

I fucking hate class shit, really fucks things up. I probably said it before, I'll always say it again. Proper hate the class thing, monarchy all that bullshit. I just couldn't believe this posh dude's expression. The look in his eyes was just real fear. He looks at his mate. Oh my days, he does the zoned out look – like when you know, it's some mad Shit you're proper fucked kinda look. Probably wished he'd taken his own bodyguards. I don't know the kid, maybe he's not proper posh, maybe just real sheltered. Enough of them about these days.

Definitely one of those hard pressed middle-class types, though. Joke Gold Bomb tee, thin jeans, turned up with brownish soft shoes. Opted for pop-socks over the raw mankles vibes!! Straw hat tilted to the poser-angle. The hair always immaculately styled under the hat - how does that happen? Though the hipster poser probably wanks over Jamie Oliver and Joe Wicks, he does crack me up. It'll be dull if we all the fucking same, right? You know, it's all like it all over UK. Love- hate shit, it all gets mash up to me, just don't bother me no more. Like I give a fuck!

I don't mind them. He's probably got a dull office job, he could be a real square, but he'scurious. He'sjust like us, the rave unites, he wants to get mash up and dig music you ain'tgonna hear everyday if you're a total square! Though what the fuck he doing here if he's a proper tight ass? Got to be his day off, or he's on a last minute weekender? I shouldn't think about it so much, but he real nervy for a young dude. These kids gotta chill, get some wicked funky shit, then proper get on it!

I thought I seen Posh Boy try to get into the vibe - just about to bust a likkle move, cut a likkle shape - but he just digs the phone out of a tight pocket, films the crowd for a bit then himself for a bit, then films the crowd again.

This ain'tshit for pop-tart posers. The fucking wicked vibe, the champion sound, the number one sound, the ruffneck sound, how can you not get into it? Loads of hot ladies dancing, tonnes of sweaty camel toe on show; they want to get fucked up, they got the school run proper covered by grannies as they're proper going for it tonight, they ain'tgonna recover for it for sure!

Fuck it, I speak to the posh kid: Easy geezer, I say to him. You dig it? I go, right in his face. He mumbles something that I can't quite hear, then fiddles with his huge smart phone. Always the way, the DJ drops a banger out from the blue! Oh me days – oh yes, oh yes! It's Doctor Octagon! Dugsy's a true legend, he proper knows his shit, I yell at him.

I'm energised by the original Pirate Vibe Piper's set – funky blood-clot junglist hardcore, it's got to be the best ever medicine for the soul; this posh kid looks at me like I'm Rowdy Roddy Piper - I ain't got me specs on, you chill out fucker! - but he's just nodding at me, all confused as fuck. He's shit scared to say anything to me. I hate all this class shit, posh versus poor - it seems to be another bullshit leftover for shitty old Blighty!

I leave it, don't want him thinking I'm harassing him! Yeah, guess not everyone's cool with the ultra-friendly raver vibe. Can be in yer face, gotta say shit, right? Can't stop chatting shit! Who can you really trust? Sometimes it can all go a bit dark side but it should be always on a peaceful trip too, and it sweet to meet like-minded people. Who fucking cares where they from, what their skin colour, what religion they dig or if they're born posh or proper poor! Who fucking gives a fuck these days? We are all one, trust me! Wigged out levelling bizz! We're all cool at heart, us fucked up ravers been all kinds of chemicals for decades, proper fuck you up for time!

Yeah a lot of the kids these days hate sweating, they hate people smelling. Raving if you having it, you're having it right? Ain't a wicked one without your shirt stuck to your back! But you can't help sweating in a sweaty club innit – you sweat even more when there's no fucking air con, or they turn it on twice throughout the entire rave! It's so you go to the bar more - make mine a tap water! It a joke to me when you get smell-fascists up in the place- some people are proper snooty!

By today's standard, you're expected to somehow not sweat when you're raving – gotta look box fresh pristine, sooo fresh n sooo clean for your oh-so- special-social media! It impossible not to sweat! But people come up to you thinking they doing you a favour to tell you that you stink right now, when you're like sweating everywhere, it impossible to stop sweating. Raving is a workout if you rave hard! Even harder when you're buzzing your tits off! Yeah, some of those people who take huge joy in telling you hum, have obviously never raved with speedfreaks, they must be so young they don't have a clue – yeah for real, when the bass gets dark so does these speedfreaks pants – brown sound eat your heart out! Me nose fucked anyway, rancid shit farts, dancefloor Maltesers and simian arm pits don't do fuck all to unblock me fucked nose anyway! I guess I'll blame it on the boogie – as well as a shitload of bugle!

It all about the vibes man, relax bro, it's all good I say, adding to some fucked up chatter! He nods, almost smiling. It been over ten seconds since he last looked at his fucking phone!

Fuckheads like me piss people off for some reason. Maybe he can just tell I'm unemployed and knows I ain't a good contact for him to get on in the big bad real world. Networking for me means something else.  trend obsessed Faceache ravers can be a bit uptight. All about the look never vibes. I wink at him as security does a round, dropping me last red Mickey Mouse. Proper banging Eurobuzzers!

I move away from Strawberry Poshcake. I see there's a few more ladies here than usual. Sometimes you get five blokes with one bird, all trying to dagger and grind her. Fuck spearing, just all like Soca style, looks like they're daisy chaining. Daisywerkit, fuck the T!!! Sounds like a decent porno idea. Save it for the spontaneous orgy later.

Don't get the clubs what are just full of moody blokes with the odd fucked bird, who's so fucked she's pretty much close to passing out and they're all feeling her up. It a weird vibe a total fuckhead scenario.

Speaking of passing out, the old eyes go all blurry, can't wait to catch Dazee later on too - hoping I don't fall asleep on the fucking tube again! Proper waste of a day falling asleep on tubes. No fucker wakes you up, or some jobsworth shit scared cleaner bells up the tube filth, so you get some tube dibble trying to wake you up thinking you're about to cause a riot, or plant a bomb. They also hate homeless people, trust, they enjoy fucking them over! If I was proper homeless I would try and just live on the underground and night buses. Fucking piss. Anyway, talk about O.T.T.!

I need a bit of some funky shit just to sort me buzz out for later. How many trips did I do? I think I dropped them? Shit, I hate forgetting shit like that. I got two small bottles of water and a can of Red Stripe in me pocket, chilling me nads. I got to score a bit more, need some bugle too, I'm not knocking out more of me wicked Facebooks, I like them too much to knock them out! Fuck it, greedy buzz-lovin' fucker ain't I!

I got to sleep but I don'tknow why I bother, might as well just wait for the blackout. Anyway, I got too many missions. Bungle's here for a change, usually he's got missions too. Jaguar Paw and Sense in the house, wicked deejay-producers! Hear Yush is up on the mic later, got to have one of the most unique vocals in rave. I got to try to remember to remember when they're all on! And I already know Dizzy Blonde and Miss Monday are gonna be on later too! God, me shit mind cracks me up – how did I fucking remember that!

Bungle Bob's the main dude I go to for everything these days, as he's into everything too! What can I say? Drugs really do heal the mind and bring people together, but that'snot the dull government propaganda you're going hear about, innit!

Always the chip shop sob story of some poor kid who downed a bottle of vodka and done a super powerful pill, probably cut with PMMA. They either over-hydrate, dehydrate, or get to hospital too late. No one wants to hear about anyone dying. Then the inquiry begins innit! Everyone wonders what went wrong, the politicians instantly blame the pill, though the scientists will mention in the small print that bottle of vodka didn't help them too much either. But it been going on for years, everyone doesn't really listen to this politically correct bullshit any more. It's only the square politicians who, let's be honest, haven't really got much empathy but they've got a shitload of PR training. They really do live in a bubble! Rant over, I was having a bubble, but I need to find Bungle Bob again.

 

 

FUCKAZ R FUCKED

 

I know fuckers hate me, Musky tells me. There's Musky, they go!

Ain't fucking deaf yet, don't fucking piss me off! I hear it all the fucking time. They know I'm a tough cunt. Tonking me game, not getting tonked. I'm fucking bang on it, I know it. But I'm fucking tough, don't I fucking know it too. I'm tonk now. Is it how you fucks say it? And you know when things get peak, they get fucking peak, I'm telling you I'll have it out with any fucker. All little kids, say That's the fucker that bricked a piggy for fun. Filth bricking, yeah? Fucking rock that one fuckers! That always gets a laugh.

A nervous laugh; Musky flipped time ago – not me who gonna tell him, he can find out when Old Bill wanna section him!

 

Yeah, so? Musky says, all big-chested, King of Fuck All! I'm from fucking Croydon, it makes you different. Croydon’s London, but it’s kinda not. It’s a weird area but Musky's lived there all his life; he don’t intend to leave it.

 

Only holiday I been on was a day trip to Southend, Musky mumbles, racks up another fat line. Needed to be back to get some decent snort, they got some random shit around there. Like with anywhere, you gotta know some fucker, ain’t ya?

 

Thing about Musky, he thinks he some big man when he ain’t. He had never really given a shit about the larger world. He did not like travelling; he did not like much apart from fucking his lady up her arse and snorting loads of cocaine.

 

I hear what those weird fuckers say, Musky would say. I'm from the original freeload generation! Whatever I can chuff, drop, or snort, whatever. As long as I don’t have to stuff it up me butt. I get distracted thinking about it, got to be grim. Musky turns to me and says, I can't get near me kids as me girlfriends vanished. She was mouthy, but all I wanted was a group thing. He’s chained ten fags in twenty minutes, fucking crazy. Must have lungs of steel, should be toking weed. He’s still racking up the lines; his nostrils must be lined with titanium.

 

Musky laughs and lets me in on a secret. Musky looks like he’s just auditioning for a chav skinhead gang member on a Brit version of Sons of Anarchy. I try not to laugh or smile. He might snap me neck for fun. I nod. Musky puffs and starts to roll a spliff. He doesn’t like weed too much but he will bill up the odd fat one when he’s rushing and it’s the middle of week.

 

Sure, I broke her nose a couple of times, Musky giggles, checking how I react. He smirks and says to me, real cold: But I don't know me own strength, do I?

You can only nod at that; I don’t dig those vibes. Musky knows, he hates drippy hippy types, but fuck him. He’s a shit and he’s proud of it.

 

She should know not to fucking piss me off, innit? Musky goes, he keeps chatting shit all like, I don't get all the hippy vibes for miles shit. I can't stand them dudes, I am a fucking business fucker. A Super sharp shooter, making pee’s me game, I want to make a shitload while I can then piss off. I will just vanish. You’ll never hear from me again. These wasters and fuckers hanging on, they piss me right off. Custard, Crisp, Hog, I hate them all. I hate Layla worse of all, fucking kinky bitch loves it rough.

 

So this random fucker tells me, Write your life down for a bit. I need your version of how shit went down. Shit went down? What fucking planet that fucker on? Fucking into all those old skool things. I just got to them to sell shit and get shit I want to get. You know, to get off me fucking nut. I been living in Croydon for years. I'm part of the WCMC. West Croydon Massive Crew. I was thinking of changing it to WCM, as the M looks like an upside down W. Though it also looks like two vee's stuck together, as well. Make a much better tattoo.

 

Musky rants on: I don't give a shit no more, I really don't. They think I'm some spazzy psycho. Well, I'm proper fucked up and I'm proud. I beat up pigs before, I fucking freaked the fuckers and I just beat up randoms. I'm doing all good. I think I can pull a burn. I can handle it all. You know what, you think I'm a token cunt. That's right, I am a fucking token cunt. I'm the worse kind of cunt though. I can get me shit going and hope I'll come out smelling of roses at the end. No flies on me, I'm a fucking dan. Well, that's what Layla says. I can't be fucked with most birds, but Layla's different, we both do lots of bugle. She thinks it great to start her day with a fist up her fanny. Think we've been snorting too much for time. Wicked bugle sex though, fuckin' worth it!.

 

I don't know what to do. I meet her crew of mates, her wimpy ex called Clive and some other movers called Bungle Bob, Custard Cream, Crisp Roll. Sound like fuckers out of a kids' show. They all call me Musky as if they've known me for time, but they don't want me knowing about them. I know they got other lives. Probably shit minimum wage pieces of shit you won't catch a hardcore motherfucker like me doing.

 

The only one I really get on well with some fucked up looking junkie spazz called Goofer. He's proper retarded and this DJ, yeah he's meant to be a real DJ called DJ Hog. He's got a slot playing housey-electro-dub-bass shit at some pub club piece of shit til two a.m. Fucking beer money I guess. He thinks he’s right up there, but he’s a fucking chancer, he’s all talk just like the rest of them. He's well hot too, a right fucking waster.

 

I think Layla likes him a bit as he's been around the block. She's forgetting in a fight, I would squash that fucking shit like a fucking piece of shit on me Classics. I wouldn’t have him as a dude to rely on. I know they all take the piss out of me. Fuck them all. They think it’s all secret to take the piss out of me, they know I ain't too clued up on yuppie hippie club shit.

 

I’ll fucking batter the fucks, chew their arses. Fuck shit right up!

 

I don't know the posh fucking DJs and who's in and who's not. I've heard of Fab and Grooverider, who ain't? I heard of Slipmatt, Bunter, Dugs, Rat Pack, Brockie, Nicky Blackmarket, too. But the rest of the new ones and some of the not so well known old skoolers, I don't know like know them. I couldn’t tell you about them off the top of me head. I remember Kenny Ken as he's been around for time, too. Skibadee and Shabba are legends, they been around for time. The other old skool dude and Det, CoGee, Ragga Twins are second to none, I know that much. I don't mind just seeing Kenny.

 

I paid five quid for a ticket one time and he smashed it, absolutely killed it! Mel and Dom needed to go that place to check the foundations, as he truly rocked da house, proper ruffneck! I wasn’t well bang on bugle back then, think I was getting skunked, getting it on wth the old skool acidic skunked up skank. I even tried to do the Acid Dance but I was off me nut, I can’t really remember anything for shit. That's real back in the day! Quality shit, though. I not caught Bryan G too much, which odd as I proper dig Philly Blunt and V Records, and all the other not so well known dudes who are wicked but only those real fuckers in the know really know about them. They were more record and radio bosses than actual DJs, weren't they?

 

I don't fucking know. It don't bother me, just some fucker pressing play and getting the licks for occasionally making their own hits. Easy time, tougher to get a hit. I don't give a fuck, though. I just want to move for a bit if I'm not fighting. Went to a gay bar and went mental, started smacking some pilled-up poofs, just nutting them for fun.

 

They make me feel funny. I don't think it helps when I get hard around them. I'm a hard guy, but I take it too far. I had a raging boner, I had to get out of there. Only way I knew how and to let off a bit of steam was to smack some of them. I think those kind of freaks enjoy that kinky thing. Anyway, I chipped out and met up with Hog. He pretended not to stare at me boner, but I think he was scared at all the blood on me trackies and shirt.

 

I wanted to get inside his head and give me the lowdown deep on how they’re knocking shit out wherever. Not worth it in some clubs as it's all a fucking con and they get raided they're fucked. It’s peoples jobs, Custard says to me, as if I should know better. So much easier to stick to pubs, not as well policed, make sure kids stay away and they're seen to be hot on the ID thing but fuck it all.

 

Pubs are fucking dead. I fucking hate pubs and all these trendy yuppie bars. Fucking Sharon and Tracey cattle market crap DJ clubs. Get in free, though you'll need a fucking bank loan for a few beers, but if the fashion police on the door don’t like the look of you, it’s twenty quid or not tonight mate! Fuck them. If they’re not full of kids during the day, they’re full of rugby wankers at night. Fuckers.

 

And I hate the wankers that run this country, they're fucking up me business plan. Not that I was planning on paying tax and all that shit, fuck that now – I'm always fucking broke! But these randoms are all wasted fuck ups, I don’t know how they get anything done. I ain’t a fuck up, but they’re close to incapable. Maybe they’re playing tough, pretend to know fuck all and be fucked up just around me, as they don’t know me that well yet. They just know me through Clive and Goofer.

 

Goofer starts filling me in on them too. I think Hog puts up with Goofer. He treats him like a little brother. He must have known him for time. I try to impress Hog with some of me clubbing knowledge, though I can't really remember shit. I don't even know if I went to some clubs, that's how fucked I was. I remember queuing for one club in Farringdon, getting pissed off just waiting, I was off me nuts. I nutted the bouncers and left. They fucking chased me for a bit, but they didn’t get me, I couldn't stop laughing. They fucking kept us waiting for ages. I don't wait long. If the queue ain't long, then I will tell them to speed it up. They want our fucking cash, right? Well they can make sure we're fucking sorted. Fucking so fucked.

 

Hog tells me about sometime he met Roni Size. I don't know who Roni Size is, but I nod. I should know, I suppose. I just make out I do know him. I tell you who I really dig, I dig that other guy who done that Brown Paper Bag tune. I don't say it to Hog just in case I get the dude wrong. Anyway, I say to Hog to impress him, to show him I know me hardcore shit, just because I 'm from Croydon don't mean I'm a fucking spazz who just waits for these DJs to bop to Croydon.

 

Yeah, I said I went to Global Gathering, saw Billy Bunter proper old skool ain’t he, from back in the day, yeah he was there, smashing it and I saw him cutting up some wood with a hacksaw while he was in the mix. Fucking mental, I go to Hog. Hog nods, smiling real creepy.

 

I think he knows I’m chatting shit, Hog just smiles, he probably knows I’m chatting shit. It’s like me classic raver story; I always churn out to these wasted fuckers, who fucking cares? Sounds like Hog's heard it before, though.

I cut to it and just say, So Hog mate who you get sorted from?

 

That's when it all clicks. Hog's as soft as fresh dog shit on a hot day.

INNIT? HUH? INNIT? HUH? That's all Hog says like real loud, as if he's a fucking don. Fucking muppet. I could've caved his face in, but I held it together for a bit longer. Guy's got a degree in bullshit, should be a fucking politician.

 

Look at Goofer, look how he does his lyrics, lookat his fukin shit! Fukin awful!

Oh me dayzzzz!!!! Fukin wot d’fuk! I got2 git dwn 4 sum rime time! fuk always up2spit bars/ can't keep wiv it on me mic, get me sum phat amps jungle dub style, juz 2 get fukd all time!!!! dat me I'z gaz/dem fuckaz call me goo fur sum shit lik it/ fuknos! so i dunt giva shit.

 

They all chat this shit. It’s getting peak for me. I smash me fist in me palm then thump Hog in the gob. His mouth all fulla blood, busted crown; he looks at me like he’s going to cry. He then starts laughing. I hate this fucker. I really hate him. I think about fucking Layla up the arse to calm down. I smack him again just for kicks. It doesn't feel good. I need another fucking line though. I've fucked me self more, I can't punch for shit.

 

Ugly fucking rat-looking Gollum with ginger dreads. His pale skin’s all shiny. I think I might kill him. I’m tough like that, I don’t give a fuck. They still ain’t found me aunt who was like ninety-seven or some shit. Fucking easy as conning her cash. Yeah, she won’t be found. I don’t know how people get busted, it’s all piss to me. I don’t like messing with these wasters but they know so many people I know they’re going to help me if they fucking like it or not.

 

Goofer smiles his spazzy smile at me, he’s got dried cum over his hands and he’s been spitting cotton all day. He looks at me, as if he’s some animal about to get culled. He tells me he’s done fuck all apart from watch porn, some old skool TV shows and wanked over Taylor Swift footage he’s got online. What a sad fucker.

 

I bell Clive up:

 

Oi cunt!

 

Huh?

 

Clive!

 

Who dee fook?

 

Clive - you fucking hearing me?

 

Clive was proper spazzing triptastic styley: Musky just heard Clive mumble: Shit bruv, my fucking cock's turning into a Stormtrooper dude! Whoa, fucking totally mental! Fuckin-shit-fuckin-fuckaz!

 

Fucking mobiles.

 

Usually all I get off the phone, get ears of bass and beats right at me. These fuckers never at home, never answer their fucking phones. Or they’re at some other fuckers gaff. Getting fucked. Fuckers. Not like I’m going to shift all six kees to Clive. He sounded spaced to fuck. He knows enough posh fuckers though thinking about it, he’ll make some of his trust fund back. Got to invest, UK always needs a bit more investment. Fucked up by politicians for their super rich mates to move in and carve up. Always the way fuckers, just capitalism innit! Hypocrites always say it, fucking full of shit. Horse faced rich kids piss me off, there’s nothing more than I like than to proper shaft them fuckers. They know they’re paying over the odds, they just want their shit but I’ve done a few with some real bad stuff in the past. It evens out.

 

They’re never going to experience the real shit of the world anyway. With trust funds and mummy and daddy to save them! Easy pickings for some, though. I just need to find them and that’s it. I need to find this Bungle Bob. I know Hog knows where he is. I’m not helping him shift shit again as he goes loco. Where the fuck he gone? He don’t answer his phone, when he does pick up all I hear is the pumping bass and why you shouldn’t take a call in a club with a wicked system.

 

He did text me just saying WTF? Or IDK but I ain’t spelling it out in a fucking text am I? Or what you done with your six kees? Fucking dumb fucker will be asking for bank transfers next!

 

He gets me worried this Bungle Bob. Porkball told me to watch him but I don’t know if Porkball’s a real cop. He might be just saying it. It’s surreal when he came around in his uniform, I think he was on shift. Came round me aunt’s flat for a quick toot. He’s well all right, well on the level. Definitely no hypocrite but I get the vibe he don’t trust me just yet. I don’t see why I should be content with me shit, I want to buy up Bob’s shit too. What the fuck’s wrong with that? I ain’t slowing down. Fuck Porky. Fuck Ken.

And when I find this Bob fucker I might batter him. I don’t get that fucker. He’s mean to be so connected but he don’t do shit like that to me. All these old timers are like it, think we’re easily mugged off. Fuck them, I’m from fucking Croydon, I don’t take no shit.

 

You hear Kool going out live at some gallery? Clive says to me. He’s being serious. I need a fat line, like a massive Scarface style one. Clive looking all poncy, like he’s some insider gets all the news early, he’s been chilling with Tiny McFuck too much. I nod, thinking what the fuck am I going to say to that? Fuck I don’t know. I think for too long, relight the zoot, thinking what the fuck, long awkward silence, a retarded stoner silence. I start laughing, then Clive looks at me.

Art all cool, I think it’s cool. Might see if Melissa wants to take the kids along. Sounds fucking wicked, Clive.

 

Clive smirks. No fucking way, he says to me. I ain’t going to some snot-nosed gallery. I don’t want to be around poshos making out they fucking know what the fuck they’re on about.

 

I realise Clive doing this fake thing that some kinda posh young people do when they make out they’re like real poor and working class. It ain’t that, they never really struggled. Clive just asks his old dear for cash and she always stumps up.

 

FUCK UP CREW

 

Really buzzing off me tits, couldn't find anything to eat for later on. Still buzzing on the MD-Xpress. Love those tunes. Yeah, had fuck all to eat for time, like proper long. Not like I can try eating even if I wanted to eat a horse, but it's been ages now and I got to try eating something. Fuck been off me face for days. I can't remember what went down. I wouldn't mind staring at some Ben and Jerry's, though. Ain't kidding, fuck all anywhere in this place. Always fucking freezing here. Might have something to do with the door always being left open. Shitty old latches, man. What can I say, people are just easy come and easy go here!

 

We all just chilling in a flat in Burnt Oak, just coming down. It ain't me flat, I just crash here now and again. Like a weird junkie commune vibe. See a lot of randoms, way too many. Chat to some people still recovering from whatever they done the night before, I can't think of too many names, fuck knows what they're doing, we all proper loved up and nice though. Just the raver way, full of loved out vibes. I won't forget their faces but fuck trying to remember their names.

 

Some real dodgy fuckers too. They look fucked and sound fucked. Just like me, I guess. Way too many parties here, yeah vibes all the way! Nothing but a party twenty-four fucking seven, it don't usually stop, even when you're trying to come down and get real chilled. Got to watch those pigs now and then and the odd on top nosy neighbour when it gets proper mental. But it can't be all the time, just feels like it. That's when we ain't fucked. So maybe a little chilled out down time does happen.

 

Feeling it now. Fuck. What the fuck I drop? I don't know. Remember seeing Ruffstuff, Fabio and Grooverider, Bunter and Slippers, Dugs, Brockie and Det, Blackmarket, Goldie, Rat Pack, Doc Scott, Doc S. Gachet, Randall. All the dons, and I'm sure Skibadee and Shabba D were there, classic SAS, smashing it up as usual. Harry Shotta smashing it up too, fucking real incredible, I can't believe more people don’t know about him. Fucking kills most commercial fuckers dead with his bars! RIP Stormin – never forgotten bruvva, proper ADHD bizzle! Yeah, the vibe; the sound; it all clicked just as I was really rushing me nuts off! Where the fuck was I at? I don't know, fucking wicked club though.

 

Came back to the flat in the morning just after ten-ish, but we will were still going for it till after two-ish. Some fucked fucker's gone and put fucking Neighbours on to chill us out before Old Bill pop round, proper fucks your come down sticking soaps on. I fucking hate TV sometimes. What a messy one, though. I must've blacked out for a bit. I wake up, try to take a shit, can't squeeze it out, so out of sheer boredom I do a huge line of bash then find a sweaty MDMA wrap hidden in a tissue.

 

Fuck it, might as well roll another jay while I'm trying to take a shit. All well quiet for a while, get a bit groggy on the bog, then P-Funk Era woke me up again. I must have passed out on the bog, I proper lost track of time. Fucking does that to when you’re a waster like me. Fucking big up Pascal though, love P-Funk Era. Great tune to wake up hearing – can’t do pop shit unless it’s been proper remixed. Nothing like a proper classic to get you with it, though! Peshay's Piano Tune mad ting too. It's got to be after five, right? I check me mobile. Fucking time, man. Freaks me right out. OK, it just seven.

 

What the fuck I been doing all day?

 

Just as well I'm a total fucking waster! I got fuck all to do, I just get real fucked. I'll be straight up with you, I don't know when the party's over. I'm the poncer of ponces, a real chancer's chancer. Yeah, I go with the flow, good old Hogman. I don't call myself Hog. Hog is me DJ name. Not that I actually DJ much. I just like the whole scene and vibe. To be honest with you, I'm a total fuckhead, it’s so much easier like that. I know that much about it! I’m definitely still a learner in the DJ stakes, but I’m a fucking expert in the Fuckhead league and anyone who meets me knows it straight away! They give you that look, you know the one! I'm looking for Bungle Bob. He's a real funny fuckhead. He's fucking some random bird with four kids from Harrow. She's a bit rough looking, but Bungle's a beast. Real animal. I love him and hate him at the same time.

 

Bungle Bob goes to me, Here's a bit of MD, mate. On the house for Hog! I’m sure I owe you! Bungle hands me a massive wrap of MD, me eyes are popping out! One for the raver massive alright! Bungle Bob shouts down me ear. I nod, I don’t quite know what to say. I know how much of a crazy fucker Bungle Bob can be, but I enjoy his crazy periods. He might be getting laid off at work again, so he’s spending it while he’s got it.

 

He’s ticking like a fucker again, I can’t believe he can tick so much. I can't believe me luck, though! I end up saying, Cheers, mate. Bungle laughs, nodding, still saying, Go on, bro, have it, he says to me. He must think I’m spazzing out like him. What a crazy cunt, but you got to love him. Original ragamuffin bizzle, bruv! Bring on the rubadub! Bring on the jungledub! Bring on the One Love! All those Jungle Love vibes! Wickedest mashup! Wickedest Sound!

 

Yeah, I think Bungle Bob got it all off some random he knows real well. Someone blasts some Congo Natty, fucking banging, nothing wrong with Drop the Beat at this time. Bungle starts telling me about his dodgy contacts. He’s got loads of them. Bungle goes, Yeah, he’s a fucking carpet-fitter by trade, you would never guess it, serious mate, it’s proper well random! What a mentalist! You would never have guessed it. Bungle Bob knows all sorts of random fuckers, I ain’t amazed no more. I know it’s a joke, but if the PM sorted him out, I wouldn’t be surprised, real fucking result scoring some posh candy! No bash for rich kids, innit?

 

Bungle didn't ask me for cash up front, which has to be a first. He don’t usually trust me at all. I think it has to be all part of his percy. He was doing a fair bit with me before, anyway. He might’ve forgot I ain’t the one paying. Who am I to correct his fucked memory?

 

I’ll turn into Sir Ponce-A-lot if it’s free gear. Fucking A! All abroad the MD-X-Wing! And we'd already done a fair few facebooks and smileys, I'm getting a bit old for them, I go straight for the party mix these days being too poor to buy decent coke. Bash seems to be everywhere these days, but I got to watch me nose, it bleeds like a fucker when the cut up coke gets proper harsh.

 

I should've helped him knock it out, wicked atmosphere, working up a proper sweat. A bit blatant though, not that the bouncers were arseholes, we were just proper fucked, I can't blame them for looking away. We don't start no fights, we're all about the love vibes and procurement of top buzzes. And it's only money, as those Jungle legends, the Ragga Twins say, the drugs you buy just to get smashed!

Bungle decided to buy up shitloads. The place was getting ripped up, proper smashed up by some mental sets. I don't dig loads of dubstep stuff but when the D&B legends get on it and fuck shit up, throw in the old skool vibes mash it right up with some dubstep, and jump up, it ain't a bad sound and it goes real crazy.

Mentalism deluxe, for sure dudes! Loads of dudes there. Trying to remember them seems to be straining me brain like mental constipation, as if me head'strying to shit, but I'msure it was Dillinja, Brockie, Det, Shy FX, DJ Rap, L.T.J. Bukem, Randall, Skibadee, Shabba D, Harry Shotta, Stormin (RIP), Shockin B, Eksman and Herbzie, Stormin, Kenny Ken, Nicky Blackmarket, Nookie, Billy 'Daniel' Bunter, Slipmatt, Uncle Dugs, Vibes, Phantasy, Ragga Twins, Co-Gee Gully, IC3, Trigga, Bassman, Sly, A.I., Jumping Jack Frost., Bryan G, Krust, Moose, Navigator, Ray Keith, Flux, Congo Natty and Tenor Fly(RIP), Remarc, Mampi Swift, Hype, Nicky Blackmarket, Marky, S.P.Y., Roni Size, Pressure X and Times Two, Jaguar Paw and Dizzy Blonde with Yush, Krome and Time, Fabio and Grooverider, Ed Rush and Optical, Doc Scott, Fresh, Bailey, Crissy Criss, Dr S. Gachet, Andy C, Adam F, Zinc, Micky Finn, DRS, 5-Alive, Fearless, IC3, GQ, Dynamite, Stamina MC, Evil B, Fatman D a lot of proper legends.

I ain't joking, too many to name, even though me mind has been proper shot to shit, I still got the flyer somewhere. I'm just reading off some flyers now, I'm thinking real hard, all I can think of has to be the vibe, such a great vibe, all a proper blur though. They can'thave all been there, but I'll catch each and everyone again, fucking live for it fuckers! Yeaaaaboieee! Wicked night, wicked buzz! Fuck: needed some fucker to record these legends really, but then people wanna film it, it's all about sound, I wanna clean copy to buy and rinse again and again! Don't want some shaky trust-fund hipster filming it all, probably would've looked fucked anyway. Everyone just be zoning out for the cams, fucking Facebook generation fuckups man! It's fucking mad sounds us old skool heads want, not fucking fashion footage!

Shame the house party after was so fucking random! Think I'm too old for house party shit. Channel 4 made out house parties were like the next illegal rave vibe, fucking middle-class bores who had never been to one, starting with all that watered down poser shit TV, proper ripping off Shane Meadows; but some house parties can be like real fucking banging. Some mental shit can go down, or it can be real dull. They're like extremes.

 

Channel 4's house party TV night thing wasn't too bad for a bit of slumming. I was off out too. I missed a fair bit of Annie Mac though. They should've had Sister Bliss on there, too, she'd proper smash it, she's wicked. But most house parties are proper shit. I'm getting older, need to be more intimate these days, like little gatherings, dropping dodgy acid and shrooms, having a proper toke in a kids’ Wendy House. Fucking random shit sums up the 21st century for me.

The house party or even the festival never can live up to the club and warehouse vibe these days, no way does it beat it but it can come close. I can't think of who was there and what the fuck went on, I never can. A decade seems to have blurred into one long rave. House parties always go weird like that. I remember having a puff, doing some lines with me school mate Dave's folks. We're clearing up after a real destructive house party, where the fighting and trashing everything came first and the music got forgotten. I'm a house party veteran these days so vibes are a must.

Used to be too poor to rave as much as I do now, you don't get a break for shit when you're fourteen, always scrimping, bits n bobs - it just easier to get on it with a mass festival vibe, maybe try to catch the DJ you want to see headlining on their own, loadsa cheap places for indie bands, a lot gone, though could still go to Swerve midweek; it's a Friday now, ain't it?

Or just blag a cheap club as they do exist. Stink's always wicked value on Sundays, though I can be too fucked for it sometimes. It's the extras, don't mention the fucking drinks. Buying water seems bad enough. We all know why the clubs need to make the water nearly the same price as booze, or most clubs will be out of business by the end of the month, that's what finished off Hacienda back in the day. It don't matter to me no more if the clubs decent or totally shit. It’s all about the tunes.

All clubs should be like on the warehouse vibes. Fucking quality, for proper raving! I'll be there, having it right out, doing a proper fucked up one foot skank! Buzzing me balls off! Hear a tune I love! Yeah, it'sa tune I been digging on the quiet. Loving Serum's Open Your Eyes at the moment! Really into a lot of that vibe, all of Ruffneck Ting and Potential Badboy stuff.

Just loving the whole vibe, real peaceful no aggro. I should chill out more with this dude called Custard Cream who digs all that. I ain't got a clue what his real name might be, but fuck it, we been getting on it long enough to know we just want real peaceful vibes. Who wants aggro when you think you're on another planet? Really digging some of the newish older dudes coming through, like Cabbie. Need to slip on some greats too. Thinking of putting some Morillo and Coxy on the old player. God made me funky alright!

House parties get me thinking to back in the day when I was thirteen or fourteen, poncing fags, drinks, usually a massive bottle of White Lightning. Get in a eighth and think I'mKing of The Fucking World. Drop a couple of pills, downed with cheap vodka and shitty cider, getting trashed in the park, those were the fucking days. Then try to catch some of the older kids coming back from the clubs, one dude called Wez would always sort me out with his sweaty soft pills and shitloads of sweaty trips. He sometimes shared a toot with me, his snort wasn'tbad, but that was well rare. Probably knew we didn'thave the cash for his snort!

Yeah, Wez'spills were always soft and slightly crushed, they would do random shit to you, but sometimes I thought they crumbled quick as he'dprobably just pressed them and they were crumbling as he bopped with them. They would be powder by the time you got home, so you could snort them. Love crowning dingers! The real joke had to be his trips, though. OH ME DAYS! We always called them tiny terror trips, fucking well funny. I'mcracking up just thinking about it. Yeah, his trips were funny as fuck. Wez must have always kept them near his arse.

I always think of them near his sweaty, shitty, butt in the club and he'sknocking them out to us kids later, thinking what the fuck they going to do? Always the way, we were just pleased to score!

We would drop them and fuck all would happen for hours then all of a sudden you'dhave a proper violent trip, like real intense. Then you'dbe feeling fine. Like really fine. You'dthink hours would've gone by, but it probably wasn'teven an hour. Fucking Granny trips! Can'treally moan for a fifty pee, usually a quid, rarely quid fifty or whatever it might be, can you? We'dget loads of them too. Proper messy! They still fuck me up sometimes. I done so much shit, anything can fuck me up!

But, the way I see it now, living for the moment and all, I'm just lucky to have a bit of MDMA left. It's getting back to the good times, for sure. I'm real hungry, but I can't eat shit. Me mouth goes all funny, like all cotton wool furry. I've chewed me gums to shit, just tasting cottonmouth and blood. I swallowed me chewing gum again, too, as it started to dissolve in me gob. Me teeth are already fucked so fuck them. What I don't get was the urge to try eating, I can't put it off for much longer. I'll be shitting water soon.

I wake up and think that I know I'm a proper empty son of a bitch. Shallow as fuck, I want to be a fucking DJ! And a Class A fuckhead. Something's got to give. I can face up to it and be honest about it. I don't give a shit what people think. Everyone hates me in a weird way, but I ain't a real junkie kind of junkie. I know I'm mental and I piss of the birds I get real close with. Don't ask why, they're mug enough to get knocked up by me, fucking they know the score! It's all cool when we're banging and having it out, but I do a shitload of drugs, so it gets to the point they suddenly want cosy nights in watching shitty reality TV. Only bang on coke- heads can put up with that shit, they'll chat shit to kingdom come as well. Fuck that, life's too short pissing it away on some dull TV show or shitty remake flick. I'm trying to be a DJ, I got to be out and about, but it's tricky. I should try to get a bit more musical like.

I'm obviously never going to be no Guy Called Gerald or Carl Cox. Those kind of DJs are in a league of their own. You got to get the chance to blast some club, go for it, have it out and really enjoy it. As when you're old, when you're getting on this fucking shit country, this battered old war economy will treat you like total shit. Spits you right out, don't it? I even gave some weird looking teenager here a few soft pills. If I was a tight ass I would have them all for me, but I can dig spreading the love. Only fucking pills! Pure love man! Some pills are a bit hit and miss, too. Well for me, I'm an old hand at all that now. Yeah, no shit. I was about twelve when I started really getting into puff and pills. I even done a shitload of trips when I was thirteen or so.

Yeah, trips and shrooms, then a lot of beans and ganja. Poofs love their pills, too. I ain't no homo lover but I dig the gay club vibe, I dig the way they don't give a shit and know how to have it out. I've blasted enough gay nights to be cool with it. When I was younger I was a dick, but didn't clock poofs love pills and powders too, yeah you know it! No joke, I always had some bangers going off on gay night! They love crystal meth too, they can fucking party!

 

Anyway, I give this geeky-teen some pills. I don't know if it's Bungle's bird's kid, fuck I can't remember any names. Bumfluff Kid looks amazed; looking younger by the second, bits of blondish bumfluff on his chin, long frizzed punky-hipster hair, looks real young now. Tight jeans and pumps. Only poofs used to be able to get away rocking with that look, but all blokes wear it now. Even the tough blokes with chains and pecs on show.

Bumfluff Kid kinda looks at me all real serious and says, Thanks for that, mate! Yeah, fucking heavy! Dark, real sick! I laugh, light up another joint. Fucking lingo, trust - even some of these little white kids chat like they're suppose to be Yardies, but they all sound like they're monged on Ritalin!

 

Chuff me joint a bit more, need to think. Tasty fucking smoke. Fucking wicked weed, really zoning me out, I'll be a zombie in a bit. I can be a right moody cunt some days, but the weed and hash cookies help, though I'm getting jumpy. I had to hide them, everyone turns into a kid when they know you got some funky cookies and space cake. Just the fun vibe, it can be the sweetest buzz, but you never know where you are with it and it can catch you out if you cane loads of bugle or MD. I almost turned into a statue after having it out to Ed Rush and Optical time ago. Think I lost me hearing when they dropped Hammerhead.

 

It’s different if you're on skag or crack, you're a fucking nutter anyway, but crystal meth's the best, personally speaking. I mean skag just makes me puke, I ain't saying it ain't proper heavy but chuffing it all the time makes me feel funny. I ain't shooting it, fuck it. I fucking hate needles anyway. I know how dirty junkies get, fuck all that. I don’t dig to get too close to some of them, fucking no sense of shame, no fucking idea of personal hygiene either. Wiping the needle won't do any good. Yeah, thank fuck for a needle fear too, I really fucking hate needles, one of me things I hate, like a proper head-fuck phobia kind of vibe. If you mix and match your gear then you're always on a tightrope and you just go easy on the alcohol. Booze always fucks up best plans, catches you proper off guard, don’t it?

 

Yeah, I'm grooving now. How the fuck am I going to ponce more shit for tonight? I'll think about it later. Definitely be going off at the afterparty! I'm just going to pick up a random bird to fuck, take shitloads more funky shit, whatever I can get me hands on. Maybe I'll get another psychobitch. I don't mind, it's something to do innit. Nobody really likes being alone. And wanking can get dull, right? Unless you get a helping hand!

My only real work is to go to the dole office and pretend I've been looking for work. I been on it for years, I'm appealing my disability thing though I don't see the point of me doing the Work programme waste of time. They'll soon figure out where I'm coming from, I can take the benefits or not, it don't bother me, there's a whole world to ponce off. I don't know it all, though. The benefit game's well complicated now, too much hassle, shitloads of annoying forms, so I got a old school mate called Don to fill it all out, as he's conning the lot. Fucking smart fucker for a dude with ADHD. He's a funny bloke, just one too many mornings off his face on acid, though.

 

I had a bad acid spell. Like five years ago, so it's not like back in the day to all the Class of 88 dudes. I got some morals, I didn't break the stash out for the kid, did I? Shit, I keep the crazy shit for me! And I think Bungle Bob might be a bit pissed off with me if I sorted one of his step-kids acid. He's a bit touchy about random people fucking up, I think he's been around a lot of people who've really lost it. I don’t blame him, I been one of those people to suddenly lose it too. But I haven’t seen a headfucker for years. Fuck it, I got inspired by street chemistry.

 

Yeah, these mentalists always drink a lot too, just to balance it up. Isn't always the Class A shit, always the other, usually legal, extras what can proper fuck you up. Shit like cider! Cider's rough and proper mental, I don’t drink it at all now. Used to score some real rough granny trips when I was thirteen and down a couple of big bottles of cider for kicks. Then spend the whole of the next day puking up. Ain’t probably no wiser, I just don’t always like puking but some things are better out than in! Keep puking, keep on getting high.

 

What I got to do today: I don’t really remember shit too well, so I’m getting it all down. After chilling at a mate's place, having a puff out of the window, pumping some tunes. Loving the Call the Cops remix and that Happiness tune. It's a weird thing, they say music tames the soul. It ends up wiping all me bad vibes away. Wish I had more kit than a knackered Bontempi organ when I was just a kid. All the free shit you got now, but time changes so quick. Still gotta be rich with the whole software thing too. I clocked that more people chill around here, got a little gathering going down. No girls yet. Got to go out later, have a likkle night bus cruise, check the places open late.

 

It's still cheap to blast it that way. And kids today are different, a lot more nerdy kinda techy-geeks than what we were. Not that I'm harsh on the young of today, they got it tough. I used to be one, we all had to put up with shit but I think kids today get a proper raw deal now. It's all for the posh kids, the trust fund babies, and the networking cocksuckers.

 

I got to say, I'm closer to getting grown up and uncool and I really should grow the fuck up. I'm older than Bungle Bob, but I don't think I'm older than Konny Ken or Crisp Roll, though he looks well young. You know what? I really can't be fucked to worry about age. Not now. I don't think I've changed since I was fifteen, no joke! I've got kids here and there and I dodged all that maintenance shit. Makes me a bad fucker but what can I give them anyway? I've said to find me if they want to get sorted. That's when they're all cool. I ain't one for all the brat traumas. Me head can't take all that shit!

 

Still, I'm always on a messy one. I think to myself, Am I a proper junkie? No way, I got the commune vibes thing going, everything's pretty good for me. I have done a lot of shit, like proper experimented, though smoking skag to me is no different from doing the odd hot rock. I mean, it's all pretty fucked. Hooting can fuck you as much as shooting. Then you can get some random devil drug what really fucks you up for time. I don't get people who snort MDMA too. Then again, I hardly drink any alcohol now. I mean I'll have a few beers in the club, maybe the odd couple around some mates when we're tucking into a chunky bar. Always happens when people spit some bars, too! But apart from that, I hardly get any alcohol, like loads of spirits and shit like it, not like I used to. It’s too much and I'd prefer some half-decent pills. If I fancy some brandy or vodka after, I’ll get a bottle to kill while I come down. Don't even touch the sides these days!

 

When I was nine, I used to drink cider and vodka mixed together. Sometimes I'd crush some paracetamols in there. Made school a bit better, got me puking quick too. The Class A's made it a hell of a lot better. Nothing like some LSD before double maths! Always had funny stories with trips, shrooms and space cakes in school, not to mention freaking out when the tabs stick to your skin.

 

A&E tripping for kicks. It didn’t always happen, we were too quick to knock them out, we never thought about them really fucking us up. I remember a school mate keeping bugle in his pencil case. Fucking full of it. Open it up and it puffs out everywhere! Must have been bashed. But it's still daft anyway. Why a fucking pencil case for fuck’s sake?

 

We were proper amateurs, no wonder half those fuckers are inside. Me? I'm just a mentalist, I do get tugged now and then but they get bored of me. Think they know I'm looking to avoid paying rent out here – been sanctioned for weeks, how can you pay for fucking anything?

I started chuffing about the same age I was mixing vodka and cider, after moving from snouts to spliffs in an instant. Fuck wasting time with fags, I always chuff ganja now. I haven’t smoked a fag for time. Once I'd dropped some nut nuts, some shrooms and blasted some old skool Omegas and Mitzies, maybe a few weird love dove things, I tell you I was loving it. That made me mind up. I still smoked a twenty deck, and went back to Crisp’s for a fat toke though.

I said to me reflection, in the revolving mirror, Hog you're a fuckhead, you love being a fuckhead, you're going to be a fuckhead forever. Did you want to drop some beats or you just pleased to be a total full-time fuckhead? You know what, I'll stay like a fuckhead, just wished I could get it together to get a gig. Only Bunter could get away with chewing his face off and be a wicked selector, a legend like him has the knowledge though, trust me! Not as much work in being a fuckhead, like look at Bez innit, gotta be much easier than trying to be a fucking mental DJ with proper technical skills, sounds fucking knackering too as you need someone proper sound there with you, who got their shit together, while you're fucked. Mental all the travelling too, non-stop, a right load of missions. Different if it private jets but when you know you've gotta get a coach or fucking Ryanair, you know it gonna be a toughie! Yeah, that's like proper hard work and it really is rough in that game; proper rough in the electronica jungle!

I tells it full on, you got to have some heavy tunes, some real dirty tunes, to back you up if you're really going to make it. No luvvie scholarships in that game, fuck it! Yeah, must've spent time just doing shitloads of love hearts too, me smiling muscles are proper fucked, I can't stop smiling. Going to turning into Zippy. When I look like that fucked up fucker I got to slowdown. He gotta bea heart attack waiting to happen, the amount of shit he does – it's superhuman, trust!

Fuck keep dropping out, fuck getting expelled again, fuck getting raided again, fuck busting it for those pointless shit jobs. It was all worth it for me. I'm a selfish cunt, what can I say? And the Mitzies were better then, too. I never got into smileys, super stars and love hearts, though I've done the lot for sure.

It'sall cool. It all gets blurry like you know like what'swhat? But you're fucked, when you're fucked you're fucked, right? When I'mlike that I munch up dog food, proper tripe zombie style! No fucking joke, I am such a fuckhead that I'll take any piece of shit you put in front of me. Anything for a fucking high, why do I do it? I love me family but I'll do anything. Just like that Alice in Chains tune I tried to sample. When you get that fucked find the Acid Crew, get the Ecstasy Crew! Fuckheads unite, stay alive and keep shit tight!

 

Yeah, all the legal high plant food nail varnish remover shit got to be respected, too. I mean, some of that illegal old legal shit is whack. I saw Crisp Roll’s arms turn blue when he done a lot of that drone shit. And five gees of ket on top of it all. He thought fucking secret service drones were coming after him, he was cracking me up! Fucking mental shit. He had loads of it as well.

 

I told him to cut it down, I think the hash cake saved him a little from drone explosion. Don’t ask how but he needed a rapid chuff down. He was going to go to some squat in Clapton to do some crystal meth but he was fucked. He needed a fucking ambulance, but Crisp’s used to doing the lot but when you’re fucked, you’re fucked. Crystal meth ain’t going to go away, that’s for sure! You know it! We all dig a nice bit of shake and bake. You never know what you might be missing, do you? Gets me thinking about rare pills I done, too. Like perfect designer type pills, so perfect creating the perfect buzz, I tell you! Yeah, those Facebooks aren't bad, either.

 

I gum most bash now to perk me brain up. It’s like some giant pickled onion that wants to get out. It ain't a great feeling, but it ain't bad. Fucking MDMA fucking wicked, so much decent quality going around helps me groove. Saying it, cut down dodgy bugle getting so cheap these days. Kids start snorting before they start chuffing spliffs today. Anyway, I hoover it up when I got it. But me nose gets so fucked up so quick, as I buy some harsh shit, sometimes it's like the worst bugle out there but I know fuckers like Goofer to get some awful bash that makes you go blind for a bit. Feel like your nose just going to take off then bleed forever!

 

I got to go easy on the nasal passages. It's down to the fact that you can never have a healthy cocaine habit when you're not really earning enough and you have to live by your wits end. Cheap bugle always raises an eyebrow, but it's something to snort, better than being bored out of your mind! And scam fuckers now and again, too! It can pay for some slightly better shit now and again, it's part of it. I've even got done, so it's all fair. I get done some times, as I'm pretty loaded, they can all see me coming. But I'll probably take mandy over bugle, in terms of quality control. If they had real legalised quality control, it'd be happy days. Too much speedy coke around too, though you know, it's something to snort if you're clucking! Shift your weight too! Yeah, I must've saved loads just sticking with dizzle, whatta mad one though!

To be fair, I getting into the karma thing, I ain't too bothered about quality no more, as long as I get sorted and get something off it, I'm fucking happy. Skunk, hash, weed, whatever. I'll do anything these days. Don't bother me if it wants to pass itself off as bath salts or kitchen degreaser. Bungle was using acid and dodgy methadone for a while, he's been on mad one since his hours got reduced at his shit job. He hates his job but I guess he don't want to lose it. He's never been in a fix, but it's a tough one for some people. Like some phony middle class hang-up enforced on working class fuckheads.

Getting weird. That mirror spinning up and down like a fruit machine got nothing on this. I can't be fucked to read back what I put, I get real hungry, yeah, so it's past five. It's not getting dark but lighter, it all dusky. I get thinking, I ain't had fuck to eat all day. Pussy don't count! That's when Bungle's bird comes in. She stares at me, real hard. She half looks pissed off.

 

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! she shouts.

 

Sounds more like WHADEEFUKIZDIZ? She’s some female London-version of Joe Dolce. Fucking proper trippy!

 

I pretend not to hear her. I think I might be having another flashback, but I’m trying well hard to just ignore it. You know it, fuckers! What? I say. I think I’m talking to someone I think might be there. Then she goes all quiet, probably thinking how spazzed I am. But I reckon she’s just brewing and looking around. I didn't clock all that Wigga-Yanky-Wanky-Hoppity-Hip shit chat anyway. Fucking skew it on the BBQ, right? You know what they can do with that all that.

 

Stick on Juggling then get some attitude. Fuck all that fake Yank shit. Fucking always going on how they got hip hop and house first, well we got techno jungle and D&B first. Sure without them both there wouldn't be any killer tunes, but we done something crazy with it, fucked them up which they get sore about, look how shit and lame hip hop is now. Half the kids ain't got a clue what they're chatting anyway.

 

I'm staring, taking way too long to figure what to say. She seemed to calm down, after a bit, must have sussed I'm zoned to fuck. She keeps looking around the place, dumping her handbag down and looking around the flat for something. Or someone! She stared at me again, looking lost for words. I was hoping I hadn't taken a dump in the sink again.

 

You fucking bunch of fuckers! I'm busting my guts in some minimum wage piece of shit and you lot just fuck around all the fucking time, she says to me. Why me? I don't fucking know. You all just don’t give a shit!

 

I didn't know what to say. I shrug and try not to smile. She’s in a proper bad mood.

 

Give me a pull on that, she says.

 

Sure, I say. Passing her the joint, still a bit left, some tasty smoke. I'll roll another in a bit, I add. She'll think I'm not being a tight cunt.

 

She shakes her head at me, saying, That's your solution to everything. Where's Bob? she asks, out of nowhere. As if I fucking know, I can't even keep track of him.

 

I don't know, I go. I think he's still asleep, pointing upstairs.

 

What? He had work at four. He's on shift, isn't he? she asks me.

 

I shrug. Fuck knows. Why does she keep asking me all this shit? Fucking weird. I didn't even know Bob had a regular shit job like everyone else. I didn't say all that though.

 

She chuffs some more, looking hot in her chavvy warehouse clothes. Weird kind of tracksuit material dress. I love a chick in Adidas, though.

 

She smiles at me for a split second, sizing me up. She seems skilled in sizing up randoms, giving me the proper lazy eye.

 

Well, I go to her, I think Bob will be around soon.

 

No shit, she smiles. Real sexy smile, too. I'm getting a bit hard. She's relaxing. She says to me, I bet you don't remember my name?

 

I smile and shrug again.

 

She gives me that moody screwface look and says, What the fuck you do?

 

Great! This classic one. I try to explain: I'm a DJ. Sort of. I don't bother explaining too much anymore. I'm basically unemployed, I doss for whatever, they know it really. And I got used to not working. I can't be fucked to go on and on. What type of DJ am I? I don't fucking know. I have fuck all technical ability, I can't mix too great, can't flip them like Flirt, can't double drop like Mampi and can't do no crazy multi-deck thing like the original three-deck set don, Carl Cox. He was doing all that kind of thing when I wasn't even born.

 

Anyway, to cut it short, I'm fairly shit. I never had any turntables of me own, always had to borrow them and I had so many shit mixers too, I’ve lost count, so I couldn't wait to change the decks for some software. I suppose I'm the type of DJ who's true to the real meaning of it all, that kind that play you old records and hope no other fucker can remember them or can get hold of them! Yeah, you know the type?

 

Where the fuck are me kids? Bungle Bob's bird suddenly says to me like I'm fucking Supernanny!

 

What can you say to that? I have to be honest, I wasn't really checking on them, but I think they took the last of the Pot Noodles and Doritos and went to Kirsty's flat upstairs. Is it Kirsty or Kelly? I can't remember. I don't say shit and shrug again.

 

She shakes her head and does that weird West Indian tongue clicking thing, it looks real sexy when white chicks do it too, they watched too much shit from the US. That and too much skanking! She took out her battered iphone, texting super quick, pulling her dark hair out of her face. I can see why Bungle digs her. She's pretty fuckable in a I know what I'm doing with your cock amateur porn star vibe. I bet she still goes dogging with Bungle Bob. She had to be twenty something but she looks young for a bird who got four kids. Bet she's got a right bucket. Need to get me fist and cock in there!

 

I'm laughing to meself, she's looking at me again. Shit, I better think of some shit to say.

 

I don't know why you bother with the shit job, I said. I wanted to help. Those hash cookies fucking spacing me to shit.

 

She shrugs real beaten, Nor do I, it gets me fuck all. Just bills and grief. I need to sort those tax credit things, she tells me as if I can do something about it.

 

I go, Fuck, it's all a waste of time. Might as well be on the scam for a bit then knock out a bit. Tops things up, like a tax credit the taxman don't know about. Everyone does it.

 

Well, you may like getting done all the time, but I'm pleased to have a shitty job. Yes, it's shit, yes, it's a real shitty tough job for a really shitty company. I can't work all hours, but it's a proper shit job, but I fucking need it. I want to be with my kids, thick-shit. Who else going to look after them? Did Bob take the kids to school?

 

Fuck knows, I say. I try to smile again, but she's boiling under the skin, I can tell.

 

It's just they'll be around again, she mumbles. She rubs her face, like she's lived a thousand lives. Looks up at the mould around the kitchen window. Goes to me, Skin up again, I think I'm going to need it.

 

Sure, chill out, we all need a toke, I say. I shouldn't've added the Chill out, too.

 

She loses it.

 

DON' FUCKIN' TELL ME TER CHILL OUT, Y'FUCKIN' CUNT!

 

That fucking settled it.

 

Sorry, dude. I'm, arrrrgh, well, you know?

 

She shakes her head at me, then says all this: I don't give a shit if you've snorted up Saturn and got Pluto up Uranus. Fucking hippy old skool raver fuckers always pissing me off. Fake kooky tight ass fuckers, just like you! Always someone else who's paying, isn't it? I'll kill Bob when I see him!

 

I don't care, I ain't Bungle Bob. I'm thinking about the electro-tech house night I might be going to tonight. Bob already got the tickets without telling his breeder ladyfriend here. It sounds wicked, quality line-up. Mylo might be there and John Digweed’s supposed to be doing a set too. Be wicked to see if Coxy's there, I can't remember the line-up. I'm sure it'll be wicked. I'm sure I caught Oakenfold a couple of weeks ago at Ministry and he smashed it, fucking really having it. I was off me head, but I get flashbacks of the vibe. I got photos too, all on me shitty photowall reminding me how fucked I am. I should get back to reality, I do it a lot, don't ask why.

 

Oi fucker, says Bungle's bird. Yo mate? You still with us?

 

Sorry, I say, zoning out a bit. I think I'm going to a have tea, I mumble.

 

Skin up first. I'll make the tea, if I can find some fucking cups.

 

Cups? I go, thinking if I've seen any cups here before. I didn't know they had some cups here.

 

You know, she goes to me from the kitchen, I'm not this uptight all the time. Bob stresses the shit out of me, you know?

 

I don't know, I say. Why the fuck she chatting to me from the kitchen? Fucking weird that. One of those middle-class things, maybe? I don't know.

 

Yeah, well, you're a total fuckhead, aren't you?

 

Yeah, and? I go. I start laughing, I can't help it.

 

Why don't you buy your own fucking shit then? I joke.

 

Bad move. I think she might lose it again, but she suddenly laughs one of those sarcy your cock's probably tiny laughs. Only ladies can truly master it, though I'm sure some poofs pull it off, too.

 

Why don't you find another fucking house to fuck up?

 

That's a good point. I struggle to think of something to say to that.

 

After a silence which has to be seconds, it feels like hours, I answer her, real slowly, as I'm a bit fucked.

 

I think Bob's cool, I say, I'm cool, we like to get fucked up on a lot of drugs. A lot of the time. We always get fucked, like, you know, proper off our nuts. We don't do much else, so I'm cool with it. Bob's always getting fucked, ain't he? We got to get on it for real, even if he's secretly a Charlton fan and I support Leyton Orient, right?

 

That last bit was a failed joke! I only say Orient as they are cheap to see, it ain't a con. Ain't well serious over football these days. I do find QPR funny, though. And me mum did have some family from around that way. Weird they all support Chelsea, isn't it? Fucking glory hunters!

 

She hasn't said anything, just slamming cupboard doors. I can feel the anger. The brewing tension of some proper messy anger fucking.

 

Yeah, she sobs like a fucking little kid. She's proper crying, like real fucking tears man! She ain't making the tea, she can't find the cups. Fancy crying over some fucking cups when the world's proper fucked, ain’t it? Even when things seem good they're still shit really. Money stuff, just fucks people right up. I'm looking for bowls.

 

I don't mind if you want to use a bowl, I say, just trying to make things better.

 

Who wants to stress about pointless shit like that? She's proper crying now, I can't make her stop. She snots up some tar coloured blood-bogies, saying to me some speech thing. I can't hear it all, I'm still looking at the weird bogies on her face, but she goes something like this:

 

Why are all these random fuckheads fucking our house up? I got to bring my kids up here, you know? I got lots of shit on, my job gets shitter thanks to this shitty joke rich posh boy government! Jobs were already shit enough, under the last load of cunts, before all this global shit fucked things up! I just don't get it all! Now I got to get my head round all this when I get back. Place always looks a fucking state! Bob's a total fucker, you know it, don't you? Even though he's a lot of fun to be with, he can be a fucking selfish cunt!

 

Can't we all be cunts? I think. I don't want to say it. I know I can be a proper cunt. I ain't really feeling this emotional kind of shit. She's chatting away in the kitchen, I'm zoning out. I see some old toy, a fucking pull along telephone with proper bugged out eyes. Freaks me a little. It looks like it's got dried shit on it.

Fuck, I feel bad, so I think about fucking her. Then it hits me, the fucking stoned rat I am: what the fuck did Bungle's bird's say her name was? Shit, she might've said it, maybe she's waiting for me to ask her. I don't know. She can't know me, can she?

 

She stares at me from the kitchen. I want to fuck her over the counter. She's juicy. I bet she goes like - She just appears from the kitchen to just standing right in my face, like looking real pissed off.

 

Hey you, fucker, you hear what I've been saying?

 

Thank fuck she's wiped those snotty bogies away. Want to fuck? I say, thinking fuck it why not. She'll slap me or walk away. What's a loser like me got to lose?

 

She sighs, looks at me. Rubs her eyes, chuffs the joint, from the side of her mouth, roach squeezed, it's real sexy. Silence creeps in again, proper fucking awkward. Someone puts Deep Deadly Subs on upstairs, what a fucking tune! Choooooooooooooooooon!

 

You got some more gear too? she asks me.

 

Fuck yeah! I go. I'm already getting a semi!

 

She hops up on the counter and spreads her legs. She's got no panties on.

 

Well? I ain't got all day fucker, she says.

 

What? I mumble, all monged out. I think I might be drooling.

 

Let's go then! she snaps.

 

Fuck, it's like that! I think thank fuck Romance got fist-fucked a long time ago. I love the easy shitty vibe of the 21st century, just makes things so much easier. More real, you know?

 

I get me slimy dick out and start swinging the half-stiffy in her direction.

 

She grabs me head and pushes me towards her sweaty cunt. I love that fishy-juice taste. Shame me teeth are a bit fucked. She tongues me dribbly cock after I've licked her pussy out and licked her arse, I don't mind tasting shit. It's not like I'm into all that but when you’re getting fucked, it's all worth it. Me taste buds are fucked anyway!

 

Where's your johnny? she says.

 

Shit, I got to think. What I going to say. She already knows the answer. No way! Don't go all NHS on me now, babe!

 

It's got a cloaking device I say, trying to make a joke. She probably don’t dig Krust either, so she don’t get me joke. I ain't buying a shitty rubber.

 

She shrugs, looking around. Then says, Oh, fuck it! Just get on with it!

 

I lick her out some more, twisting her fat tits too. Really pinching her giant nipples. Wanna see some squirtage, nipple and fanny juices ahoy! You can tell she's popped out some brats. She's taken off all her togs now, she's naked on top of the breakfast counter. I stick me cock into her real speedy and get real angry, as me cock’s proper swallowed up by her gigantic chasm of a cunt, so I feel the anger getting me pumped and rapid fuck her massive juicy cunt. Sticky slapslapslurp sounds like mad, me balls spanking against her arse. She don't seem to mind. Must be a session upstairs, as Deep Deadly Subs gets mixed into Hooligan 69. Oh yeah, fucking stick on Spliffhead next people!

 

I almost forget about her, Bungle's bird, I'm really getting into the vibes from upstairs. She's going to me Ooh, you dirty fucker, don't you fucking stop! Doing that breathless mouthing shit! Really sweet. She must be a regular on Pornhub! I'm loving it though but I think I'm going to cum real quick.

She smiles and says don't worry, it's cool. Shoot it then. No wonder Bungle Bob loves her, she's well alright. Hooligan 69 gets dropped in and I can really feel it, unless it's a proper tricksy mix. I’m buzzing like a bee in lovestuff heaven!

 

Go on then, cum in me then! she snaps. What a mongrel! Bow-wow-wow, I’ll be your dog, bitch!

 

I do as I'm told. Trying not to do me Bruce Campbell sex face, it's fucking tough. I shoot my load and start kissing her real tough, like I'm a zombie-chewing her mouth off. She's stuck her middle finger up me arse, really wedging it up there. Her chunky sovereign rubs against me crusty rim. I never been queered up by a bird before, but it feels wicked. Don’t make me a proper poof though, fuck all that. I pull me dribbly cock out of her juicy cunt. Fucking funky spunky shitty smells surround us, some real wicked vibes and a massive buzz to boot.

 

I don't know why I'm still feeling pretty horny, and not too tired. I look at me cock, it quivers, thinking about getting going again. Me heart pounds like I just ran the London Marathon like Usain Bolt. What a buzz, what a wicked way to snuff out too! Ain’t peak, ain’t standard, just fucking buzzing like a motherfucker! BUZZING! ZINGZINGZING! Fucking funky crime people! It turns me on, I'm a sick fucker, what can I say? We look at each other, her middle finger’s still up me arse. We start kissing like zombies again, real angry and powerful clinches. Me mouth's getting all sore and dried out, I think me lip’s bleeding. I can’t go down on her again, not with these sores on me lips now!

 

Gives me an idea though! I suddenly start to fist her like mad! Yeah, she's loving it, really twisting her middle finger up me arse a bit more. I think I'm going to shit everywhere and I'm sweating, even though I got me some real fishy fingers! She screams in pleasure or pain, she don’t want me to stop though, grabbing me hand to force further up her giant cunt. She pops her finger out of me butt and stuffs it up me nose, then in me gob. Tasty! She then wants to kiss me now, what a power clinch. What a fucking freak! I accidentally hock a huge gooey phlegm-ball in her mouth as we're doing the classic Frenchie. She don't even mind, what a lady! She must really want to fuck!

 

Gets me thinking about other shit. Odd gear I done; I'm hard again real quick right after shooting me load. Not burning up like with that PMMA shit. I start to fuck her again, me cock moving like some hot rod, I'm finding a riddim, going all slow this time. I got a idea I'll probably struggle to cum this time. Need to get me fist back into play, her cunt real tasty, but I'm going to need some lube. Nothing better than a cunt-splitter: no fucker likes it dry. Near the kitchen counter there's a small bottle of olive oil, I guess it'll do.

 

I slap it on, fucking sweeeeet! Fuck it stinging, it's soooo worth it. I might be dead tomorrow, who really knows or cares? I then start fucking her some more. My cock starts burning up, I think it's trying to talk to me. Not another dick chat again!

 

She huffs, after a few more minutes, maybe longer, I ain't going to lie, I got no sense of time no more. Fuck, she's getting the friction burn and a fishy smell really starts humming. Anyway, she tells me to fuck off. She's got to find her kids.

 

She picks up her clothes, real casual, then finds her mobile. I want to get the old cottage cheese in the fridge slapped on me dick to cool it off and fuck her some more. I look around for some meth and offer her some. She gums a bit then shakes her head, her mobile beeps, as she slurps the text up with those watery worry eyes.

 

She says to me, You know where me kid went to again? Kid with ginger looking hair? Called Callum?

 

I'm like lost for words, looking well blank. Me mind has blown and there's fuck all left worth remembering. Apart from some wicked tunes, you know the score with that right? I look around, I need some food. Shit, I can't remember, I can’t think for shit, I say to her. You know I can't get rid of this downer buzz, I need to find Bungle Bob.

 

Yeah, she says to me, let me know if you can think, I know it was a while ago. I've got to start getting things ready. Do you know what Bungle's up to?

 

I don't know, I tell her, I really don't know. I think that Bungle never tells me what he's doing unless he's got something lined up and he needs me to chip in. I reckon I need him, I’m running out of shit too.

I hear crying. I look by the stairs and I catch his bird all curled up, still sweaty and naked, hugging a teddy, her mobile, her clothes in a heap. I won't sneak a pic.

 

Can't think where I put me mobile anyway. She's crying, fucking proper crying herself to sleep. I feel like shit, and it real rare for me to feel like shit, like I always think of me. You go clubbing a lot, you think of you. It's always a big night, it's always the best line up, but in reality there's always another rave. The rave never dies, it's eternal. It will always go on. For me, I don't care. It's a way of life. I don't work around clubs really, not the big ones, but I ain't yet made that clean transition from Raver to DJ. It's a tricky one. Raving is life, you get me?

 

I listen to radio shows sometimes when I can remember to lock in though; I hear some of the stories. It's tough for me to think of other things. My memory proper shot to shit too! I think I need to get out this bum trip. I need to find Bungle Bob for her and he'll sort me out. First thing I got to do I'll track down the kid. No, I won't I'll get some food. I need to eat, I ain't ate in a couple of days. I'm going to shit pebbles for weeks. I always overdo the laxatives and I can't do fruits, me stomach won't have it; I can't stand them hot burning shits in me age! I don't know about getting some takeaway, got better things to piss money away on though.

 

I look at Bungle Bob's bird crying. Probably a bad time to ask her name! It's fucking with me buzz. I want to hug Bungle's bird, but I don't want to creep her out. Yeah, I'm well battered, I go into the kitchen and search for food. Yeah, fuck eating any cheese. I might slap it on me sore dick but I can't force that shit down. I think me dick is dribbling, it starts talking to me.

 

Why the fuck is me dick talking to me? I hope it's normal; I used to talk to me dick when I was a kid, that's cool right? Doesn't every bloke do it at some point? Not like it got a name, I ain't that sad. Being a right dribbleshit on me. It sounds like some kind of old jazzy blues man. A bit Bleeding Gums Murphy, a bit Rema-Dee. What a legend, rave vibes narrator and creator, a true old skool legend!

 

Hang on, I'm getting mashed. Me dick points up at me, I can see a tiny little face on me foreskin smiling like a tiny demon, as if it'd been pilling for days, like proper dinged dingered bennied beano'd up. I laugh and laugh, laughing so much it starts hurting. Tears everywhere, my eyes!

 

Me dick, the dribbley rotta, whispers to me, Hey man, whatcha doing there? You hear me, fucker?

 

I think I'm dreaming it all. I don't think I can handle me dick talking to me. Fuck crazy, dick tripping, it all getting proper unreal. I ain’t obsessed with me cock, so why it tripping on me? I rub my eyes till they get sore.

 

Munch vibes. The dribble rotta thinking of a different food, pussy juicing too. I need to eat, it’s been a week. I ain’t took a shit either. The bread on the side looks stale. I bite into the bread and it explodes in my mouth, fucking canes me teeth. Tastes like cotton-wool mixed with grit. Tastes well shitty, I can’t swallow it, like eating glass, Hobo with a Shotgun styley, but I hock it out in a big ball. I try another bit and it like barb wire or that wiry wool shit. Fuck, gonna gag and puke but I hold it in. the bread like a stale ball of gooey dust in me gob. Fuck, I need to eat. Like a good pro, I swallow it all up, burping. I look in a manky cupboard and I spot the bag of nuts.

 

That's one big mistake. Old cupboard, probably old nuts left over from Christmas. Secretly I'm crying out for a Bombay Bad Boy. I got some Potential Badboy vibes trapped in me mind, love Roadblock! Should drop some of Jungle Splash sets but I am bugging. Just makes me move and still need to eat, me stomach's trying to eat me inside out!

 

Can I find enough change for a kebab? I think about a McDonald's. It's cheaper than chips. Problem with fast food shit has to be shitting it all out again in an hour or so and I'm hungry again. I've done too much shit, it fucks me stomach.

 

Sometimes I fucking hate food, I really do. I'll eat, but I'm not mad about food. Processed food can kill you over time, just like anything else, though it's more dangerous than some illegal drugs. I think about the Chicken thing. I don't know, the mayo reminds me of cum. I don't know if I can handle it. Best stick with a burger. At least I'll shit it out and not puke it, I fucking hate puking. I puke way too much.

 

You know how things go. I got a quid for any burger now, I'm ready. I find fifty pence on the floor. It can go towards some more Rizla. Anyway, I take the nuts down, I'm really hungry now, so fucking hungry I'll go cannibal, I got to eat something or I'm going to pass out. Fucking bags, always a struggle to open. That's like getting into anything in the 21st century but everything what should be simple gets all complicated! Then stuff what's proper complicated gets even more fucked up and tough to suss. Fuck all still works. I can't even open a bag of fucking nuts. I must be fucked.

 

I'm getting that blurry feeling, the feeling where your body goes into auto shutdown mode. I should've stuck with the original plan, innit. A Pot Noodle, big bag of Doritos and scam a banana off the stall thing going out of the little shop. Some random waster has stuck on an old skool Funky Flirt set with Shabba D, fucking banging. I don't know, maybe I'm getting me dates mixed up. Maybe I am just hearing it. I'm sure it got to be Sunday. Yeah, time must have really zipped. I don't know where it's gone.

I decide to go out, fuck how I look, I know I'm a state but fuck it, I can take it if I'mtold I look a fucking state! I need to fucking eat. My stomach is going on a mad one, fucking proper stomach Acid rave with Tony the Tiger fucking Bree Olson in there. Think Alien will burst out any moment too. I can't handle it, I got to eat something. Anything will do.

As long as it ain't shit! I'm chewing at the bag, me mouth slobbering all over it, me teeth get well sore, like they're about to fall out just chewing this shitty bag. All to get it open, fucking crazy! It's just like the old saying they don't want you to get into it. Finally, I make a little hole and eat one nut. Shit, tastes strange.

Don't taste nutty. I walk down the street some more, I've walked down this road thousands of times but I've forgot everything, fucking nut mind-wiped me to shit. I eat some more and I'm a drooling mess, coughing out bits of nut caught in my teeth. I'm hearing a Slipmatt set from when I was just getting into raving like real proper getting into it all, I thank fuck time's just tripping me out.

I'll be fine after a Pot Noodle and a few beers. I stagger away thinking, where the fuck am I going?

That's it, where the fuck am I? I look around, don't recognise it. Are they Bungle Bob's trainers? He only wears Reeboks. I must have seen him last night. What the fuck went on? I try to chill a bit, get me head all clear. I get distracted as Uncle Dugs blasting through the online radio-player thing, feel a bit gutted I missed Gerald, too. Anyway, I must be doing all cool if I remember random things like that. Uncle Dugs pumping out some old skool, a bit of Strings of Life, fucking wicked. Makes me feel a bit more like me! Time just flies, always lightspeed when you're having fun!

I got some random tune mix in me head again. I don't know, got to be from a mixtape, probably Nicky Blackmarket at Helter Skelter. Fucking look around in some sort of bedroom, I'm wearing a fucking onesie that I slip out of. I got jeans under, it cool, I don't wear furry fucking onesies!

Fucking battered HDTV in the corner with Playing it Straight on mute. That show is fucked up, but we do anything for cash, don't we? Fucking mental! I can't help laughing at it. I would love it if one contestant, man or woman, just fucks them all. Make much better TV. I wouldn't mind fucking the bird who presents it. She's like a real porn star presenter!

I just clock I'm in me boxers. I look down on the floor and there's a skagged up looking bird passed out down there with a butt-plug jammed up her arse. She's caked in lube and chocolate sauce. I rub my eyes. I want me meth. I find me clothes, the tattered Danger Mouse T shirt and some old Levis and get dressed very quietly. Find me soggy socks and me old Converse, too many holes in them these days. What the fuck happened? I don't even remember getting into that poser club Fabric. Last thing I remember was fucking Bungle's Bird, then thinking about trying to look for her kid, eating some nuts then going out sparko. I'm out for the count, right?

Proper K.O. What a fucker! I'm pissed off. It's happening more as I get older. Fuck it. I find some MDMA in me pocket and a crushed zoot. Where all the rest of that MD gone? Must be doing it quicker than I can remember taking it. Sure I had some more weed somewhere, that ain'ta problem. I got to try putting me sock on without waking this young Pat Butcher. Fucking crazy dyke. How the fuck it all happen? Who the fuck is she anyway? I look around the place. Just like any other flat. Maybe this was the place the kid went? I don'tfucking know, do I? I got to wake her up to ask her. She might get angry. I hate waking people up.

In me panic, I find those old nuts. Fucking things. Those nuts really REALLY fucked me up. There's only a couple left, I must have munched most of them. I find me mobile in my pocket but the fucker has run out of battery. Fucking shitty smartphones, need to carry batteries round with you all the fucking time. Fucking battery, they're all so fucking shit.

Weirdly enough, I'm still hungry. I take a leak in the cramped dirty bog, clumps of pubes and lube everywhere. The toilet handle's all greasy. I wash me hands, but the water seems to be trickling out. It makes me dick tingle. I look down and me dick seems to be smiling at me. Not this again, I got to get out of here. I hear snoring. I got out the bog and see the pat butcher kid stirring. Fuck she might want to go again. Just then I clock a Carl Cox mix of a jungle track I forgotten the name of. Ain't heard since I was real young. I got to stop going back into the past. I need to find Bungle Bob. I think he's around here.

Where am I? I ask Terrorhawk girl. Got Voyager's tune stuck in me head, too. I dig him and Dexcell, I don't mind them all really, even a bit of Annix. They're only fucking kids, too. Weirdly I'm mixing it all up with some old skool Pooch.

 

Trust, Pooch a fucking don!

 

Ugh, what the fuck! she says to me.

 

She then pukes weird purple blackish puke. Wow. If I'd ate anything more, I would've puked with her. But I don't. Don't ask why, I really don't know how I didn't barf a lung up. She's now caked in this slimy puke.

You want a tissue? I go to her, reaching for the last bit of bog roll on the floor.

No, it's fine. I'll shower now.

Rather you than me, babe, that bathroom might have something in lurking in there, I think.

I slowly figure that I might be smelling real bad. I think about joining her in the shower.

Me cock smiles, a real euphoric song called M starts to play - love it, love it. I'm getting harder than rock. I probably do stink, that'sfor sure, but I can'tremember me last bath or shower. That'snormal, right?

Go on fucker, get in there, says me drooling cock.

Why not?

I strip off and get in the shower with the rough dyke. She smiles, she's taken the butt-plug out of her arse. She's got a shiny cunt, she ain't got a hair on her. She's sniffing the butt-plug, it's caked in spots of shit. She then rubs up to me, there's chemistry between us. She takes some lubey shower gel stuff and starts rubbing it on us. It's like some cheapo shit and stinks bad, but I don't mind. I'm waiting for her to suck me cock.

I'll lick her out once she gets that gooey pussy sorted. Sure ain'tthe only cock going to be poking it recently, she'swell up for it. She moves out the shower and reaches into a bath bag on the window sill. She dries her hands and takes out a black little cocktail straw off the side and then a greasy wrap of bashed bugle.

She smiles and puts some of the bugle on the end of the straw and tells me to blow it up her arse. I smile, thinking sure, and I put the straw up her butt and blow the bugle up her sore arsehole. I think she digs that a lot, wriggling her butt, making weird groaning sounds.

 

We had some weird freaky-deeky wriggly wiggle-sex freakout in the shower. She seemed well-prepared with the cocktail straw. Must be a real cool party trick, it's probably the only time she gets any weird arse play - I don't know how often she does this! Hoping she ain't got herpes. I might have though, I not too sure.

She shat some dark runny shit over me balls too. Lucky for me, the shower was still on and it washed all away. She smiles at me, still getting all jigglywiggly with me. I pull me cock out of her shiny fanny, don't want to cum in this bitch, think I'm going to shoot me load over her rack and stick me sore cock in her gob.

 

Then the door gets kicked opened. Some huge lady just standing there with a shaved head, dressed in a blokes suit, looking well horrified. I'm hoping we didn't get up to anything with her last night as well. If only I could remember. She screams at the Pat Butcher kid.

 

Kirsty, says Pat Butcher Kid, it's cool, he's fine. I'm cowering in the corner as Kirsty starts whacking the Pat Butcher Kid in the face. Kirsty must be Bungle's Bird's neighbour from upstairs. What a mental night! I told you I'm a slow fucker. My cock laughs at me, leaking pre-cum all over the dirty shower screen. It wants to shoot.

 

Oh shit, here we go I think.

 

Sharon, that must be Pat Butcher Kid's name, as this dykey Kirsty hisses, picking up the shit covered butt-plug, proper ramming it in her face, and saying to Pat Butcher Kid, whispering real menacingly: this is fucking mine. THIS IS FUCKING MINE!

 

FUCKING MINE! she screams again for some kind of dramatic dykey effect. A bit pointless. Totally lost on me. Sends me ears ringing! It don't need to be like it. She watches too much TV, too many soaps and all that fucking reality shit, proper dull. Ain’t even porn.

 

Might as well make porn, might think about paying the TV licence then. I got nothing against lesbos and poofs though, I love them they know how to have it right out, and they always buy up shitloads of gear. No I ain't got a bad word to say about anyone, just ain't me thing.

 

And some of them just hate me for no reason, don't ask why, they can always tell your straight, even if things are getting random. Yeah, getting a bit random now. There's that weird chemistry going on when it's either going to go real violent or real fucked up. I'm just hoping for a easy one, you know, a real chilled out vibe. Just laugh it off and we all go away and never see each other again.

 

It don't go that way. Sharon starts crying like a little kid, really going for it, snot and blood dribbling out of her nose, in her mouth. She's trying to say something but she's doing that kiddy cry speak so you can't make a word out what she's saying. Kirsty wipes her fist, disgusted by us. We broke the unknown commandment of Never Use a Stranger's Butt-Plug. I've seen the look a million times, I'm immune to it. Fuck it, anyway. If I was bothered, I'd be doing some shit dullsville job with just meself to worry about, busting me arse for shit money for forty plus hours a week.

 

Kirsty seems to be staring at me hard. I hope she might want to suck me off. I got dressed quick, then I start to roll a joint, really packing it. I need to sort me head out. I wouldn't mind some real decent trips, be fucking real cool. Sharon's still crying. Kirsty glares at me, just brewing for a domestic.

 

You know Sharon then? Kirsty goes to me, right in me mush.

 

Yeah, I say. What else can I say to her? Who the fuck is Sharon? I'm guessing Sharon's the chick I woke up next to.

 

Kirsty looks tearful. In my face, she goes to me, You know she's only fourteen? What fucked up stuff you been doing with her?

 

I don't know, I'm not with it.

 

Kirsty does a little smile and nods. I can see that she read me quicker than a flyer.

 

I get para, she might call the pigs, or it's another dyke fight I'm hoping she's a little bi, as she really does look like a proper fucking dyke looking bitch. Kirsty eyes the butt-plug, real intense. I gulp, I think she might want some arse play too. With me batty instead! She gets close to me again. I hope she wants it, me cock keeps leaking cum and doing weird erection thrusts.

 

Can we talk about this, I go. No way is she fourteen, she’s shitting with me. I'm trying to think on the spot. I ain't cut out for it, I don't have the skills to pay me bills and I ain't up for quick thinking.

 

I'm looking for Bungle Bob, I say.

 

You too, says Kirsty. Join the fucking club!

 

I'm his mate, I add, hoping it'll give me some much needed kudos.

 

Put some clothes on Shazz, says Kirsty. Maybe she's softening a bit now.

 

Sharon's got the only towel wrapped around her. She's sitting on the toilet now, crying and blubbing. She then does a horrendous shit fart.

 

Yeah, I continue, getting cold, not really bothering with the covering up thing, I'm knackered now, I don't give a shit. This why I stick to milfs, you never get hassles but that vague are they sixteen, are they eighteen, are they fourteen. Fucking stress!

 

My eyes are getting flash floaters buzzing in front of them, making me squint real bad. I’ll be seeing shit soon, I can feel it.

 

I'm looking for Callum Bumfluff Kid, I mumble to Kirsty. Need something to drink, just some water, anything, I add, gasping.

 

Kirsty shrugs. She looks me up and down, saying to me Callum was round yesterday with some really trippy pills, and I think he wanted to sell them.

Callum's trying to find Bungle Bob for more, isn't he? What a shit, she prods me, saying, Selling shit to kids, mate. That's fucking low, ain’t it? She told me she didn’t think Bungle Bob was like that. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was me.

 

This time it's my turn to shrug, like real cool. Kirsty smiles, getting all flirty.

 

Yeah, it depends doesn't it? I say to her. She knows I know shit, that's why I'm asking. Those pills weren't that shit, she's playing me for some more. She probably knows it was me who gave them to the kid.

 

Yeah, says Kirsty, those pills were fucking sick! She looks at me, slowly licking her fat lips.

 

I don't know what ones the kid had, there's loads of shit about. You know shit, right? I laugh trying to joke. She's rubbing herself on me dick now. She's looking at me erection. She starts to slowly lick me cock, then nibbles me bell-end like a porn star. Fucking, really going for it real Glory Hole styley.

 

I'm in a bit of shock, like, really feeling the real cool feel of getting a bang on professional blowjob. I look up in slit-eyed toe-twitching pleasure and the Young Pat Butcher lookalike of the year winner, Shazz, rubs her tears away and starts giggling, fingering and fisting her massive bucket cunt, licking all her wet pussy juice fingers, getting real gooey. I'm sure me cock started laughing again, dribbling dribbly pre-cum in Kirsty's fat wet gob.

 

I wouldn't mind a porno on too. Kirsty really starts biting up me shaft, gobbling all me slimy cock up in one go. She's not bad for a lesbo bitch. A bit rough. She sure knows how to suck a cock. I suppose it's all that lesbo action with toys, right? I love lesbos, I really do!

 

Yeah she's pretty mental. I think I'm going to fuck up finding the kid for Bungle's bird. As soon as she licked me cock, I had a gut feeling I might get a bit lost. Fuck Bungle Bob, you're fucking tough to find. I'll never find that fucker!

 

https://books2read.com/u/3LGn7M

 

FUCKHEADS ANONYMOUS

 

Pass out somewhere, fucked to high heaven, like proper buzzing, fucking Mind Vortex's Hot Box hits me ears, real eardrumgasm! Need a bit of Slice n Dice. Good old Guv sorts it. Where did that door come from? Konichi's Hot Rocks not a bad tune too. This fucking club's a fucking maze! Hear Torchman's Highgrade Brunch kicking in, what a fucking tune! Torchy still smashing it, just like Potential Bad Boy!

 

Fucking proper banging, getting deep, getting darker, getting sicker! Yeah, I'm fucking buzzing so much I think I must've blacked out for a bit, I hope I ain’t zoned out. Impossible to zone out to a wicked set, unless I accidentally got greedy and dropped some of that crazy Ket shit. That DJ Pleasure tune smashed it too, I don't know why I'm so fucked, been playing it cool.

 

I get a bit more with it, gumming the last of some wicked MD. You know, I can't wait to catch Drumsound and Bassline Smith in Brixton, fucking mentalism. I’m proper fucked, but not as fucked as I normally get. Not that I remember too much. I forgot about doing me good deed for Bungle Bob's bird and for the little kid. What a fuckhead!

 

I start kissing some random bird. She's loving it, her eyes are all glazyhazy, real wavy, looking all around us. Ain’t a million star shines. In Your Eyes! Johnny Osbourne tip, Rockit! There’s barely an energy saver on in there, she spacing, proper vibesing.

 

She told me that she’s lost her mates too. She gives me the lines, we chat some shit, I can’t think what now. She's all like Yeah, yeah, fucking love you sooo much babe! She ain't twenty-five, she got to be over thirty, but she still acts young, I'm all cool with it. We score some more mandy, need a chuff too.

 

Fuck it, I'm in the same boat, we're all going to get old! We're all having it. She bites me lip, she's so fucked, I don't even react it just makes me tingle. Kinda like kinky foreplay? Fucking all cool with me. Who on the decks? I ain't got a clue now, it's all good anyway. Bunter and the Twinz Killa Sound booms, sounds like the LionDub mix. Fucking wicked.

 

Better than the shitty world outside, innit. Problem being that the world always seems to be shit. It just stays that way, all the fucking time. In this weird mind world I trip out, sleepy dream raving. The Bagpuss effect. I must've looked scary as fuck. I'm buzzing, I'm going for it. That Sigma remix of Friction's Stand Up comes on, getting mixed into that tune they done with Paloma Faith. Everyone loves Rudeboy even though it's always getting rinsed, I'm really going for it - just getting high off the people, a proper mental buzzing rush, like starting to trip off me tits; freaky floor says hello to me, nothing new there!

 

Fuck, nothing but a party! I remember not doing me homework and drawing a big fat penis in me book instead and giving it to my fit art teacher bird. She looks at it, smiles a bit, shaking her head. She's fucking hot. Suspended for fuck all!

 

Then, sometime later, she sees me in a pub, before another rave. We have drink, she comes to the rave, another banging Moondance, we get messy there, licking each other, just skanking, but getting some real chemistry flowing. Then, after the rave, we go to a proper hardcore after party, basically I’m fucking her on the dancefloor.

 

Next thing I know, I'm in a sweaty hotel room fucked off me face, pumping that hot art teacher bird, she's on top, plunging herself on me, really giving it some deep-pen style.

 

Fuck those were the days, I look next to me, it's Ren and Stimpy, they're just laughing at me, I offer them some pills for no money, like feeling real hippy loved up vibes, just pure fucking love vibes! They look amazed and a bit freaked out as if I’m trying to dose them. These pills aren’t dodgy looking pinks to make you pop. Not even fuck-up shit.

 

Think they’re just lovehearts. Yeah, feel real good, I wish reggae owed me money but I love it, no fucker owes a loser like me shit! NO MONEY,MONEY, MONEY! REGGAE DON’T OWE ME MONEY! FUCK MONEY! I'M ALL ABOUT THE LOVE! IT'S ALL COOL PEOPLE!

 

Shit I just clocked, why am I shouting? Security slip past me breathing like Darth Vader, I just smile a real long smile. Get a flashlight in the eyes for being happy. I think my jaw going to proper crush, amazed if I got any teeth left after this.

 

It all cool, though. I'm hugging Ren, scaring him proper, he gives me a dodgy looking shifty nifty for the dingers and tries to squeeze away from me. A nifty for lovehearts? Don’t make me laugh! Yeah bruv, serious, it’s five for a score! Stimpy just smiles, nodding at me, then the Ragga Twins get on!

 

Oh yeah, it's getting heavy now! Start chuffing that fat zoot I been saving. The Ragga Twins always smash it, fucking always, Ragga Twins about! The fucked pisshead fuckers can’t hack it, flake hard, it’s better to keep getting on it though! Too much mannish water and you know you’re gonna feel it, thing is they probably just had too much fucking Smirnoff Ice, the old trendy drink. They ain’t too popular now, but you do see the odd relic holding one. I still got that bag of nuts left, or were they fucking shrooms? I'm fucked, all I think is whoa-whoaaaah, woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

SQUEEZE ME TUNE SELECTER!SQUEEEEZZZEEE IT! Squeeze like titties every time, trust me! Must be shrooms, nuts don’t fuck you up like this.

 

I look around and see Jessica Rabbit in camouflage bikini and some proper tasty hotpants, sweaty camel toe and all. JEEEZ! Me dick's so hard it's peering out, pointing in her direction. I need another heavy zoot, it's all blazing now. Searching for me rizla and me johnnies. Drop some more beans, fuck it, getting real wasted.

 

Telling you, Ragga Twins smash it up with Kenny Ken and Jumping Jack Frost back-to-back. Brockie and Det going to be on, get with the legendary mash up. I'm shattered to shit now, I'm going to get all paralysed as I've taken a shit load of MD and I ain't stopped moving for fucking hours. The zoots turning me blood to tar, but it all good, fuck it. I don’t give a fuck!

 

I’m hoping Fearless will spit some more bars, too, looking forward to Herbzie and Eksman and IC3 and Shabba D, they can still smash it. Though I always check out other DJs and MCs like the original Dominator, Rob Blaze, Lady V Dubz, Macky Gee, Deefa, Blacka, Thunda Banton, Myst, 2Shy. I'm definitely staying for Brockie and Det now. Shit, no way, didn't know Roni Size here too, don't want to miss LTJ Bukem either. Doubt Hype and Andy C will turn up. Fucking bang on, though!

 

Look at me, on the screen, look like Fritz the motherfucking cat! Shit, I can't blink!

 

Blinking what? Every time I blink, the hours just vanish. Slip-time tripping! Time just whizzed, like superfast lightspeed time! I'm really going with the flow, smiling, hugging, kissing whoever. Just hugging and kissing random people I never met before, people who claim to know me and those just fucked like real mash up as well, just want someone to hug. Someone to love!

 

That's vibes for you, we all feel the love. No fucker's ever alone at a decent rave. You may have lost all your mates and dropped your mobile down the shitter, but you'll be there with some random having a proper emotional moment. Sometimes the random gets to be a hot bird, but most blokes what dig the raving vibe are proper chilled out. As in really fucking chilled! Yeah, all the green, all the decent gear gets us roasted, it's all cool.

 

Yeah, Fabio and Grooverider mash it up, the camouflage-bird loses interest with me. She digs I'm just a professional fuckhead and she does it only a few times a year, as she started to get all sobered up. And puke too much. Puke always wins, she's fucked, she can barely stand. Staggers back, then staggers away. She probably just clocked her mates have ditched her and she needs to get home to Kent or wherever. She probably has a respectable office job and has to get all done up in posh-pants in the morning.

 

She puked a lot. I never seen so much puke. Black purple chunky shit, fucking hell! Made me almost heave, too! It was too fucked, I had to get a picture. I helped her to the toilet. I gave her some of me water. She seemed shocked I wasn't trying to rape her and stared at me for ages.

 

We didn't say anything, she just said to me, Can I have another sip?

 

I'm like, Sure, whatever, it don't bother me!

 

She was all cool, she went all quiet. Ain’t too cool when you just seen someone puke their own bodyweight. I walked her to the exit after waiting with her at the cloakroom. She waved goodbye. Maybe she decided to go home. I didn't catch her name, I won't forget her though. I scanned the vibe with me fucked eyes, maybe I've been crying in the corner of the club for too long, I can’t see for shit.

 

I'm in the chill out area in a club called Oven Glove, full of jerky angry cock-head coked-up fuckers and uptight security dudes. No quicker way than to kill a vibe. Better vibes at that place in Vauxhall. Or was it in Brixton? Fuck it now, it's all cool, hospitals don't close! Well, you never know under this fucking shit government. Methxx starts to filter in, though I dig War on Drugs more, I got to say. Yeah it's making me rush like a mad motherfucker. Up there with Gridlok's new one, too. Goldie's meant to be the special guest – gonna go mental!

 

Next thing I remember is the mentalist rush, real junglist style worries in the dance thing. Dancing as if me life depended on it. Where the fuck am I? It's like being a super-buzzing fly, trapped in a proper hot place, but you feel like the coolest dude ever. Even if you're an ugly loser, you'll feel wicked, pure euphoria. Sure, you sweat like a fucker and you're well hot, in more ways than one, but you're feeling proper invincible. I want to be a raver god. Hog’s destiny is pretty clear people!

 

Sometimes I think I'm trying to live just like Bungle Bob, we're proper like each other. It all so fucking sick, the darkest fucking mash up ride. I blink to find I'm in Tesco trying to eat a doughnut, me lips and gums all chewed to shit, me throat so sore, I'm sucking on this doughnut like a Turkey Twizzler. Worth the buzz, though. I got a massive wrap of MDMA, ten Facebooks, couple of Instas, a few gees of bashed bugle and a half-oz of weed on me – along with a couple of hundred quid or so, five oyster cards, four credit cards, and three phones. I recognise the Blackberry but, fuck me fucker, I can't think who the fuck I am and where all this other shit came from!

Reload Now fucker! Thousands of things rush through me brain, it all goes lightspeed for a moment, like that random girl I met: skimpy top, little tits, tight little pants and geeky pumps, a right dub-hippy-step-chick. We smile, we kiss, we hold hands; we stare at each other for what feels like an age then we're hugging as if our lives depended on it!

Can I kiss you, she says? Sure, I'm like, fuck yeah! Proper cute that. We chew our faces off, then slobbery kiss each other for what seems like a proper long time, like time just goes in the blink of an eye. I brush a strand of sweaty blond hair out of her face. Well sexy that. I love a sweaty lady, nothing quite like it. She's sweating more than me. Then I think, Fuck, I'm sure I see Callum’s behind me, fucking cheeky fucker, how he get in here?

 

He smiles at me, going BO!BO!BO! Yeah, he's loving the vibe, Ragga Twins definitely blowing his mind, RTC de bout for sure! Co-Gee and Fearless on wicked form too, can’t wait for Bunter, Slipmatt and Dugs to mash us for the power hour. Navigator, Moose, Shabba Dan and $yda going to show up – yes, yes, you knows it!

 

I smile at Callum, nodding; the girl smiles too. Don’t ask why.

 

I go to ask her name, but she don't hear me proper and randomly chips off - fuck knows where to. Moves quicker than a fucking ninja! Maybe her lighter busted too. Happens to me all the time!

JUNGLISTS ARE YOU READY? BO!BO!BO!

I try to speak to Callum the Bumfluff kid, I've forgotten that I've been fucking his old dear for a while now, but me voice has gone all croaky. I sound like a fucked Toad out of 'Bucky O'Hare'. Proper old skool trippy toads man! I try to say to him, Yo, Callum, yo bumfluff you cheeky shit! Been looking everywhere for you, fool! Callum just sniggers, shaking his head at me. You see Bungle Bob then? I add, but I'm feeling real fucked. Me gob slowly turning to polystyrene.

 

Yeah, totally well loved up during that retro Rainbows of Colour mix with the old skool mix, like a DJ Rap Elevation set thrown in with a bit of the Serial Killaz mixing Johnny Osbourne’s Rock It and everyone loves Logical Progression, what a legend you are LTJ Bukem! Can’t wait for the back-to-back with Fabio! And I love that mix of Set Speed into New Dawn, fucking banging though I don’t think you can buy it!

 

I forget about Callum kid Bumfluff, I forget a lot and get lost in the vibe. I’m going up, up, up fuckers! Callum keeps laughing at me, as if he can read me mind, giving me that weird eye look, he’s proper off his nut. I hope he don’t go all queer and try to kiss me. I’m so loved up, I’ll probably kiss him back and be cool with it!

 

Easy boyee! he says to me, suddenly hugging me. Yeaaaaaboiiieeee! I think he just clocked it’s me.

 

I go, It’s me Hog, you fucking wasted rat! It's all cool! I say this all down his ear so he can hear me. Want a drink? I think I feel a tenner in me pocket, it’s got to be a tenner. I never have fives, they go straight away. I don’t think Callum can hear me too well. I laugh with him, slowly giving up. Callum’s still laughing at me, the mix getting fucked around with which means another DJ is coming on soon. I think fuck it, everything's always cool here, just jokes right?

 

Yeah, shit, I can’t think too well. What am I doing? I’m skanking and walking, doing the skank walk everywhere, sure I’m looking for someone too. I must be looking for Bungle Bob, he does a mean one-foot skank, but it’s clearing out now and I can’t see him for shit. The security blokes give me the old evil eye. They seen me, they know me, they know what I’m like. I’m hoping they don’t get me mixed up with some other dumb fucker, like Goofer.

 

These bouncers can always spot harmless loved-up losers like me. Maybe one day, they’ll let me go on the decks for a bit. I dream Andy C will be watching, just getting a feel of the vibes for a bit before another mentalist set, and he’ll hear me fumble around Hog style on the decks and sign me right up there and then. But it’s all a dream. I keep thinking that when I come down. I get a weird feeling, you know? It’s tough to say, but it’s a history sort of vibe, where I don’t have luck and I’m still clueless about the shit system here in UK. Cool shit like that don’t happen to people like me. Not in Blighty, anyway. Saying that, the dream deal happened to that Frankee dude, got signed by Program, didn’t he? But he’s an actual proper musician too and well talented. Not a chancer like me. Bet he’s got no software issues!

 

I stagger out of the club, drifting past paramedics and passed out randoms, the usual army of people with fliers, I can't believe they all still do that, but they do, I'm sure I see Callum again, having a sneaky puff behind the dumpster. Yeah, as I'm on me way to fast food land, to stare at the food and try to sleep for a bit, a couple of cops go past me, one looks like Donald Duck, the fat one looks like Porky Pig. I can't help laughing, a cottonmouth raver laugh, fucking quacky cracker pigs! Bo!

 

These cunt pigs just give me a proper evil, smell the raver fizz fuckers! Probably thinking they don't need another statistic. Reminds me of PC Pedal-Pants and Coconut Helmet Pig! His helmet was on so tight his head looked like a butternut squash spliced with some kind of coconut. Fucking funny pigs, aren’t they? Feel well sorry for them sometimes, what a shit job doing clueless politicians dirty shit.

 

Gets me proper thinking, though. I reckon that the fucking politicians should put them out of their misery on the war on drugs. Lost it time ago, they know, everyone knows that. Cocaine went seriously middle-class and acceptable in 2005 and it’s the kind of chemical ketchup that everyone can get pretty easily with varying qualities of strength.

 

Saying it, ask for a kilo of Moroccan Hash and you just might wait an eternity these days! The pigs I know, and I don’t know many, but those fuckers know I'm off me nut and I haven't had to pay the fuckers off, they all do that joyless paranoid stare. But I know these pigs wish it was back to the chilled out days when it was just quality acid, proper banging pills - none of this quad dropping shit - truly wicked whizz and decent smoke, weed and hash not all this skag and bugle, designer legit shit no fucker knows what it’ll do to you, and that crazy superskunk. Triptonite, fucking trippy cheese, it can fuck you quicker than a horny porn star! Fucking everywhere for them, not like it going away!

 

I’m not there yet, in the total fuckhead stakes. And to be really chatting to pigs about it, it takes someone with balls of kryptonite and a lot of bugle and skag money to come out and make a pig an offer when they bust you. I’m still annoyed that the politicians are proper out of touch and haven't sorted out the gear thing to take it off the pigs shoulders. I’m starting to feel sorry for them. They could stop me, get all fascist. But they know I'll just clog up the system, I won't change. I can't help laughing at that too, though. I didn't think it was too original. I can't remember who gave me acid and GHB together, though. I'll get the fucker if I ever remember!

 

Yeah, I remember who it was. I’m sure it was Bungle Bob dressed as Optimus Prime. Rockwell’s Detroit drops, it goes off. What a fucked up motherfucker! Bungle, you loon! I think he was all fucked anyway, but I remember hearing his voice. I'm sure it was then. Maybe it's another time. I says to him, mate your bird's looking for you, she needs you to help out around the house. Bob just laughs. He does the Regular Show thing OOOOOHYEAAAAAAAAAHHH!

 

We laugh for time, Bungle then goes into his impression of Patrick Star out of Spongebob Squarepants. FINLAND! He says it like loads of times, we’re still laughing. Then he tries to sell me more random beans. Why not, can’t we go halves? He nods and gives the word, he’s got a massive bag. Wait a fucking minute, OH MY DAYS! He's turning into Roobard. What a funny fucker! He's off his nut.

 

OH MY GAWD! Some bad tings, crazy shit, as Bungle says, like a proper monged spazzed up rudeboy. Look at my hands, I’m turning into fucking Dangermouse! Not again! Fucking hell! I knew it'd end up messy! I’m chewing my tongue up like calamari. He's had another psycho-meltdown thing. Fuck, I can't think what to say. Best to have one of those things off your nut. I'll get Callum and go back and hoover around. I need sorting but Bungle's everywhere. Fuck, he must be on another messy one.

 

Bungle tells me he’s going to see Benny Benassi sometime. I wouldn’t mind seeing him too. I thought he’d be up for Sanchez or catching 16bit again. I need to see AMC again too, I was off me face the first time. Another time, he tells me. He gets his tickets so quick it’s hard to keep up with Bungle Bob! He always gets sorted.

 

I’m sick of changing shitty nappies, Bungle tells me.

 

Don’t fucking have kids then, I go. What else does he want me to fucking say?

 

He laughs. All cool for you, Hog, he goes. You just love them and leave them! Bungle had to get that one in, didn’t he?

 

I nod. Half the time, I can’t really remember! At least I’m being fucking honest!

 

We laugh like crazy fuckers, like the Weasels out of Roger Rabbit.

 

What are you like you, fuckhead? Bungle Bob shouts down me ear, hugging me and laughing.

 

We’re laughing for hours, I can’t stop fucking laughing!

 

Then I wake up. I must have blacked out. Fuck. I hate when that happens. Where the fuck am I? Bungle’s gone. It’s Tuesday, isn’t it? I’ll switch on Kool to sort me mind out. I’ll flip between it and Origin. What happened to the weekend? Fucking mentalist! Me nose caked in blood bogies and there’s dried saliva around me chops. I feel fucked. I must have dropped some ket by mistake. I decide to go around to Bungle Bob’s bird’s place and clean up a bit. I leave wherever Bungle left me and I get the bus to her place.

 

I turn up and it’s still a shithole. The door open, shit up the walls, broken toys everywhere. Old TVs stacked up, all busted, worth shit. I look around for a sponge, a bucket and a mop. I can’t find a bucket so use an old Tesco Value Ice Cream tub and I find a load of ripped up cloths. Then I find some really old vacuum cleaner that keeps falling apart if you move it too quick. Fuck it. Still get it done. Stick on the radio, Blacka's creepy-creepy blasting, easy as! I start to clean the place up for her. It’s all I can think of. Maybe I have a guilty conscience? One of her kids might be mine, fuck knows!

 

I feel like shit, but doing this little thing helps me. I wish I knew how to fix her door, but I’ll look around for some glue or tell her to phone up the association to send someone to sort her door our for fuck all. Either way, it’s one fucking love for me. And I don’t want to get a call from the karma police, I got more shit to do, more raves to go, all vibes for miles for me people!!!

 

I think I’m getting high again, I can’t be coming up again. We Are I.E keeps blasting through me head. I got to get some vibes on. I think I’m doing some good for once. I ain’t just a fuckhead. I’m a good one. Then I puke. I puke a lot. It’s all purple and green.

 

Hello? Puke Kid speaks to me

 

Shit puke, you talking to me? I got to clean you up.

 

I clean up me puke, wiping me mouth with me socks, but I can see that the puke talking to me. After all it is a piece of me, I guess. It’s me very own puke child. Mini Hog Puke Kid.

 

Whazzgwaanin’? Puke Kid goes to me.

 

I don’t know. I’m clearing you up. You can stay in this bag. Don’t leak out on me.

 

I know you think you know it all, but Hog, you’re really fucked.

 

Tell me about it, I’m talking to my own puke.

 

Hey, don’t crack wise with me, fucker!

 

I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I thought I was just coming down but this shit got me, I need more MD to take the edge off. That Mandy was sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!

 

Shut up you, fool. You need some environmental mission. You need some goals with your life. You need to get a really fucking decent job.

 

That’s funny, yeah, real funny. I’ll dream on with that one. Why should I even try?

 

Don’t you want to do anything, Sebastian?

 

Shit man, you really are me! You know my real name! No fucker called me Sebastian for time!

 

Of course I fucking know you, you fucked up fucker!

 

Fuck Puke Kid, you’re cool, props to you! Even if I’m tripping my fucking balls off, I love you man. I really fucking love you.

 

I know, but you’ll have to help me. I need to grow and spread. We can be one, right? You know the ways of the Puke Kid? The system can’t hold me.

 

That’s it, man, like a karma zen deal. Fuck the system. Love that System Check tune. It’s like the way of the warrior, Warriors, come out to plaaaay!

 

Puke Kid don’t like me. I think he knows I’m tripping out and he don’t like the fact that he might not be real. There’s nothing wrong with chatting to your puke, just like chatting to yourself in the mirror. When you’re reminding yourself to get bog-roll and milk. Dull shit like that. Yeah, fucking read how it all rolls.

 

Puke Kid wibble wobbles in the bag as I finish the hoovering. Thank fuck for off licence bags. Fucking SAS probably use them to carry there shit when crossing borders.

 

Oi, oi! Think you’re a fucking rudeboy? Think you’re someone big? It’ll get peak I tell y’mo’fucka!

 

I can’t be fucked with the gang shit, I know some people like it, though. I’ll score off anyone you know that. Thank fuck Goofer’s going to be leaving me alone! I keep blowing that fucker off but I do feel sorry for him. He’s a dumb cunt really.

 

What? What y’say? Puke Kid goes, all angry. He’s starting to remind me of Goofer. Then I get the fear of having kids again. What if they turn out proper spazzed like Goofer. Goofball Goofer Gaz a.k.a Goofball Garry. You’re a fucking dumb muppet, dude. A fucking tool. I can’t look out for fucker like him. Everyone just laughs at Goofer, he’s always getting kicked out of clubs and busted all the time but we all think it’s funny. I fucking love and hate Goofer but wish I could do some shit to get him with the vibes.

 

Goofer’s still young, he’s only nineteen or twenty- something. I’m really mate’s with his older bro Darryl, but he’s inside and won’t be coming out for a long time. South East Asia and a shitload of cocaine was never a wise business plan for him, no matter how invincible he felt. Anyway, Goofer’s got loads of raves to blast, shitloads of drugs to do and have a wicked time not giving a fuck. For me a decade or more has just flown by doing just that.

 

And here you are tripping and talking to your puke in a bag.

 

At least I’ve cleaned the place up a bit. Now I got to bin you.

 

No wait! Puke Kid screams at me.

 

I managed to put Puke Kid in the wheelie bin outside. Like some Puke Abortion. I’m crying as I do it. It’s like a fucking funeral, fucking chemicals and weird feelings all surging through me. Puke Kid keeps trying to talk to me, but I got to try coming down, this shit proper fucking me brain up. I go back inside, I think about listening to some tunes. I stick on the old skool mixes, I even stick on Shamen’s Boss Drum.

 

I then take a real splashy shit. And after cleaning the shit splashes from the toilet, off the seat and the walls, I think I can chill out. That’s when Bungle’s bird comes back. She looks at me real weird, like she’s tearful but happy. I’m chilling here, I fucking deserve it! What a fucking mission!

 

Impressum

Texte: Al Calm
Cover: Al Calm
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.08.2012

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Peace, love, and unity ravers!!! ;)