Bat Shit Trekkin'

Fuckin' hell, whatta fuckin' lockdown? Shit about some bat flu on news, flu but not fuckin' flu, don't go out but still go out to get shit you fuckin' well need, right? I ain't gotta Scooby about our world anymore, it's all a load of proper fuckin' trippy shit, what kinda reality trip gone down? It'd help if I can be fucked to watch the fuckin' news but it so dull n gloomy, always fall asleep through it all. Like TV Valium, like all that reality TV bullshit, I don't get it as it not like real porn, I guess it kinda porn lite, I still don't get it. Though I'd totally watch it if it like actual porn, DVDA all kindsa mad shit, then ITV n E4 would have a real winner I guess.

 

I'm sure me comedown fuckin' me reality drift all up. Totally get it real heavy like proper fuckin' serious, so it real mad people snuffed it, but I don't get it still. It like far out bat guano flu? I think it a control vibe too – what else to keep pushin' people – though like Sweden, I didn't bother lockin' down. Good like gettin' any fine dollarino outta me!

 

I'm a zombie anyway. Took some synthetic shit straight outta China via Dam, made me feel real weird - all cloud like, float way, feel like me feet are fallin' off gotta lotsa pins n needles - man, me fingers slip through me brain. Shit even me can of Stella dissolves in me hand! Where it fuckin' go, keep puttin' shit down anyway, keep fuckin' forgettin' everythin', fuckin' mad!

 

Light another zoot, it a bit of Amnesia, chuff through the haze, as I look for me beer. Shit, where did that other beer go? Zoot gone out, but find another lighter super-quick, like sweet fucking as it a brand new Clipper.

 

Fuck it, me beer had got all warm anyways. Throat still fuckin' kills.

 

All fuckin' holograms, hear Bungle Bob laugh. Got some HPD shit, heard it about it off some thing online. HD? HTID? High Definition? Hardcore Til I Die sure heard of em but not HPD.

 

I drop some more piparzine, as it real cheap, got loads off it at Pets at Home, then I luckily find some wicked little Gold Bars – these are clean as fuck, the wickedest high, leave me door on its latch – fuck all there worth stealin' – sure me niece supposed to bop round, brats in tow, I don't givva shit no more – I'll text I''m out. I've gotta meet Bungle Bob.

 

After nearly blackin' out on shitty bus, scare everyone on there, me mask rolled around me forehead end up lookin' like Karate fuckin' Kid, so I tells it to Bungle Bob, all about fuckin' shut up bullshit, all over been locked up to shit.

What really goin' on? I ask Bungle Bob.

 

Bungle Bob shrugs and says: Fuck knows, Zol, can't be fucked to watch or listen to the news, too many plums chattin' shit - it hurts me fuckin' brain, like really fuckin' hurts - y' get me?

I agree with him, I need to score. Bungle Bob chuckles away, slurps on his whiskey – bottle a day some real a mad habit. He says he drinks more on furlough. Keeps Treasury happy though! We keep gettin' fined by jobsworths, keep tell us to watch news but we're blazin' it at parks, sun or rain. Even Plod don't bother explain shit any more. It all a fuckin' con – welcome to hypocritical Toryland.

Not like can handle these zero hour numbers - you need to be a soldier to handle it long-term, ring people up at a drop of a hat n all, even when I spark up another zoot. Contract should be king, let me chuff in me own time.

Fuck it all nowadays, fries me nerves - real pleased knock all the zero hour shit down - prefer to snore off whole world on Blighty's tax free allowance - definitely got a long wait for UC to go all UBI!

 

Shit Bungle Bob's really piled it on, he's ballooned. Never known a black man to be on the Jimmy Five Bellies diet plan It blatantly as he not doing as many decent pills, he piled on the pounds. Only clocked it. Bungle Bob a jolly fat giant dumplin', proper fatty boom boom, a real sweet sugar Shrek - even see his massive chunky cock through his saggy trackies, he always does it rockin' commando, tells me he saves shitloads of wedge on kippered boxers!

 

Well funny, though Bungle Bob a real legend. He always knows what goes on, even when fuck all meant to be on. I bop up to Bungle Bob, see him n think man, he like a giant now. He always tall, maybe I got a case of the shrinks, me knees always been fucked. It like Bungle suddenly gets much bigger n I'll vanish become small go invisible - whoosh away in a haze of smoke, though the psychedelic warlord got to be Bungle Bob.

Standard Zolly, Bungle Bob tells me. Sparks up a zoot. Chuffs hard, Bungle Bobs says: What a load of shit, Zee, you heard it? Rules on it all, fuck it. I hate it. I got a non-job, me job gone. I'm done. I always thought it a real safe job it fucked.

What can I fuckin' say? Rock n roll it like us? It'll be all cool Bob, look on the bright side bruv - least you can get totally mash up much longer now!

Zol Solar - Trust me, juzz a original sunnyside up fuckhead!

We crack up. We remember Chazz Chucklehead, he got real fried, went from worldwide waster traveller to porno full moon messiah – heard he got crippled in a car park in Croydon. Never see him about nowadays – God, only texted him other day if he had more Flakka. Salford John inside, fuckin' lost it so is Goofy Gaz n whathisface. It sad when people get fined n done every fuckin' time – only want a good time, they're real chilled too when it's cool, they're not naturally angry people.

 

Trollo bells me up out of blue, all raspy: Where in fuck's name are yer, Zollz?

 

What? Trollo?

 

What? Trollo goes all muffled, he chuffin' down blower as usual!

 

I stick me battered burner on speaker, to ask Trollo, Yeh man, where in fuck we meant to be at?

 

Trollo corpses, can hear him proper crackin' up like total full on hysterics. Coughs up a mad viral load of sinus oyster, hear him hock it all out.

 

Trollo, I don't remember shit! I yell down me blower.

 

Zol, you's a fuckhead, you never remember shit!

 

Yeh fuck it – what else gotta remember?

 

Trollo crackin' up with some static on me line, Bungle even laughs between slurps of whiskey. Sure, it true, I kinda been skivvin' a real long time, like real rock n roll hustle, too many shit jobs to mention plus no fuckin' pension – wing n a prayer really, it's all a load of shit anyway. I doubt I'll see it out till seventy. Not like want silver service, but I had it ages back with all this temp zero shit, it started to muck me head up - it kinda already fucked to be honest, but guess it another place, another time.

 

As Trollo chuffs, he says: I'm at Mel's gaff – it all cleared out, four tea bags, scoop of coffee, no sugar though Mel's got two hundred Blue Chiefs left. Lightish blue, not bad, like powdered gee-aitch-bee maybe mixed with bit of two-cee-bee?

 

Yeh, typical though save me some BC's – yeh, they weren't bad. Still same price?

 

Course, bruv, fer you's always!

 

Nice one – oh yeh, Trollo where in fuck was that other rave on? We'll meet you there later - I just met up wiv Bob, man, we're like gonna bop to Welham Green then go on a mosey.

 

Try to get to Moor Park later, you can bop it – some massive gaff between Northwood n Ricky, meant to be all goin' off – even got a port-a-loo!

 

Nice one, Trolly, cheers tippin' us, should be real cool. We'll try to make it, what happened to that warehouse in Clapton?

 

Think it got raided last week, heard fuck all since. See wiv it, gotta know promoter or can't get in – it like all hush, real eighty-eight vibes, I guess. Like a private club. I know him it all cool, he got another one lined up, I'll let you know so be all sweet wimme so don't be late!

 

All cool, it sweet, we won't. I was gonna bell Clive but dude always fuckin' moans about childcare, fuckin' leave brats get on wiv it but he won't! Bungle don't give a fuck.

Bungle nods; yeah man, he shouts through slurps, squirts be a right pain, if it ain't a Shambala don't bother takin' em! Fuckin' headshit fer sure!

 

Cool Trollz, cool, see y'later! I go as I hang up, hear Trollo in a coughin' fit as I hang up. Hope he OK, but then hope we all OK - I ain't gotta Scoob about muvvafuckin' shitty fuckin' bat flu. Ain't stoppin' me ravin' get shitfaced anyway. Stuck with Bungle Bob, he gonna start getting messy. I need to puke, it only way I can come up again. Puke out me guts. I fuckin' hate food anyway – I keep sayin' I only like fuckin' pills. Proper bangin' decent disco biscuits. We got to find Digby Dawood. Digby's got in more research compounds what are still only legal on a technicality. Beats more Chinese paint thinner again, bruv!

Bungle cracks up, he can't stop creasin', laughs like he on nitrous but we hate hippy crack fuckin' with our bangin' pills – these red Teslas don't fuck around. Our eyes poppin' outta our brains!

 

Hear bass, fuckin' love a messy house party. Fuckin' dead when we get there, no fuckers there, we thought it'd be packed. Huge open plan gaff, no fucker about, some teenager in a hoodie asleep on the sofa while the system got tunes on a repeat cycle. Jump up, load of shitty fart music. No wonder no one there. It not like a good time. We think about having a walkabout the gaff, the bedrooms all locked up maybe some orgy shit going on.

 

I try to ring Zippy, it's him who invited us but his mobile goes straight to fuckin' voicemail. Whatta joker! Trust Zippy to rip us up. We go in the kitchen, help ourselves to some drinks, there's much left. It been all cleaned out, fuck all in their fridge.

Looks like we're on the orange squash, Bungle.

Bungle laughs as he sparks a fat zoot, changes the tunes. Sticks on a Warpedcore live Calling the Hardcore mix off Soundcloud. All of a sudden, we feel buzzin' – Bungle takes out his pills counts em; girly-boy teen snores on the giant sofa, looks like they've pissed themselves. Maybe too much pink ket, who fuckin' knows? Anyway, we ain't hangin' here. I book a cab, piggyback their wifi off Bungle's busted phone, using some bird called Jodie's Uber account.

 

We'll see her later, Bungle Bob tells me - Jodie's all cool. Mature lady real intelligence, don't muck about either. I can't even remember her but Bungle says I know her from time ago, from way back when! Bungler Bob even tells he got footage of me eating out Jodie's sloppy pussy as if me life depended on it, but fuck me if I remember too far back.

Bungle slurs at me, Yeh man, bitin' up her pussy flaps, tryin' to stretch em while she pushed your head down. Later she stuck her finger up y'arse n shat all over place, real funny.!

Seriously? I doubt it man, sure I fuckin' known, I like to keep records of all me weird shits. Makes me worry about some fucked guy in U.S.A who farted outta his cock n shot outta his arsehole. Rectal ejaculation, can y' get it? Can anyone really imagine batty cummin'?

 

Bungle Bob cracked up for a while then reminded me that Jodie wants to us to get to some posh gaff near to Moor Park. Gotta keep doin' it as Bungle says lockdown plod lookin' fine people; fine without thinkin' about it all fine folk right off, walkin' n talkin' doin' jack. Plod are a mare, though I don't get any fuckin' lockdown. Costs a bomb in cabs but it not bad here. Bungle still creasin' up as he counts out a coupla hundred pills. Those beauties only fer today!

Yeh, Zol, if we get more, we'll weigh 'em, it a piss take count 'em all.

From upstairs stairs we hears some bangin' – maybe our orgy theory right on or someone getting' nailed in another way. We can't wait for this cab to get here. The cab meant to be here, but maybe we got the address wrong. Me eyes are fucked. All of a sudden Bungle gets another call, he mumbles n chuckles, puffs out smoke. Before I finish rollin' anuva zoot, Bungle stopped gassin' – like quickest trippy call ever!

Bungle says, as he hands me a lighter, It's Digby - he's drivin' with some protest dudes I dunno what it is climate anti-capitalist same old, we'll go to it then onto a lockdown warehouse in MK, Digby knows geezer who runs it all. Can't get in if dunno geezer, only way he'll sell a ticket.

Right on, protest then a mental warehouse, I say.

Yeh, Digby wants a lot of beans, more weed. I better call Trollo back about it.

Sure, let's get on it. We'll leave it here, place negs me out. Shall we check if piss kid all OK?

Fuck it they're sleepin' it off – gotta be too much ket!

Bungle, I say, as I pass him a zoot after sparkin' it, take real heavy lug n drain it good, I gotta be honest I can't get worked up hangin' around crusties, goody-two-shoes types. All kinda posh. Digby loves it don't he?

Yeh, I guess. Bungle clocks I drained zoot real good, checks me roach, cheeky fucker! Bungle shrugs n tells me he don't care.

Fair enough, guess it where Digby ponces his pees. He's always funny about dollars!

Bungle laughs, as we can't figure out what scam Digby got on he knows loads of rich connected middle class folks. They all live in big gaffs on leafy roads, near gated roads, private security cars whizz pass.

A car pulls up outside, slammin' of doors, gravel gettin' kicked - sounds like someone's playin' some Teki Latex set. Car got a real decent soundsystem!

Digby runs in laughs at us n says: Zolly, Bungle fuckin' trust yous still be here! C'mon guys, we gotta go! We gotta pick up a few more people first, It's a massive gaff in Northwood.

Sure, we'll go – leave some tunes for kiddo. There's no other fucker here.

Digby cracks up more, then tells us: Didn't see shitty order notice on the fuckin' door? Like a House ASBO, I dunno. Only the fucker who lives here can be in it? No one else! Dibble went past on our way up, lets get fuck outta here before they turn back. It's fuckin' lockdown but ain't stop no fuckin' protests! Did you go black lives matter? Fuckin' mad likkle party in Notting Hill after it, real good vibes!

Bungle looks fucked, staggers out. I can't remember it got so light, fuckin' day time already. I ask Digby: what time you gotta protest?

Digby shrugs n says, Protest time always a sharp shock, there's always a fuckin' protest in lockdown, Zolly! Digby laughs, tiny phlegm-balls hang in corners of his mouth; he probably ain't kipped in days, all on two sips of water – probably burns when he pees.

Bungle passes Digby the zoot which he drains in one toke, then stamps it out on the ground. We leave the anti-house party – begone downer vibes, it like the grime room at some youth club, really gets y' down when wanna get up up up!

Man, totally unreal car - it only a beat up Datsun Cherry. No wonder Plod wanted to see where it goin', a fuckin' antique! Real odd, eco-warriors all jammed in a battered Cherry, unreal. Car's probably older than us all!

Digby laughs, as we all squeeze in. Proper tight. See a dude behind the wheel with tiny glasses, really long greasy hair. The dude looks well young, still got acne.

Oh yeh, Digby goes to us, Cody's on the wheel – Kherri and Clara here too!

Bungle smirks as he gets squeezes in. The girls moan, in a flirty kinda way, as Bungle Bob's a fat giant.

It cool, I'll sit I in the well bit I tell them as I squeeze in. Don't tap any ash on me, I joke, they giggle at.

Clara tuts but Kherri laughs. They both look familiar, I reckon maybe Epidemik, Telepathy or Tasco's warehouse reunion at Autumn Street – what a mental rave, easily maddest raves what always goes under radar, strictly underground, gotta be real headstrong!

As we all squeezed in Cody starts the engine.

Digby starts gassin' as Bungle starts to roll another zoot, I take out a old Oyster card and rack up lines of bash, it cheap coke, probably some DMAA cut coke.

I snort, Clara and Kherri snort off me card too, so does Bungle as he rolls up. I hand me card to Digby who spills a bit before snortin'; Cody don't want any.

Cody's a vegan by the way, he gets ethical about all gear, mumbles Digby as he turns up the Teki Latex set, it a bootleg recording. Cody giggles, lights a roll up fag.

Vegans do gear though, don't they? I ask.

Drug waste a real problem, Cody tells me.

If it legal, can generate energy or reuse waste. There's loads of legal methamphetamine but it don't add to climate change.

Yeh, I didn't think of it like that, mumbles Cody as he takes a small puff on his roll up. Smells like fuckin' wormwood.

Already hear Clara n Kherri cacklin' n laughin'.

Shit, fuckin' SHIT! Kherri bellows, it don't need to be shouted. See all these beans 'e got on 'im, 'E GOT LOTSA E's!

A oz of skunk too, I say. It's why we been cabbin' all over.

Digby licks his lips, smirks. Drugs only thing what motivate this acad-waster. He always wait on some bullshit grant but he always spend his cash on drugs, all day ever fuckin' day! I know Digby, he knows me, we're all on a same chemical wavelength.

Digby turns to Bungle n says: Dude, Bungle Bro, I'll transfer you money fer two hundred sweeties now. Northwood, it's a big house n they'll love 'em!

Cool, all cool. Is it a party in Northwood? Bungle asks Digby, he got some drool that hangs down from his mouth.

More of gatherin', Digby says to Bungle. Digby rambles on to Bungle, Bungle's eyes roll, he's fucked: Cheers Bob, nice of you to let me test one out, reckon those sweets more MDA than MDMA but it better than all synthetic fuckin' 4CMC comin' in, even PMMA back, it's all too much. Or too little, cut it low make them weak gotta drop loads then it K.O. time. Though we can't stay long in Northwood, protests n all, it'll be one of those swift jiffies. In n out, it all about neighbours measure the decibel level and they already got done coverin' massive garden in tarps n marquees to hide from Police chopper cams. They got heat sensors so they always clock in, gotta get lead I think to mess 'em up.

Bungle grunts as Kherri n Clara whisper shit. I clock Clara get out a pack of dried chilli powder n do a line. Fuckin' weird.

Kherri laughs as Clara shakes her head n screams; Cody laughs but looks ahead as a unmarked Dibble mobile cruises past.

Lucky I got mud all over me licence plate, I always do, Cody tells me. It's me old man's, on his insurance!

Oh right, well lucky I guess, I can only mumble, Y'ol' man's a diamond if he lets on his insurance. They ain't cheap – not like I bust all of it though, sounds a real hassle!

It is mate, says Cody. It's too pricey, they want all kids to be drivin' tractors!

I crack up at it but he looks real serious. Whatta fuckin' joker! I can't wait to see Cody trippin'! I start to roll a spicey zoot, mixed in a lot of weed, as it pretty cheap n pretty weak – gotta put loads in. It the synthetic what gives it a kick n make you really trip.

Kherri n Bungle whisperin' to each other, clock Clara still snorts a bit more chilli powder.

Got any more bash, babe? Clara asks me.

Nah, I say, all secret smile face. Fuckin' cheeky I think but many like, even protest bandwagon jumpers want a extra toot!

Digby n Bungle do a deal. Bungle wants to know about Digby's research chemicals, he sick of DMAA though 4CMC real dangerous, it so strong if pure. I feel real fucked but I still try to work out how many beans Bungle got left but I only got a few beans left me self, I don't need many – I ain't spendin' like Digby, he's probably sortin' out a shitload of randoms in Northwood, too; we don't wanna know how much he knocks em on some folk, only buy off people they trust which I dig but I'll do anythin' n everythin',it really don't fuckin' bother me!

Cody finally finishes his smoke pulls out a massive pack of disposable face masks.

Gonna need these at protests, Cody tells us, then hands 'em out.

Bungle Bob laughs, digs out some manky face cover what blatantly a kiddie one, puts it on, says through it: Sorted man, fuck cheapo ones off a factory line.

 

Mate every piece o' shit off a factory line, Digby chips in, laughs like a loon.

 

Digby bang on though – toxic environment special. Everythin' tainted polluted, even by accident. Sometimes some gear can have too much, it really fucks people up. Other times it too little, need to shitloads!

Bungle's gettin' frisky with Kherri. His missus won't be happy but bungle doesn't really give a sht no more. Not since he lost his job - his piss poor but piss easy non-job - he not been same. He don't give a shit about shit. He told me it'd been what he'd always done since school. He can't be fucked to stack shelves for peanuts, it not worth hassle as it never pays bills anyway – no way as Tories in, it a real fuckin' con! But way it goes all political fuckers same liars; buncha cunts, through n through.

 

Kherri has already got Bungle's chunky cock out, gives him a good strong hand but Bungle's got her on his lap in no time. She's gaggin', she can't believe it. Reckon he'll crush his beans as Bungle bangs Kherri from behind. Cody looks in his mirror, shakes his head. Puts on his cheapo facemask. I put one on too. Gonna get cum on me sat down here – fancy bangin' her in a clapped out Datsun! No way can it be a diamond omen for a relationship.

 

Cody then pulls up. We all can't wait to get out as the smell of pussy juice n cum fills the Datsun. It gonna be a real odd ride back. Digby cracks up, laughin' n laughin' like some trippy game show host as Clara starts retchin'.

It makin' me burp up me chilli n me dinger – fuckin' real rough. You'd think they'd wait till we left the fuckin' car!Clara screams.

It real odd, as we gotta walk to the meet point of the protest but we wait while Bungle Bob and Kherri straighten up. Kherri puts on more lip gloss and smooths her hair while Bungle's tryin' to get cum outta his trackies. He shot a massive spooge load up her n it farted back out. Angles, always angles - right?

Bungle smiles. Him and Kherri seem real close now, but Clara gives us all evils. Cody jokes over how he parked the Datsun, Digby reckons he not done bad even if he all wonky. It cool. Digby had blasted the Better than a BJ mix off the woofers, must've got locals moaning – surprised he like it, he don't care; fucker always carries shit loads of gear n never gets para. I hardly got shit on me n still para!

 

Digby says, We've gotta find the protest.

 

After walkin' about half a hour we find loads of people sittin' down. We're late; we missed all the dull talks, all the shouts, tin drums, slow walks. Though sure Plod'll be back to make sure people have all left. I don't really care, guess it a excuse to get the fuck out of here.

Digby sees some posh dude, tiny circular specs, he's set up a pricey fold up laptop. Digby goes up to him hands him bags of various chems, looks like Digby hands him a huge wrapped up offy bag of weed. Shit these dudes got no fear, it all probably on CCTV but Digby don't give a shit. Hugs the tiny specs dude as the dude shows him his phone; Digby then checks his. Nods, laughs, then waves bye. Got he's a mentalist if he gone cashless. He's leavin' a real daft trail of deals but Digby don't care. He seems it all cool. If he wants to take online payments let him stew.

Digby's fuckin' nuts, Bungle Bob tells me.

Serious? He seems to know his shit, don't he?

Bungles cracks ups, then says to me: I tell him I ain't got a modern account, tell him I need cash only. Cash only, cash still king on old timer world. Can't trace it, they don't even care if you max out what you can take out in a day. It all cool, Digby got his own vibe he's a fuckin' mental. He told me if all the kids do it why can't he, though gotta say I've told him shitloads of dumb kids inside as money mules n pullin' shit like instadealin' even off shitty Snapshit.

Yeh, I heard what's his faces likkle bro got done for it. He's not all there, trust me.

Cody smirks, he heard every word.

Bungle's right on, dude!

Cody then walks back to the Datsun. Kherri and Clara have rolled a couple zoots, puff quick, cup 'em as it all gettin' scoped by Plod. Still meant to be a protest site. But Digby bops away from the tiny specs dude.

Protest done for us, we'll chip onto that houseparty now. It should be still goin'. It's lockdown after all - what else people gotta fuckin' do? If want we can stay there bit longer, I spoke to dude who runs it all. Like all illegals, all house events, you gotta know the promoter or it won't happen. Least gaff's PA all OK.

Sure, Digby? I reckon it'll be shit, all turned down low so dibble don't get suss send choppers over. It always way it goes, they send choppers out what all got souped up heat cams on now.

Seriously? Cody did you know that? Digby asks Cody.

Cody shrugs. Looks like a Tom Holland body double for a split second before he says: I read it somewhere but they always had thermal and infrared on police helicopters; it's nothing new, is it?

Cool, Cody. Good you gave me lowdown. We better chip. Stub those biffs ladies, we may be walkin' past jobsworths dibble. They do anythin' for a cheap bust.

 

Bungle nods in agreement, says: Real cool, Cody – one clued-up kid. No wonder don't wanna trip it out. He'll be the sharpest to get away!

It don't scare me, nothing scares me, fines whatever, petty pigs, I don't give a shit any more! Cody tells us, like all serious as if he in some glossy wanky Britflick.

Cool dude, all cool, I mumble, I ain't gotta Scooby you probably know more than me!

 

It gets everyone laughing. I gotta admit, sure we had all his chitter-chatter before – Digby said some shit about tryin' to get lead in over a massive garden? What's Digger's fuckin' on? Maybe he can mix it n cook some for me! At least we don't need to test our shit again - sounds like Digby on a real mind-wiper!

 

Cody tells me: I wasn't even political before all this – Tory, Labour, whatever, fuck it all, it's all bullshit! I honestly couldn't care, psychos run the country anyway. Then I had dreams about that fat useless Posho Prime Minister. I wanted to cut his head off, gouge out his eyes n stab his decapitated head wimme cock, piss all over him. I kept on havin' same dream, every fuckin' night as giant gerbil lockdown Doc Whitty watches us whispers stay at home - don't he sound like a fuckin' gerbil zombie? In the dream Prime Minister always smirks, says Umm errr every time. Always smirkin' these fuckin' poshos, like they got the system all rigged in their fuckin' favour. Does me head in. I fuckin' hate poshos. Then dead PM's head tells me wash me fuckin' hands then I always wake up - sometimes scream whole fuckin' place down. God, whatta mad un! I nearly OD on xanax mixed too many of those street valiums to get a decent blackout, woke up on a fuckin' drip. They weren't fuckin' valium - fuck knows what they were.

 

I nod, no wonder yoots diggin' xanax. Yeh, guess gotta be careful, I tell Cody, then put me foot in it on a ramble on: Don't do a Keith Moon n take a handful, bite off a quarter. Or get a test kit, sure they don't do as many paper strip tests these days, sure it all reagents. Well, it tricky as get older- do as much shit as me it either belly grief or ticker trouble. Fuckin' insane but always worth buzzin' – never fuck up a buzz bruv!

 

Cody cracks up. Man, you're like me old man!

Serious? Wow, it must be a real weird one. Hear it off a kid like Cody, makes me think I'm always young but it way it goes timeless vibes. I'm cluckin' for some tunes. When the fuck we gettin' to this fuckin' party? WHEN WE GOIN' TO GET FUCKIN' ON IT?

 

Digby comes back, all fucked. Drinks from a bottle of brandy, puffs on a King L - mad he can chuff so much but he says he only chuffs at weekends. Digby eyes roll, he looks like he got a plan.

 

I gotta plan, says Digby before passin' out. Face down – totally fuckin' sparko. I can't help laughin'. Laughin' like fuckin' Mad Hatter. What is it - fuckin' meant to be easy find these illegal raves? Fuckin' gotta book through a shitty darkweb site, confirm name on instagram or whatsapp, it's a fuckin' weird con. Some fucker havin' a laugh, should've scored some decent acid or shrooms, a bar of weed n a few gees of pink ket n stayed in blastin' some old Fantazia sets n random tunes. Fuckin mad times!

 

Cody groans as Clara zones out on a phone scroll. The old Datsun rocks, as Bungle Bob n Kherri go round two in the back, proper hear her scream, windows all steamed up, seems like it a cool trek for Bungle Bob.

 

Cody lights up, shakes his head. He says: Reckon we'll be up for that trek to Milton Keynes now?

 

Oh me days, do I fuckin' crack up - I only wanted to go fuckin' ravin'! It's gotta be a real fuckin' basic human fuckin' right – right?

 

 

 

 

Diz Town

  God, tell Chazzie he's a proper fuckin' lightweight! I felt his tiny acorn cock n bulls, he must be rushin' proper goin' up up up! Feel his tiny cock go fat, all hard; his ballbag like a walnut! Makes me laugh, as he in orbit already -- on a flyin' fuck to da moooooon matey!

Me 'n Lolly proper crackin' up! I've not seen Chazz about before, he said he know Goofy Garry from time ago. Not sure how long ago. He can't know Jodie too? Though we all go to the same raves, legal and illegal, so it always possible we met then. Men are defo like shoes: try 'em on till you like the fit!

He's got a weird smell too. Smells of stale French Fries, gum, sweat, hash n dizzle. He proper funny though, all those trips he gobbled up! We get into the club somehow, didn't even show ID but I'm in and he's got a big bag of pills, fuckin' rockin' skulls. OH MY FUCKIN' DAYZ, we are gettin' propa messy, but it's all cool.

Gots me Converse on tonight - one red, one green - some real skankin' goin' on! WOOOOOOOO! I scream right into some fried fuckers ear next to me, he just laughs like a real stoner laugh.

Grody, or is it grow-dee? Kinda feel like sayin' it but no fucker says it no more these days but the fuckin' Eighties suppose to be fuckin' cool again right? Fuck knows shit anymore. I'm chillin', find Chazz again and he's got more pills. This dude always got pills, he's nuts!

Use to sort Bungle Bob out, n Crispin. Yo' know em? He slurs at me, white flecks of saliva stain the corners of his cute mouth.

Nah, but they might know me mate Jodie, I tells him.

Jodie? Oh, yeah, Jodie, Chazz goes to me, though don't sound too sure.

Shit bruv, I didn't know you know Jodie! Yeah, she's moved to Northampton, right, her mum's in, like, a real poor way anyway; but she wants to be near her daughter. She's just outta rehab, too. Ditched Alf for good, though she's trying to be a good mum, by being there and all. Reading the bedtime story, not like her brats fuckin' lissen! Even got her Gran involved now, so she can go college n the odd rave – jeez, her Gran's gotta be nearly seventy herself, it's mad innit!

I didn't know all that, Tess, it's real heavy, shit. Kids, man, like, it's defo real mad, Chazz tells me.

It don't matter, let's fuckin' get hardcore, I say to him tryin' sound a bit older. He knows I wasn't there back in the day but I know neither was he – though some people who were there, they properly missed out on it all, they didn't go to any of it. So much for not going out for decades - what the fuck all that about! Fuckin' gotta have it.

Chazz watches me as I drop two acid tabs at a time, I show him on me tongue, I can see he gettin' a boner, I never knew doin' a Hendrix would cause that in a bloke.

You juzz like me, but yer a chick, slurs Chazz. It almost makes me laugh.

Don't chew 'em up like Doc Gonzo, Chazz. Two at a time fucker, we ain't comin' down fer time!

I proper lurve yo' Tessa, Chazz slurs again. He drops his acid then his eyes roll and he has some kinda mini-seizure n blacks out. I look around, Lolly's only fuckin' vanished, like real weird, probably fucked off after Goofball.

Chazz still trip seizin' - I'm laughin' while tryin' to help him up. Chazz is chucklin' as he's fuckin' spazzin' out like mad. Whatta joker!

I fuckin' lurve yo' Tessa!

If those are Chazz' s last words I'll go nuts, I love him, he's a freak - my freak! It not he fine. He juzz needs a decent break, doin' a Hendrix too much on him, he gonna have to roadie it n juzz drop one now n then, like Hendrix would give to Lemmy when he was a roadie fer Jimi. Jimi would tell Lemmy to get three trips n Jimi'd always take two n let Lemmy have his third trip. Chazz proper droolin' he not sayin' anythin' - he be like future spazzin', I dunno what's goin' on, but gotta feelin' it'll get far out fer sure!

 

Fuck - whatta fuckin' day! Must've blacked out in A n E. Chazz has vanished, can't remember shit. Didn't get felt up waitin' in A n E, result. What day? Y'know do try to work, try to work hard but what's the fucking point? Fuck it. Just want to escape, this country a fuckin' proper shitty con. Everythin' goes up, it go cheap for a bit and your pay goes to shit. Everyone tell you your pay OK. Fuckin' politicians who always loaded, it all fuckin' scummy. But money don't last these days. Now it a fucker, I can't be fucked to work.

I wanna blast tryin' to finish me fucked up sludge. Trying to get it. DJ Hog's gone off and I ain't heard from any fucker. Need to get sorted, chilling with a bottle of rum and a wicked dab rig. Fucking dabbing the way for me. Dig it a lot more these days – baccy's gettin' proper fuckin' pricey, too! Thirty gees don't even last me two fuckin' days!

 

Listen to Billy Bunter from back in the day, bruv! Tell yous feel fuckin' fine, all wasted, just after midday. Fuckin' sweet as, always a rocker on Mondays. Bunter going to drop Egyptian Lover, Kraftwerk, George Clinton, Captain Rock, Demon Boyz. All the wicked stuff, not just what you'd expect. Bunter digs deep, drops tunes right outta 70s, it what a selector does trust! It’s the way I want to rock it. Drop some bangers, from rare groove to Belgian techno: The birth of techno to the evolution of industrial. Fuckin' wicked. A great way to get motivated if you've got fuck all to do. All day,every day. No, I’m real serious: Bunter actually makes me think n get up in the mornings!

 

I don’t do fuck all, most of the time I’m online: rubbing one out to The Valleys, Geordie Shore, repeats of The Hills, Friends, old Miley Cyrus pop videos. Goofball Gaz made a Taylor Swift cum-pilation wiv porn stars who pretend to be Taylor gettin' cream-pie'd. MTV turned into wank heaven for me. It's kinda cheap free porn, though shame not more of them make actual porn, they'd smash it up. Charlotte Crosby n Holly Hagan should definitely work out some Erika Lust vibes. Anyway, that's the problem with porn: most people think only blokes love porn!

A lot of the skag porn on the online porn world, all that torture shit – I call it that as a lot of the porn stars aren't that fuckable – many are way too enhanced but some are clearly waiting for the next hit, juzz makes you kinda feel sorry fer 'em. You only got the site's word that person all OK, n still alive after getting fist fucked a hundred different ways by a hundred different people.

 

The world has become one big cheesy wank paradise full of fake shit, so it’s a change for me. Rubbin' one out harmless really. We're gettin' forced to put wiv an endless ocean of cheese, purely total wankage what makes people freaky. I wonder if Katy Perry and Rihanna get freaked knowing that loads of people – boys and girls – power-wank to their images all the fuckin' time! Whole new meanin' to baitin'! It probably best not to think about it - it'd defo drive you nuts, though must turn on some right sociopaths!

 

Still can't get through to Chazz; he must be fucked or on a benzo drip still. I hear me neighbours raving sometimes. It's always really cheesy commercial house mainly. It like commercial radio raving, when they just play the top ten back from the mid-nineties. Nothing too weird. And they love to argue with each other during it too. No wonder they don't go to the club, they'd all get kicked out for arguing with other! Over the course of everything, they argue more than they rave in all honesty; it’s a shame, proper fucking boring hearing a slagging match with a house soundtrack.

As they do their slag-stomp, I stick on a Psibindi mix from Tribe of Frog a coupla years back to chill 'em out; it does go quiet for a bit – maybe they're wigged out as I've turned It right up, the glasses on the busted drainer are wobblin', these likkle USB speakers gotta kick, not as much as the older ones what are nearly twenty years old, but the volume's a bit tricky wiv 'em so I leave 'em be.

You know, I'd prefer to hear them fuckin' but no such luck. They juzz luv to argue n shout it out over their dull commercial house. They must be rubbing each other off all the time, or they need IVF - more likely they’re shit scared of pregnancy in case the nipper turns into a demon brat. Crazy brattism bizzle, love em to bits but god don't they half do y'fuckin' head in! Born with Verruca Salt Syndrome: Give me the fuckin' world, I WANT IT NOOOOW! A ton o’ brats about, it a first world thing as they all like, that for sure!

 

I ain’t worked in time, fuck it, just sign on, breeze along. That’s me, man. Fucking Trollo chillin', get on the old network and pretend to be some fucker. He do it so natural too. Mr Bitcoin bruv.

 

I always go online with different names, loads of fuckers do it. Fuckin' piece of piss. As long as you don’t get too caned and hold it back a bit, you’ll be fine. I dig having laughs hanging out with Goofer, Clive and Musky. I don’t know why all the other fuckers hide away from us and think we’re hot. Goofer’s reckless but he’s harmless.

 

We round Musky’s cousin’s in Tooting. Diamond place, proper long party vibes every time. It been rollin' over a week or so. Mad area, lot of parties pop off all over – legal and illegal. I noticed Goofer has passed out. I pick up his phone, a dodgy smartphone he blatantly didn’t pay for. He ain’t going to Wonga or Klarna it either to get his credit - how can he afford this Samsung?

 

Musky’s got a couple of kees on him, sure it's bashed down snort. He’s got at least six kilos of MD stashed. He tells me he’s only got a half ounce here as everyone starts poncin' n he loses track of it all. He’s got this to burn, he never says who he ticks it off. Some hench fucker waitin' fer payday: Musky’s here drinkin' Jack, snorting everythin' in sight, chainin' Bensons.

 

Me and Goofer rock the weed, puffing on some mental zootage. Fuckin' bun it like mad, time flies. We been here for ages. Goofer tells us he'll chuff till his lungs bleed; what a fucked piece of shit to say, it not even tough just fucked up. Goofer’s phone rings, it’s just his girlfriend, crying wondering where he is, has he got the rent money.

 

I don’t know what to say to the poor bitch. She’s funny, I think of her crying and think fuck she’s normally so smiley and all happy but when you’re in a jam with a cunt like Goofer, don’t trust him to pay the rent. Goofer just blown five hundred quid on a kilo of old weed. Dumb fucker thinks it a good deal, this weed probably around in the fuckin' Seventies. Fucker don’t know what money about, just something he can keep borrowin' on the sly. He's got to Quick Quid his Tesco shop again, such a crazy fucker! Why anyone wanna buy up old weed anyway?

 

Musky’s narked. Major Dribbles and the Splashback Kid, they be usual Jack n Jill full-time fuckheads. They be the sort of fuckers who are constantly on the look out for gear, they always get unknown bad kinda shit. Real nasty shit. They don’t like it. They might hate it. It’s mean, real mean. But they keep doing it, do shitloads, they hoover it all up. Fuckin' mental!

 

I know this as I know em time, always clocked them. It’s the only way to be sure, I kinda thought we knew the score.

 

Major Dribbles lives in Kenton, got some shit hole to chill in. It really is a shithole, too. Fuck all in there apart from a battered TV.

 

Pleased it something. He looks around the shit hole, it’s a typical shithole. He ain’t got much there. He’s lost all his records. He’s still gutted over his vinyl. All he got is the net, that’s his archive now. He has to listen hard for those classics. He’s gutted he lost so many of the vinyl he could have kept. But the money didn’t last.

 

He blew most of it on gear. The rest was supposed to go to his kid in Burnt Oak. His ex, Clara, what a bitch! She kept it for herself – yeah, she had her own habits. Dribbles fucked her from behind while giving her the money, for old time’s sake.

 

You won’t see me for a while, babe! Dribbles drools it out, he had slobbered all over Clara’s veiny shoulder.

 

When he chats his mouth gets all full up with spit, he gobs anywhere and everywhere, sometimes hockin' huge greenies as he tries to chat.

 

His cummy sticky dick kept drip drip drippin' everywhere, leaks after he put on his shit-stained Calvin Klein's. He don’t bother zippin' up his fly. His dick all leaky, still semi-hard, it sends ripples through him, he can feel every cell in his body. Fucking wicked shit, he thinks. He done some of that legit shit and regretted doing it too early. Just a bit fucks you up. He saving the GHB for later. He’s falling apart. Done too many pills, too many shrooms, chuffs too much of everything, whatever can get him mash up.

 

Yer a fucking fuckhead, Dribbz! Yous a fookin' fuck 'ead! Clara screams, her mouth like Alien. Jaws all clenched, eyes all watery, red-eyed. Older than her young years.

 

She lobs loads of random things after him as he bowls it away, slinkin' all slinky, dodgy home-made acid takin' it hold on Dribbz now. Fuckin' battery acid probably more paint remover n metal polish than acid, though he don’t care. Got some deathwish got some high to reach. Gettin' a better score, better shit. To score. It’s her folks gaff. They got money, mum’s working as some office lackey, old man seeing out till his pension kicks in with some other dull made up suit job piece of piss. They don’t care what Clara does, she says she studying now. Sixteen and a kid, already messed up.

 

Close with the law and all, as it looked like she might’ve been knocked up at 15. But you know these things. Dribbz done the right thing and got his name on the birth certificate. Clara had been fucking a few of his mates. Proper 21st century hippy style, fucking freaky deeky. They’re all out, gettin' fucked, what’s the problem? But Dribbz older, he should know better. But he don’t give a fuck no more, he also digs it an extra benny. It cheaper and easier for them to split up than stay together, that’s for sure. There no chattin' to Clara, she's fuckin' nuts. Pleased she fucks off to be honest.

 

Major Dribbles goes back to his shithole in Kenton. Finds the Splashback Kid there. Spraying his piss everywhere, laughing like a tomcat, hemet some pub crawler called Sandra. She's from Camden, or so she says. Probably from Primrose Hill and she'sproper loaded. She's up for it though, said she's thirty-something, so that really means forty-something - her kids only a few years younger than us, but she's a hardcore pisshead, just wants to keep getting on it. Another fuckin' incapable! As long as she don't piss herself all the time, who gives a fuck! They all laugh, break out the MDMA. Fuckin sweet.

 

Splashback laughs, with pissy hands he sticks on some tunes. Fucking new Supreme Being. Fucking Supreme I Preme Quaye style, wicked tune called Canine, got some bangers that dude. We’re getting warmed up for the fucked up old skool selection, we listen to a bit of the broken blender stuff then we just vanish into the jungle, the proper bloodclot jungle techno, the real deal. Fucking mash dem down!

 

Gets them in the mood. Get back to the old skool mash ups soon. Kniteforce, Impact, Basement, Rising High, Frontline, Chill, Suburban Base, R&S, Ram, V, Philly Blunt, Moving Shadow, Reinforced, Production House, Happy Jack, GBT, XL,there were tonnes. They got some smoke too.

 

Dribbles rolls super-quick. Lean time happen, everyone get real wavy, like proper fucking wasted. Splashback wants a three on. Smiles at Sandra. She laughs, finishing her shitty wine. Smells like a piss head too. They both pissed themselves. Splashback Kid juzz pissin' and shittin' in the little bin. Time to bust out some designer chemicals.

 

Loud knockin' on door breaks our pre-threesome mood, they ignore it at first but it keeps on n on. Probably other fuckers next door wants them to keep it down. Dull fucker, he always in, watchin' TV, crackin' one out off or some shit. God, whatta dull fucker. Why don'the mind his own business? Dribbles thinks to himself, lighting another joint. Fine chuffage too. Hemighty proud of it, he zone out watch ants on the wall, fuckin ants seem to be getting bigger n bigger. Trippy fuckin' ants. Fuck bugging right out, fuck huge ants. Dribbles shrugs. The tunes play off the battered smart phone. Fucking shit hot for shit, battered as soon as it was nicked. No fucker wants it now, the fucking dick it got thieved off don'twant it back in that state. Dribbles tries to feel up on Sandra. She's loving it, teasing him. He feels her titties, moves his grimy hand up her thigh, she don't seem to mind. They stare at each other, they thinking of a pash, a full on snog but Splashback starts feeling up her arse, briefly kills our moment.

Got a wwwwwiiiiccckkkked speaker for a battered phone innit? Splashback says all proud.

I don’t give a shit about phones, do my head in, I got a real bad deal, want to fucking switch but fuck it, I don’t really need a phone. Fucking phones are stress! Sandra tells no one in particular.

Splashy laughs; sneakily clocks Dribbles fingering her pussy, he says: I like it, fucking proper wicked piece of shit, for a piece of shit. These things get hyped but it got all the choonage I need. Get Rinse, get Origin, get Kool. Get all the DAB, 1 Xtra, Kiss, the fucking lot. Get some archive shit on it. Fucking loadsa wicked things on deezer, soundcloud and mixcloud. Fucking rocking the shit out of it! Trust me check it bruv, it’s fucking sweet right, crank the fucker, look go on --

Dribbles ain't havin' it, shaking his bony bonce, cutting in:

Shut up yous a boring fuck, gotta be Kool all the way, fuck all the rest, they just trying to be like Kool FM innit. Stop chatting on and on about fucking phones too. What the fuck you like? Like I give a shit what you think, it'sjust a fuckin' phone, piece of shit playin' it right?

 

Dribbles laughs, spit roll down his greasy chin, smoke floats out of his nostrils. Sandra zonin' out, makes coo-coo noises, fuckin' think's she's diggin' Beatles? Really getting into Dribbles working his fist into her gaping cunt.

Nice fucker, real nice. Just trying to make some fucking conversation!

I like talkin' too―THASS FUCKIN' GOO'! Sandra puts in.

Get us another drink, mate, anything will do bruv!

Splashback smiles, pours Sandra a vodka in some dirty Harry Potter mug, splash of GHB, gots to watch drops or it a charcoal shake on the NHS! Still have to watch the mg on some wicked beans too - PMMA galore baby! Oh me dayz! Few drops into a egg cup for Dribbles. Fucker's loco, he'll be close to top himself.

Dribbles cackles: GET IT DOWN YER! WALLOP!

Mad fucker drains it all too. he can't drink booze now, be plenty of charcoal laters. If he lucky. Fucker's invincible, gonna come back to haunt you. Better get me moby ready, 999 on fuckin' speed dial!

Oh shiiiit, Sandra's gonna be sky high! She told me I was a sensitive fanny one time, what a cheeky minx! They all up for any shit, though, trust! Time to kill, find the thrill. Feel the rush, take your pills innit! Splashback drops a bit of GHB into his vodka too, he drink it in outta some old n crusty Pot Noodle cup. Still got Bombay Badboy stainage all in, smells rough. Fuckin' rough as fuck, just the way he likes it!

 

Sandra laughs, we mix it up with some Denis Brown, bet of Tenor Saw and Nitty Gritty. Fucking wicked, waiting for more mixes; rare groove vibes.

 

I love that vodka, fucking well strong. You get it round Camden too. Some Polskis like it with formaldehyde n hospital hand gel! Trust me, I’m fucking serious, it all true. It ain’t too bad! Like a drink what make you go blind as a fucking bat. Fucking crazy shit but it you gets proper off yer twat! And them poshos worry about having a puff cos it send ‘em all schizo to fuck!

 

Sandra keeps going, she really don’t shut up. I love it when she’s like this, she’s fucking wicked.

 

Major Dribbles gets wavy, gets thinky and says like, Whatever, puffing send any fucker crazy. Fuck being nice with the world, you just end up with fuckers who judge you n you get shat on. You got to get your shit. No fucker really cares, as long as they’re fucked.

 

Sandra just laughs out right in his face; he hands that zoot straight to Splashback, he don't want her getting all bipolar on his lean ass!

I don't have a job no more; I just sign on and get fucked to shit. I paid into it for years, they don't want to give you fuck all back when you really need it to keep on working. I fuck up all me interviews deliberate, so they tell 'em, I ain't got it. Turn up steamin' in trackies, fuckin' jokes! Fuck it, my way of retiring early, by January these fat cats already legally earned what you'd probably make in a shitty year anyway. It's all a fuckin' con system, fuck it. Don'twant to be over fifty doing some shit dull job, no fucking pay-rise or a proper shit pay rise then no fucking UC bens, whatever fuckin' called now. More like WC. Bog-standard survival bizniz. Worked hard for social, some fuckers do fuck all forever, end of! I was a house wife before the fucker ran off with the Au Pair. She couldn't speak a fucking word of English, fancy French cunt, her and her dull acoustic guitar, he just wanted to fuck her from behind all the fucking time and she let him. Good fucking riddance to him, he can give her a sore fucking arse!

Really? Fucking Au Pear, what the fuck? Sounds like a fucking fruit. He a homoluvvin'-battyfucker? Splashback laughs, he thinks it funny, he can’t believe it but it sounds unreal it has got to be real. I remember seeing Splashback take it up the arse at some orgy at a big house in Stevenage; the girls loved watching it, Splashback was fucked but loved every minute of it. When yer get proper fucked you juzz lurve fuckin' or whatever, like when a fit girl puts on a strap-on, yer ain't sayin' nah not tonight. She'll plough yer butt, like you gonna plough her too. Those sliders are mad, too. Can't act like he some homo-hatin' fucker when he goes swingin' n has to get tested every time he gets lash up.

Floor turns to jelly for a bit, jellied eels under the lino, with lotsa shiny razor-sharp teeth; fuckers all smilin' at me, see those big spiders and daddy long-legs flappin' again, they be massive fuckers! Huge moths fly at our faces.

 

Dribbles spits at them, tappin' zoot ash on floor. He's binned up real quick again, got a half bar left, worried about Monday morning. He might not have any left, fuckin missions pickin' up this much again.

Friday night settlin' real fine, he says to himself:

Ra spiders with wings, fuckin’ mental! Fuckin' proper trippy daddy long-legs, they're like spiders with shitty little wings! Remember when they tried to continue Minder with dude outta Daz doorstep challenge? Fuckin' weirdest ting ever!

Sandra laughs. He was in EastEnders too yer prick. Gotta light?

 

Splashback hands his lit zoot to Sandra who puts her fag down. She don’t toke, but you know the score when folk get right on it. Do fucking anything innit! The so-called pisshead who don’t touch green has forgot now wants to chuff it up like Cheech n fuckin' Chong. She puffs real hard, keeps chatting,

 

Oh yeah, my old man, he likes backdoor action. Read into it your way fellas! I always thought him a bit odd, he likes girls with small tits now though. Like a boy with flat nips. I wondered why he was always trying to fuck me up the arse, I don’t mind doggy style but you can leave me butt alone. I was on that Busco shit for me IBS. Ganja sorted it in the end. You reckon he’s one of those closet faggot, fellas?

 

Old skool term, love it when old skool ladies say fellas. Got to have a sarf London styley, but when some posh fucker says fellas just sounds queer as fuck. The old skool pumping now, getting into the real shit. Vibes for mileage. Remarc: One for the Vibes, gets you mind-spaced to fuck. Spaced invader, fucking Rebel MC coming in. Jungle Happy Old skool mashup. Still love Street Tuff n Rock Ya; get into some Acid early break vibes. Fuckin' dig Chime.

 

Zonin', need some shrooms or some more acid to take the edge off this dodgy shit. Splashback, passes Dribbles a beer, says:

 

Got some legal illegal shit here: AMT, Spice, some shit, fucking B.Z.P., too. Easy to get; cut into everythin' n anythin', like DMAA n caffeine, careful if you over do it though, poison fuckers by accident if you're a mill off!

 

Yeah, fuck it, bring it on. Want to be fucked by the time Don't Ride The White Horse drops! Dribbles laughs.

 

Fucking love that tune. You guys are kids and you got better taste than me old man. He was into it all, took me to see Colin Dale, Carl Craig, Dave Angel, Knighty, Oaky, Tong, Morillo, Coxy, all these legends and now he can’t be fucked, you got good taste. I stick to Bunter on the radio, I fuckin' love Billy.

 

Dig Bunter, him and Slippers, Dugsy, Ratpack, all those dudes. Fucking love happy hardcore. Been listening to it since I was fucking ten! Bein' a kid listenin' to MJ n Run-DMC, then wonderin' whatta noise man, what is it? Splashback tells us, racks up a fat line off a dirty tray.

 

Sandra randomly shrieks: Not that dirty cut-down bash shit, ain’t even got shitload of real bugle in anyway. The cut used to be so much better, so low now, too much talc, caffeine powder and baby powder. Fucking waste of money, yer shit it all out! Stick to JD, weed n GHB!

 

It funny, as that what Splashback’s older step-bro say just that to him.

 

His bro called Flashback, old epileptic fucker in his late thirties, caned it so much he gone too far gone, loves the NPS trip out vibe, N-Bomb and all of it, mix the 2CB with the mega powerful PMMA pills. The guy’s spaced to fuck! He loves to get proper fucked to shit on tonnes of acid, shrooms, pills, super-skunk, like proper white Dam busting super-skunk! Fucking mental shit for sure. That dude remembers starting puffing on Gold Seal, Red Seal and Squidgy Black. Just all day everyday to that fucker, he never gonna work for shit.

 

I remember Squidgy Black being everywhere when I was a kid, wicked pills, amazing weed what don’t fuck your head up, some mental trips too; everything seemed so much better. I just about remember him when I was a kid, stagger all over the gaff, shaking and drooling, always messed up, Flashback didn’t give a fuck that he look totally fucked up!

 

You would say stick to JD, fucking pisshead! Dribbles mumbles, he lost in stoner speak mumbly dreamspeak, only those on the wavelength can hear. The tunes take over, old skool style, Nicky Blackmarket at Helter Skelter, the way old skool should sound back in '98. And that was old skool revival still.

 

That's when vibes got fucked, Slimy Franco chips in with Goofball and Trollface and some bird called Emma.

 

Easy ladies, how you? Franco smiles real creepy.

 

Here for yer sort out?

 

Fucking know it, yous owe me a nifty. Thought I was too fucked to remember?

 

Fucking paid yous a nifty time ago, fuckin' cheeky fucka! Splashback lookin real pissed off!

 

I don’t know it, why ain’t I fucking got it? Franco goes all mean, eyes like little slits.

 

Fucking pissed it away dumb fucker, aint ya! Dribbles goes, laughing.

 

Goofball starts tucking into the snort. Fucking poncing shit, looks like he hasn’t slept for days, all dirty trackies and stinks of puke and piss. His scummy Adidas seen better days. He don’t care.

 

Get your mitts off fucker! You some ponce? What the fuck? Splashback goes to Goofball.

 

Franco gives Goofball a half gram, all it takes to get Goofball back on side.

 

Goofball laughs, the retarded fucker. He got no brains. Or balls. Franco says:

 

I been bunnin' all day, can't think for shit. Emma here been keeping me company. She says she a fresher but I think she's still in sixth form. Trollface laughs, trying to look at Emma's snatch. She wearing bikini top cut-off jeans, her love handles out the sides, proper womanly hips, and flip flops with Day-Glo polish on her toenails. Looks funny. Fucks with me eyes.

 

Sandra is actually better looking than her. They don’t really look like they get on, but Sandra hugs Emma, she’s pleased to have another girl here. I just hope she don’t think Sandra’s our old dear.

 

Yeah, she looks young, so what? You lot are pervin', I'm a father remember.

 

So am I, you fucked fucker! So am I. I can’t see the kids anyway, missus won’t let me near them innit. Fuck em. I need you to find some fucker for me. I got to find those fuckers, Custard and Konectif, that Crisp fucker. I need. Musky and Layla are fucked up, in some shit in Ibiza. I don’t know what, they need people who know shit.

 

I don’t give a fuck about that fucker. Who he?

 

You know a DJ called Hog. Some fucker called Clive? Goofball can’t find them either. Fucking just vanished.

 

Just the way it goes. We’re all randoms really. Fuck, you’re the worst random of the lot and I’ve known you for fucking years. You’re a fucking fucker I’d love to see the back of! Splashback goes

 

Don’t get cocky now Splashy, I know you well, I know you’re joking but we’re all friends innit. Loved up people.

 

You still say that before you come back with a shank? A little blade hidden on ya? Fuck, Franco I thought you were hating the aggro. I heard you battered that Croydon punk. Why you want to help him?

 

He knows where my fucking stash is. Fucker got the fucking thing, went on some last minute hol with his missus, that kinky bitch Layla’s a fuckin' wrong 'un, Musky just bums her, says that all he likes! She gets all funny and wants him back there but Musky para, he never been away before, needs sorting all the time. Got into some shit. Musky gonna fuck himself over, he wanna make over one hundred and sixty kay in five months, we all know what he been knockin' out to make dollarino like it!

 

Everyone looks at each other, proper reeeaaal awkward, trust! Franco's gonna start chuffin skag n crack soon. Though Emma's tucking into Goofball's half gee. Trollface looks like he wants to get it on with Emma. She giggles and pushes him away. Bet she been doing that all night. He's filming her on his phone, holding his tiny bell-end. When he has a dinger it looks like he gotta walnut. Emma chuckles, probably never seen such a tiny prick before. Trollo could use water-balloons as johnnies and save himself a shitload load of money. To be honest we all gave up with johnnies time ago!

 

Not a gent are ya? Sandra says to him. The fat fucker shrugs, he's had more depressing shit said about him. Fucker gotta skin thicker than a T-Rex's. He don't care what people say. But he does dig Sandra.

 

Sandra keeps on though: Bet you shoot yer load juz thinkin' it. I know you. I was a good mum, me daughter she just went, me best friend fucked me boyfriend. Fuck you Tanya, fuck yousawhore! I dunno shit but I know a total cunt when I see one.

 

Trollface just laughs, he tell Sandra: I Can't wait to cum in ya face later! Sandra gives him the finger; which probably is what she'll do later when Trollo asks her to stick it up his arse, probably only way he can fuckin' cum.

 

Franco laughs, but Dribbles shakes his head. Goofball reckons it hilarious. Laughs so much the dirty spazz shits himself.

 

Fucking proper hums to fuck, can't take some fuckers anywhere.

 

No wonder he don't get allowed in anywhere no more; pukes pisses n shits everywhere, he's another fuckin' mentalist.

 

Man, really, you could've waited! Wasn't even that fucking funny! Dribbles goes.

 

He can't help it, he's a total spazz! If it weren't for him I wouldn't know what's cut with ket or what's fucking really well cut. He's better than a fucking test lab kit.

 

Splashback, downs another vodka, two big scoops - always tuck into a bottle when it someone else's! Splashback smiles then goes to everyone: You know Musky can fuck off! I ain't on a fuckabout with those crazy promoter fuckers either, Bungle, Custard, I heard about 'em all. They got enough hangers on like that dick, Clive. What a fanny! Clive was boppin' round with Musky for a bit, fuckin' poser. Fuck 'em all, it ain't our mission!

 

Gimp Lickin'

 

Jackson Fraction like real lean, real wavy. I can't even tell if he really there now. Juzz killed three gees of spice mixed in a ounce of weird super-skunk. Jackson wants to pick up another ten gees of bugle. Jackson looks wired. How long we been here again? Jackson drops couple of pills, one codeine the other a green Pyramid. PG Tips still about, must've saved it - dude always finds old loose beans on himself. Lean in, whatever motherfucker! Jacky F always lean up real wired.

 

Got pockets in pockets. Bangin' as always PG Tips, even like those silver Audis n pink Red Bulls. I ain't tried those blue Diamonds yet. Straight into the Velvet Buzz Club. Pig out on codeine n tramadols, easy on dodgy Xanax – really will feel shit, numb but not elegantly wasted. Pig down three gees recreational ket – it all sweet as smiler!

 

Time fuckin' flies: Puke on lips, bogies stuck to me nose, don't really give a fuck no more. Who cares over posers? Fuck all of em, fuck posers! I juzz wanna get right on it, matey! You can't care when not gonna shit for a week or more. Stare at shitty walls, feels free, start feelin' some real weird energy! Fuckin' funky walls!

 

Jackson might start spazzin' on like all these old ludes we done. The missus asks who I'm fuckin' talkin' to. She's fuckin' nuts she can't see the same people I see, but she's fucked, comin' off Subbies fucked her up. I reckon Mel sees more shit than me, n drinks more than me. We'll find out hard way after fifteen fuckin' cans of Stella!

 

Speakin' of spazzin', legal highs give you all kinds of shit, even a scary death trip fer jokes, too. Fuck those nights we tryin' to fuckin' die, young n stooopid matey! Gotta laugh though! Suddenly back in the Fridge in '99, sweaty hardcore madness. Fuckin' bliss. Jackson laughs, his yellow teeth glow, we can't help feel the vibes – sweat stink, whatta mad time. Flow back to the shit year: 2020. Is 2020 even real?

Jackson smiles, smile flies through time, time outta mind again. Fly through noughties, shitty pills, take shitloads though tricky to get loads of decent shit now, synthetics have won. Used to get laughed at if piss poor end up rockin' up shitloads of synthetics - no fucker wanted 'em! Now, whole fuckin' world synthetic – way it rolls!

Proper fuckin’ trip to boot; weird neverendin' sick-high-feelin' – it cool though, you’re never real sick, like sick kinda need hospital sick. Puke fuck all, I can handle it. When he first started doin' it, he needed to shit a bit more – he thought it juzz his body rejectin' all these odd synthetics. No fucker really knows what they do, they tricky to test.

Whatta classic fuck head! They used to be shit in 2006, I remember dropped a whole fuckin' bag just to get some shitty head-rush. Sayin' it some pill were lucky to be 80mg back then – it real fuckin' good to see 'em get back to stronger pre-bat flu madness – it new synths makin' em stronger though, like 1990s levels, for real those continental ones are over 300mg, fuckin' wickedest mentalism trust me! But reckon a lot PMA, it dangerous to shit, though mad buzz. Though new synths like 4CMC can be double strength of a regular e, easy fuck if on a double drop. Be loaded, be fucked right up if not careful man!

Now all our legal shit'll fuck you right up! GBL a wicked cheap kick – our own neo-vibe deep kick inspired by Chilis vibes. Gives you so much trouble; you can be trippin' for days on 'em, gets you thinkin' might be borax or PMA in em – mad not to test 'em - but fuck it, yeah trippin' out for sure, though it depends on your tolerance - like with everythin else, I suppose.

Jackson Fraction fucks wimme real memory bad - sure I seen him some place before! Jackson some weird hippy looking guy. Long straggly hair. Blotchy skin. Got some kinda of skin problem, white and black, bruises, burns. Maybe he gotta bad tan!

Ha, proper weird fucka! He look at me, his eyes all like illuminated. Tiny fiery crystals. His eyes like a spaced-out Tree Trunks turned into some old skool video game vampire. Lookat dem eyez boyeee!

 

Had some idea Jackson gonna turn up again! He got balloons too,how the fuck he get his canisters in here. Where we fuckin' at again? Surely not another lockdown squat?

 

Tells me he told them it his asthma meds in there and he needs them as he got bad asthma, shows them some forged note and they all cool with it, elt him walk right through with two hundred pills and half a kee of skunk. The dude packs shitloads always. He offers me some DMT after we huff the balloon. Fuckin' love nitrous man, it gets me brain all bubbly too! I think I prefer them to poppers!

 

Jeez Geezer – fucker loves his acid – natural and synthetic. This place always open. Like some kinda real open hippy gaff, all cool. Easy come, easy go.

 

See a cup staring at me with weird bug eyes - fuckin' hate it when cups stare at you like real bug eyed stares! Gets me para! Fuckin' weird mouldy cup. Love mould though.

 

Stomach all funny – think I need some munch. Or a shit. One more fuckin missh. Did I eat mould? Fuck it!

 

Maya comes in. Says everyone to fuckin' shut up. Some lockdown. Fuckin' don't know what to think – every fucker shut, juzz wanna fuckin' RAVE! RAVE TIL I FUCKIN' DIE! OI FUCKIN' OI!

 

Jackson been starin' at his smashed up iphone for time.

 

Waitin' on numbers Chazz, it's somethin' heavy goin' down in London. Maybe another turf war. Fuck knows. Heard about some conspiracy about a virus in Mongolia but these Faceache fuckers make any fuckin' shit up. I know,I know I'm fucked but there's always something on. Illegals all the way.

 

Maya giggles. Only clocked that her tiny teeth got tiny chips in, she looks all starry eyed surprised. She starin' at her phone. All these kids obsessed with phone, fuck I forget I even got mine on me sometimes.

We be ravin' all way home, been Thailand, all across world, party down. Crazy blag crazy times. Can't believe it, Chazz Chucklehead gotta go back to Croydon. Love Croydon but still weirds me out.

Oh yeh, Chazzie, only gotta scam text say it from government to fuckin' stay at home – what a fuckin' shitty basic scam! I'm fuckin' totally trippin' I need some fuckin' valium, any cheap ones will do!

 

It weird around the way. We’re all fucked – sure we all fucked up good and proper. We don't seem to be from anywhere though, like in a real limbo kinda wig out vibe.

 

It a shitty time. How many days in lockdown? I fuckin' lost track. Waitin' fer me illegals, all through private courier these days. Thank fuck for China – the land of the cheap synthetics. Jackson's shitty smashed iphone, glarin' wild. He checkin' out some illegal raves too. He went to check out a few – one rave turned into a kick off with Dibble another Jackson got turned away after pre-paying online due to overcrowding in a pub cellar. Then he saw Dibble rock up all in riot gear. Jackson's mad but even he ain't too far gone – yet! Save some wedgerino, why don't they do a pay on the door? Makes fuckin' sense. I ain't payin' first then nothin' fuckin' happens, they must think people are mugs – all these kids post endless pics on their dull as shit socials.

 

End up sofa surfin' and squattin' time after time, it becomes easy. You ain't gotta worry on cash, benefits aren't fuckin' everythin', you gotta hustle a lot more whenever these kindsa self-interest politicians get in. Not that I give a fuck, politics all shit, fuck it all, whole lot of it a pile of shit. Every bit of life politics but everyone got so little power, it’s all a bullshit illusion. Fuck shit up, it what we all think. Fuck the lot of these elites – they want you in piss pay non jobs. Been there, done it – no fuckin' more, cheers fuckin' hopeless posh plums!

 

I don’t give a shit about political parties, they do fuck all apart from fuck everyone up. Me? Usually get sanctioned for fuck all, but it all a waste of time these days – Blighty always on cue to turn into a poor ass hustle – cheers Maggie! - a poor imitator of the USA. The hypocrites in power in Blighty ain't gotta clue - they're born minted; and easily impressed with crooks passing themselves as respectable law-abiding entrepreneurs.

 

Our plan in the Big Smoke, comin' right outta the burbs being, that we might as well just sort out people, as long as you're not movin' kilos you're fine. They ain't interested in you if ain't movin' kilos. We split it all up before we even get it out there and, over time, we're movin' tonnes. The active ingredient is totally 100% legal, they can't ban it. They can't stop it now, we keep it movin', keep on movin' - keep it communal matey! Trust, everyone's doin' it!

 

Gotta say London not like it used to be. Not that none of us ever fully grew up in London! Not even our folks could afford it, it all about fuckin' poshos who don't even go out in it. You show 'em where to go, it's their fuckin' manor! Middle class posh fuckers know the well-policed schlep to the theatre but anythin' off that, they get a bit funny with you! It cool, only ponce off 'em anyway – if they want sortin', gotta be somethin' in it for me, right? No harm about it, if you off the Jack n Jill ponce off rich kids every time. They're the fuckers who can afford it – they go back to their big houses, big gardens, folks pay their credit cards off after one call. They don't really need to work, though us poor fuckers get moved out to the burbs, even if half of us were born in London. We be burbsin’!

 

We're just fuckers that chill in London, squatted there for time when we couldn’t make the stupid rent, busted the shit jobs, then decided to move out before the fuckers forced us up north. Even people from up north were wanting to come back down here, there fuck all up north – though it got some banging places.

 

That the UK thing – not that it all about London but we were stuck in a place called Hatfield for a while.

Whatta fuckin' weird place, like real strange. Tricky to get around but whatta weird place Hatfield turned out to be. Got a massive Asda and some done up bars, there ain't much there. Got some old poly too, a uni or whatever. It got a strange small town feel though it seems to be quite a big place. Straight back to scammin', doss around London, fuckin' Hatfield real weird, fuck all to do too!

 

Think it how I met up with Jackson. A tripped out hippy fucker knockin' out everything – NPS, old skool illegals even those untraceable structural simulacra of illegal compounds what mimic all effects real cheap.

 

Jackson Fraction: the straight up cool cat, a real cool as fuck dude. The smoothest hippie squatter on the planet, he always loves a messy rave, sees all kinds of bands - he just keeps on keepin' on! I don't know how he does it, even how he affords it; must get a tip off when all cheap tickets on sale - much better than a guestlist blag! Be all change now a pandemic, after it be weird. Why go back to shit places, DIY vibes. Sure, he can't mix for shit, he even struggles to play three chords properly but he's a right laugh. He doesn't care, he just has a mash up all the time. He loves it all. He wants people to join against the shit of the world - pushing shit jobs on poor fuckers that make them no better off and make us all slaves to the shit pay. It was bad under the last lot, it's even worse under this lot of posh cunts. The shit jobs are truly shit. They run thick and fast like some kinda of trippy contractual shits. You can't live off a three-hour work week! It's probably a full time job in Isle of Wight!

 

Trust, Jackson got some weird time vibes, vibes going on all over the place. He poor as fuck, don’t ask how he does it all, but he always keeps the vibe alive. He don’t care for shit, he got his long greasy hair and his big beard, looking like a blotchy skinned Acid Lennon.

 

Jackson wears those circular sunglasses all the time, tinted retro Funki Dred styley - the ones that immediately tint in sunlight. You would think he some kinda relic trip from the Sixties.

 

Jackson’s got a codename, he thinks he’s Jahkey Murda the drunken master, and he thinks he’s a spy. He been paranoid for time. He been seeing some weird demon muppet with a huge boner for a week. Jackson should wonder why he pees blood; he be proper trippin' for sure!

 

Jackson just another local fuckhead to me, sees him getting wasted, getting into shit all the time. It how we know each other. Me? I’m just another window-licker mix the acid with GHB with organic Sativa, the wickedest synthetic NPS shit and washed down with lot of Lucozade.

 

It a crazy combo but I got fuck else to look forward too! What else when you got fuck all but time on your hands? Ain’t like I’m having a wicked time of it when I flip burgers like a pro, been there done it. Service industry shit ain’t for everyone, even if it a zeroed-out hustle.

 

Any fucker who knows the Jackson Fraction has to be a total fuckhead – that dude a total fuck-head magnet like me! He raves and has his seizures and keeps on raving; he don’t give a fuck if he pissed himself. Pissed himself on ket, shat himself on too much bugle and mandy mixed together. And the mandy usually beats the nose-candy but everyone's partial to a fair bit of bugle.

 

Trippy times, wicked tings.

 

Get on the rocks after having it out wherever you are. Mix the illegals and NPS bizzle, mix em down. Bashed up proper. Puff n chuff, hoot n huff, get right on it with the Chongz. Reminds me: Got this new glass steamroller wanna try out later!

 

Jackson Fraction got funny again after neutralising some fascist pig. Think it a bouncer. Went back and sorted him out with a brick to the head. Jackson got the old Five AM shakedown at a rave, you know when your eyes are proper rolling.

 

The Five Am shakedown is classic, though not as common as you'd think. It entails some fascist cunt jobsworth bouncer coming up to you as you're getting out of the bogs and looks into your eyes. They all go: Let me look into your eyes; right, I know what you're up to!

 

You say you're gonna go anyway, you know they'll kick you out the club, but these bouncers just wanna search you and scam some shit off you. They're after anything. They're just fucking hypocrites. As soon as you hear the fascist motto of: just doing my job - then you gotta let it roll and bite your lip.

 

You have two choices, depending how fucked you are. You either kick off and end up getting held down by a few of these jobsworth bouncers, or let the jobsworth cunt do their thing and find less than half a gram on you! There's no planning for it but people know there a lot of cheeky bouncers out there, taking people on at the end of the night when they're really buzzing and feeling it. The worse they’ll get is a hug, but you know how it goes. You've got the rest of your shit stashed but you ain't letting them find that. Let them find the crumbs.

 

It wrong time for these kind of bouncers, they're sad bastards really. Stay clear of those venues, usually one that does it starts with a 'S' and ends in a 'A', though they don't do many raves there nowadays. Probably explains why a lot of bouncers getting stabbed recently - too many shakedowns on the hot tempered! And those fuckers don't forget, they really hold a grudge! These bouncers are dodgy: half the time, they just sell it on, or take it for themselves to have a little sample of the wonderful magic stuff. What else they gonna do with it? They definitely ain't handing it over to the cops, the pigs will clamp down on their licences. No-one wants that – they'll move on to some other venue and fuck it up for everyone else. They can handle getting the shit beat out of them though – just like pigs, they love being on the sick with the old bad back.

 

Bouncers, Pigs are just part of a state funded gang that pretends to keep the peace but are in fact political agents; no fucker really likes pigs. And there are some really sound pigs – people who should never bother with the shit they get for being pigs. On the flipside, pigs break their own laws half the time – they only meant to gather evidence, but they can’t help trying to fit you up with an illegal search, take your shoes off in the back of the police car and let them give you a foot massage and check you ain’t got Sickboy shoes.

 

One pig searched Jackson without respecting their own laws. It was back to sus laws all of a sudden. The fuckers cam's never work when they hate someone enough to get them!

 

What gets me the most being that most pigs forget the law quicker than what fuckheads do. I don't condone killing them - that fucked up shit - but I can definitely understand why they're hated. They don't get me shedding too many tears for them.

 

Jackson had a brick of mandy wrapped in a tea-towel in his bag. He wasn’t going to go down for a roach and a dodgy charge of being in the area of a suspected burglary. No fucking way. Jackson had it out with these pigs, they ain’t all tough. Most of them are utter fannies. He beat the shit outta this fat cop. We say it, no matter how shit your day been, whatever you do don’t kill them. They put the full force on you when you kill a cop but they love throwin' a sicky when they get a beatin', they’re on the sick two years plus. It's a win-win.

 

Jackson beat up another dealer who made the mistake of selling a bad cut. That fucker had to pay up sooner rather than later, so Jackson lost it when reality got in the way. The purest buzz always bosses it at the end of the day n if the shit is so badly cut down it means profiteering over the buzz, you're killing the product, no fucker will wanna touch it, everything becomes impossible to shift. Reality can be problematic like that, even when you have diverse tastes like Jackson.

 

Jackson ended up cripplin' this dealer, mallet to the knees n pelvis, a rusty cheese grater bit of wire wool to the skin, then poured acid in his eyes. Fuckin' hydrochloric not LSD!

 

He be savin' any experimental LSD for later at the after party; yellowish green stains on cheap blotter, nobody takin' that away from you. Chew it up, or hunt around for the sugar cubes if you got a dropper. Sayin' it, knowin' Jackson Fraction, he could have done both but he pissed over this dealer after he was done with him.

 

Trust, Jackson Fraction can be a mean fucker for a hippy. Known him for time, always the way.

 

What you up to now, shithead? Jackson asks me.

Not much, I tell him, trying not to make eye contact. My eyes were rollin' like a one-armed bandit about to hit the jackpot. EUPHORIA FLEXIN' – TAKE ME FUCKIN' HIGHER!

 

I need you, Chazz, don’t wig out on me man! Jackson tells me.

 

Fuck, I don’t know what the fuckin' problem has to be. What was he on? It too early for me, fuckin' hate it early - proper one too many mornings! I’m just chilling, want to finish my fuckin' bacon sarnie in fucking peace.

 

I couldn’t tell what’s up, I can’t be arsed to find out. He’s on everything then nothing then back on everything again. The world can’t contain Jackson’s buzz. He’s an interplanetary psychedelic freak.

 

I’m keeping it cosmic, Jackson, my man! I tell him, laughin', all '70s Blaxploitation flick style. This time I make a bit of eye contact, one of me eyes almost pops out me gammy socket.

 

Jackson just smiles. A big goofy fuckhead smile.

 

I know you’re fucked in the head, Chaz, but I didn’t think you were this fucked up. Shit, I should think before telling you shit. You’re more fucked than me!

 

That bit might be true, memory like a sieve, a gold fish could remember more than me. But fuck it - look at me dance! Like a fucking idiot! Without a care in the world! There nothing like it: getting mashed up with fuckheads and strangers, what else could be better. The set getting techno-heavy. That weird tech DnB – in theory it should melt into prog-rock real easy. I always thought I'd try mixin' it into happy hardcore, considering a lot of happy hardcore Deejays are secretly making DnB, House, hardcore, Psytrance now. Goes from a new un from Aggressor Bunx into Dom n Roland's Aliens.

 

I haven’t done much to correct it and I ain’t going to get bailed out this late on. I know I'm good and fucked in the long-term – one stop to Dementiaville. This where lots of people in the system just going to drop out for good. I’m one of them, I have to say. It really don’t pay for me to work, but I can do without the shit job, I’ll take the shit money of the benefits any day than some shit job for some ungrateful cunt of a boss. I’ll pass it by all the time. It means I’m not better or off or any worse off.

 

I get into some political shit these days, Jackson whispered to me.

I nod, then shrug. In that order. I really don’t give a shit.

 

D'YER FUCKIN' KNO' WHA' POLITICALSHIT MEANS? Jackson screams at me.

 

I almost jump out of me skin.

 

Jackson laughs like a proper mad fucker. Jackson scary when he laughs. His teeth are totally fucked at the back; I only just clock he only got a few teeth left.

 

A real loud laugh right in the face, right down me lug-holes, all spittle n spray, plus his usual foul weed mandy acid breath. Doesn't stop him blagging the ladies, the hippy fucker ain't brushed his teeth in years.

 

Easy does it – nice and easy all the way.

 

Everyone looks around at us, the manager whispers something to his colleague. Pakis man, always looking nervy. I’m just as dark as that Arab mate of his heatin' up manky chips for hundredth time.

 

I smile at the people who bother to look up.

 

Lucky for us there some homeless old fucker in one corner, piss trickle down his shit-stained trousers and there’s a few school kids further down.

 

I look at Jackson: he ain’t even sweaty or angry. His eyes look clear. He smiles back at me. His usual idiot smile. The cunt. He don’t give a shit, it why I fuckin' love his style! He got flow!

 

Follow me, Chaz, whispers Jackson.

 

Maybe he on a para trip. He must think there be spies about.

 

I’m so fucked, I’ll follow any fucker - fuckin' right on matey!

Flashback Vibin'

;/

 Jackson Fraction looked a bit mullered; always the kind of dude who looks shit-faced. Screwed up grimy bandana round his neck, he don't care about lockdown, like it never happened.

You know Jackson always thinkin' of some better score, better gear, a better rave somewhere else. It worth a fine. For a raverhippy he always moans about vibes today. The old vibe not there or a bad soundsystem if it a illegal thogh most legals have mad systems, kinetic dancefloors, sprung, real good. Didn't think hippies moaned so much til I met Jackson but fucking hell, he really goes for it about vibes! Vibes a serious business! Me? Nah, I don't give a fuck. Gave up time ago. But Jackson, what a fuckhead. He's lost it but he don't know it yet.

I met up with him at some random rave called Pussy Claw, can't remember where, loadsa these clubs all gone, even if a lockdown finishes them off these newer places never seem to last long either. It some kinda illegal semi-legal vibe, all tucked down in a disused office car park. Guess they push it til Plod show and wind it up. If you're locked in you need a way out, they block you in. Can only tell them to go get a warrant, tell them to go away.

Fuck know's why it all called Pussy Claw? Maybe got to do with the way the car park shaped, maybe it looks like a claw? But it was all good. The bouncers were the dealers; they didn't like people fucking around with any rough stuff, try to keep vibes pumped as petty turf shit loses them money also gets Dibble's attention. Rule one: no fun with Dibble about, bunch of dull pissheads. Sure all bouncers kinda physical, but these bouncers chilled, they always had good afterhours vibes. DJs aim was to keep folk up there, even drop some of their rough dubs. The bill always flexes, change good, vital; sometimes you ain't gotta Scooby who'll turn up next.

Yeh, mate, I tell you I had just packed in another shit temp zero hour non-job. Fucking awful piece of shit anyway, felt like some weeks I never stopped working, always on call. As soon as you refused a shift you weren't being flexible, you didn't get any work for the next week.

What a con of a piece of shit. Jackson didn't care, he never worked, he told me. Went from school to dole, ended up on it permanently, NEET to Timothy Leary in less than two decades. Real record. Dropped out a long time our Jackson Fraction, like lotsa 'em. Fuckin' loadsa his mates like it, sure few junkies but many not, think it just a way of life.

It like a default when our shit system punishes folks who do the right thing, whole system keeps fuckin' so many people over with shit job after shit job. They would have a breakdown if you took 'em off it so it much cheaper for them to be on it. They would find a way to get back on all of it, who knows what else. Seen Jackson fake a fit before in McDonald's in Brixton, only to knock someone then not pay. Fucking don't give a fuck, some crazy loser like Jackson Fraction. I thought he'd overdosed time ago. But way it goes. Jackson Fraction knows some proper randoms.

He's all cool. He says he cons all the docs and those private fuckers that assess all the big claims. To be honest, they probably think he's a nut so they know he'll be 100% unemployable. I look around Jackson's vanished, probably crouched down somewhere to bin up a zoot.

I keep quiet, I don'tlike too many randoms, only reliable people to sort you out. Always at a rave think through the world, escape the world, need it in lockdown these silent discos in fields not the same as feelin' a bit of bass. So here I am: left the shit pay job, snored off me fam, the kids even me missus for one night only - too much headshit though they'd get more bens without me around. Can tell prices will rocket right up whenever this shit pandemic ends.

I gone AWOL - for a bit anyway! Suppose to chill at Jenna's, she's some proper fit bird I know from a old temp job but she's a proper tasty raver slut - always got her eye on the next hunk candy. I ain't the jealous type, it not like I can keep it dry for long either, so I feel lucky Jenna keeps it on a open fuck buddy basis; she digs the himbo look: fat bulging bicep arms and sweat free face, crisp hair, gel immaculate. Box fresh poser. Another fuckin' rich kid poser, you know posers? All about fashion – rave on a fuckin' catwalk; strap dresses, immaculate Versace and Moschino,it all one endless vogue - but at least they're honest enough to tell you when you hum in a rave! It don't matter when it open air, illegal or legal raves, open air won't smell shit for long – unless the brown sound been hit! In clubs, really should have a ton of fuckin' air fresheners or turn some air con on for folks who truly bust a fuckin' groove cuttin' up some shapes all fuckin' night, keepin' it fuckin' hardcore!

See Franco, looks desperate, he knocks out whatever he can. Even got a hot Rolex. He shows me. He’s with a sixteen year old, she looks proper mature. Franco smiles, showing his fucked teeth, he wipes his long sweaty hair. He’s gone for the circa '91 mystic ponytail' vibe. He still looks the same, apart from the fucked teeth. He never goes to the dentist, he hates it. His breath stinks of shit. No shit. Does a lot of meth too, but you wouldn’t think so to look at him.

Franco shouts to me, Look 'ere bro? Check it?

Fuckin' Rolex? So fuckin' what? I go.

Yeah, it hot, it ain't real is it?

Fuck knows, what it fucking Antiques Roadshow? Serious fuck knows bruv. Have I missed Gachet?

Franco shrugs looking at the Rolex. Where's Gachet? Franco mumbles at me.

Maybe he'll be on after Randall, I say to myself more than Franco. He reeks of a weird combination of piss, sweat, weed and fried chicken.

I got some shit for you too, smiles Franco: yellow tooth smile, crisps cake his gums, bits of burger stuck between his rotted teeth.

It's cool, I'm good Franco, I say. I know only got one old sweetie left.

I'll knock it out good price. You get me some food though from the food bar, I should've asked earlier.

Fuck here we go. Sort any gear off Franco a real mission. He can get everything but the guy has nothing quality. Weird deals only to confuse you to pay a bit more – he will tie himself up only get a extra fiver off you! Sure, he'll sort skag or crack, get you varied quality of rough cut MDMA, various pills of varying strengths. All random sure; what the fuck they do? Always a wait – they either wicked or totally shit. Never in between. Sometimes you have to double the pills up if they areal low dose. He always wants the same money, like he got his lifestyle set around those magic numbers. A haggle can go on all night. He digs the legit shit too, though nitrous too short for me. Poppers make me batty feel weird, too. I don't dig that vibe. Fuckin' do it, though, fuck it.

Franco needs some food, he’s taken out a massive wrap, gums it up.

Hold on to this for me, Franco tells me. I shrug, take his wrap. It looks like some kinda drone with meth powder, probably OK but still fairly weak compared to decent mandy. You'll probably need to do loads of it to get a proper buzz. I stick in me sweated up back pocket to forget, get it sweated up so Franco can remind me later moan on I ruined his shit. I get lost in the vibes; the zonage killers - Strings of Life 94 remix gets dropped - blows some selfie wallflowers away! Don't need to update Insta shit while you at a lockdown rave, do you? I lose it for time before hear I Franco whine on again.

You got a score? I need a burger, I need something. I ain’t ate in weeks, Franco moans.

Fuck! No fucking way, what a crazy fucker! He can't be fuckin' hungry!

I remember when he invited me around his squat; all empty cupboards, thick black mould covered the walls. It real foul but, at least, it had running water, even some power left on. It had to be left by some developer fucker.

Franco said he just ignored it all. And when it was time to go, there was an old caravan out the back. He was using it to cook up in, even mix up various synthetic powders. Bottles of printer toner, brake fluid, oven degreaser all pile up high in a dirty bin.

Trust me, bruv, fuck all wasted in Blighty! Never know what me next batch'll turn out like – all trial mostly error, it way it goes, real street chemistry styley!

I nodded in agreement, what else can you do when you're talkin' to some amateur poisoner! He hopes not to kill anybody but it's all a bit Frank Spencer if he does. Franco said he'd find it funny, he sent Goofer Gaz to hospital more than once, way too much GBL. Fuckin' deadly if you have even a bit of alcohol in the end, real toxic. GBL turns to GHB as soon as it hits, the last thing you want to do is have a drink but loads of people do it. Like with all the kids takin' shitloads of pills and coke on top of loads of ketamine then drink loads of booze.

 

I zone out more, always on a zone out - totally vibe trippin' feel like I'm movin' like Fred Astaire to Slipmatt's Hear Me, trust a wicked mix, though probably movin' like a muppet! Gonzo dance! Sweat everywhere, been goin' time, time always flies: makes me think of seOne when I first met Jezzy Mongo, Jackson Fraction, all crew. It was a wicked time then: cheap pills, some decent some shit, quality bugle, powerful mandy. Still got quality weed, hash - even skunk value for money. It was a mad time where I wasn't up to much, on a job hop, bored I don't reckon I ever knew what to do, I'd end up in different places. Me family all over the country anyway, it all ended up a big whatever.

Jackson appears again, permanent wasted smile, he like a some kinda tripped out ghost here there every fuckin' where! He hands me a zoot I chuff, tastes like air, so I hand it back. Makes me see orange through those mad lasers.

What was it? I ask Jackson.

Jackson laughs, shakes his head, one eye a slit his other eye, all red, look like it'll pop out of his socket – bright ol' star eye, he's buzzin'!

Legend, love y'matey! Jackson shouts at me.

Franco wants to bum some, he tryin' to get his iffy droney shit he gummed earlier off me but I ignore the annoyin' fried rat. He got a whiny voice, real junkie whine, it doin' me nut in! Franco puts his hand out for the zoot, I drain it, hand him the roach. See orange then purple green lasers. Jackson's laughin' at Franco take a lug of roach.

Don't take long: real full on photosensitive flashback in these lockdown vibes; think right back to when you meet people who change you forever. Not forgotten, Leftfield right on. It weird as I'd stumbled through late nineties raveland, usually at alternative subcultural events, Bagleys, Canvas, Cross, Key, sometimes Egg, then usually at beat up Fridge but I'd even catch lotsa bands: Bull&Gate, Barfly, Astoria, Garage - not bad with a fake ID, lanky acne, always on a blag. The time what changed it all: seOne sure it 2006 maybe 2007, near the end time of seOne it closed only three years later. Shame The Cause only been about a couple years. Had to close, yuppie developers always get their way in Blighty – too much money at stake. The Cause shaped up to be one of the best new clubs, sometimes the vibe reminded me of seOne, it always great at The Cause – huge for Tottenham to have a real club for real ravers, not up its arse like Fabric and Ministry of Sound, all run by people who totally love clubland and wanted to do some good raising money for the community and charities.

I always end up on a past-present linkage, who cares for the future when you're havin' it right out? But kinda all keeps me real zoned, past never far away, like the future – unites us, we can't avoid it. Makes me feel one, even if I fucked up how to word it: past always seems there even though it always gone, the unknown future doesn't seem as fun but I know you can't guarantee the future, still can't wait to find out if I'm lucky enough to make it. Nearly poisoned myself with GBL one night, it only takes a drop too much then pick up a alcoholic drink by mistake, really canes. I thought I'd need hospital again but after passin' out, I woke up right as rain. Maybe it'll come back to haunt me like all other contaminated toxic shit I dropped.

I remember back at seOne I met Ronnie Rainbow always with Lady Charley, his tall raver missus. Kindest people you'd ever want to meet. Always help people who had bugged out but always smiley, always face up to the cold faced chin- strokers who there to be miserable. Always a zoot in Ronnie's mouth, he and his missus could really rave also smoke so much ganja, it mad how much Ronnie toked. People couldn't believe Ronnie breathed ganja!

Before raves went seriously middle-class -sold out or whatever you want to call it - where they weren't full of hipsters who filmed every set next to their dull hipster birds who dreamily slow danced to mental amen breaks.

Ronnie came up to me one time before at a smaller club in Vauxhall. Used to be more sweaty little clubs in Vauxhall. But I remember when he came up to me while the floor kinda moved, even the walls turn to blood, it kinda went like I was in a level of old skool Doom. I must've been sweatin' buckets, lookin' real weirdly wired.

Ronnie said, You look real fucked bruv!

Uh? I kinda mumbled. I don't remember if even able to say much else. Some gear so good, couldn't chat after droppin' it.

You all cool though? Ronnie asks, looks into me eyes: see the power of chemical friendship. We all on the same wavelength, one for the headstrong. Ronnie Rainbow was the don of headstrong ravers.

C-c-chuuurz m-m-mmateeee, c-c-cchuurz, I finally say to Ronnie, he must've seen me on a struggle to rap with him. I shook his hand.

The hand of a real legend. Ronnie Rainbow. It a honour to dry out after the rave over, if no afterparty, share a couple zoots with him n Charley. Sure I saw him at Jamm after that. Ronnie was everywhere I was, we kinda been friends. I went to things on I didn't even know he'd be at, we'd bumped into each other. It was how Jackson Fraction and Jezzy Mongo appeared. Jackson Fraction was the original invisible random raver. So many knew of him but didn't know his name. But he knew everyone like Jezzy - who also know the posh wrong un Crisp Roll. Only trust fund baby who really did live like a hippy junky, had it out with all real ruffneck. They all cool. Ronnie Rainbow knew everyone too but he really did know everyone, even the MCs and DJs every one.

 

;O

Jezzy's a joker, but we all suss he a hippy contact collector. Ronnie all about vibes and raves. Every Dj needed a Ronnie Rainbow and Lady Charley. Always on it, always hyped. They loved everyone. Supported so many DJs. But Jezzy always wanted to creep up his contact book, Ronnie didn't give a shit, he was a real true soul. He was no commercial fucker, he loved all DJs, all people and supported em even if it only him n Charley on the dancefloor – he'd be everywhere. All the time, I don't know how he done it – like a rave carousel! Ronnie smiled. That time at seOne was magic; sure it only a little while before the mad Raindance and Moondance raves on there at same time, was mad Whirl-y-gigs. To fill seOne is magic but to explain the Whirl-y-beat is tricky, supposed to be like a inclusive global music vibe. You go in fucked and came out even more fucked on organics and synthetics. Used yourself as a test subject – but you always able to get a cuppa at a Whirl-y-gig!

It so mad that Whirl-y-gig. Ronnie had got some mad pink magic. Ronnie, Charley and me had all tucked in. Jackson came by Ronnie knew him gave him some, Jackson gave us some mad red Mickey Mouse pills. OH ME DAYS! The whirlybeat, the swirl of everything - we must've been laughin' for hours, move real weird. Jacksons had some trips. I noticed that hi converse all had holes in, he barefoot in them – must've killed his feet.

Jezzy Mongo – weird dude with ginger dreads talks to Ronnie. Ronnie sorted him out. Jezzy looking for people called Custard Cream and Bungle Bob. Ronnie knows them says he say them around Cafe Teez looked bugged havin' a good bun, downs a cuppa! Jezzy says he'll come back, but he says he got more gear to go. He meant to get some PG Tips off Custard or Bungle. I can't believe it – they're as good if not a bit cleaner than those red mickeys. Strength of those things, it all relativ, it all about a pure clean buzz.

Better than the piss poor shit here at Pussy Claw now - reckon some kids got no ADHD meds this week, like fuckin' back to the Sixties! Always joke about those big blue speed capsules they had back then. They needed to be big, gotta take loads of speed to keep a buzz tickin', then you end up chattin' endless shit do every one's heads in – don't make any sense to yourself. But way it goes. You'll fuck up in the end, hope it not serious – loads of cabbies, truckers used to take it; they'd take shitloads to pull all nighters. Even hear pigs take it, it used to treat loads of stuff. I think it funny they give it to hyper kids.

 

Franco breaks me time out zone out. Franco moans, I can't hear him I'm still in two different worlds. The soundsystem seems to be on a cut out now. Maybe they turned it down, hope Old Bill finally fuck off. I doubt it with this many people here. I put me mask on, hood up. Don't wanna get filmed by Plod even if end up dishin' fines. Only another fine I'll never pay.

Mate I think Dibble turned up again, it endin'. Kherri, her mate Clara, they all fucked off, they always do it before old Bulls show up!

Bulls? Chicago Bulls? I go to Franco.

Nah man, nah Plod I mean - y'know Bulls.

Whatever man, I tell Franco. I got his sweated up droney shit still in me back pocket. I take it out, drippin' in sweat, hand it back to Franco. The fucker thinks I wanted to shake his hand.

Time to look for an alternate exit; stay here only a wait to be handed another fine. Jackson already pulled off some wire, found a squeezable gap to another area. Hear pig choppers swirl about us above, probably got those infra red cameras on. Still think it bad of Dibble set their dogs on some ravers at a illegal one. Can't remember where but it at a bigger rave than this. Serious injuries to ravers, though cops always get off lightly even though it'll slowly change. Only people too, most forget it as soon as slip on their uniform. They're still all killjoys – surely they can clock if we all wiped out, surely whole of Blighty all go total apocalypse styley by now. Ain't only bog rolls M.I.A., common sense faded end of 2019. The bat flu wears people down, even if out of a lab, it don't matter, it'll wear em down slowly but way it goes. Gettin' lotsa stuff will do the same, won't like to get malaria loads but can't compare it to some new virus.

I still got Ronnie Rainbow and Charley's ecstatic faces etched in me mind. We all rushin' - proper loved up euphoria, even all the trippy hysterics by the time huge Whirly parachute came down; always mad at the Whirl-y-gig at the great seOne, it cracked us right up. Ronnie shouts: I WANNA KEEP ON, DON'CHA FUCKIN' END IT!

We all wanted to keep on, but it had to end, that surreal moment of silence when the music finally over. Charley had to pull him down. She suddenly looked like a squaw, Ronnie some kinda brave. I really wish Ronnie still here – wish he'd never end, the world needs his spirit, his kindness. I wish I did more for him. Ronnie Rainbow: Never fear a thing – fuck fear in its shitty face – there be only love. What a mad vibe love is.

It mad as we didn't really know each other – we all hugged each other like family, hugged randoms like we'd known 'em years. Must've taken us a hour to leave. It not bad value since it started during the day ending the next morning. Fuckin' Whirly spirit. I always wonder what DJ Monkeypilot up to now. Whirly gigs still pop up nowadays - hope shitty bat flu chemical weapon pandemic not killed em off - but never same from seOne days.

To be honest, I can't believe Ronnie Rainbow not here, he seemed invincible. He's been gone time now. Amount of raves I see him and Lady Charley at – loves happy hardcore, jungle, all drum n bass, all kinda house. He loves it all. Ronnie rocked and raved the lot – he even rocked dubstep as he knew Congo Natty bigged it all up, maybe even unknowingly pioneered parts of the sound! He told me he'd even bump into Kode 9 and Mala at Blue Note back in the day, before he'd even hooked up with Lady Charley.

Mad for sure, Ronnie even knew the dude who ran the notorious Eskimo Noise Soundsystem what the whole Metalheadz loved so much. Ronnie at the first of the best: Genesis, Labyrnth, Dreamscape, Telepathy, Desire, Helter Skelter, Fantazia, helped hold the tent up at one of the early Raindance's - at the first Bangface, even back at the early Kool raves at Astoria.

Ronnie always happy, always had a big zoot, the maddest MDMA known to humanity. Righteous ravin' – nothin' in our world beats it. Totally miss Ronnie, it mad bastards like me who always be his disciples.

Ronnie Rainbow had more of aura than some DJs – I always say to some DJs, if they ever bumped into some at a rave: Trust me, Big Time up yourself DJ, don't ever forget every fuckin' DJ needs a Ronnie Rainbow!

They all laugh, nod, some of the young kids don't get it. They only want mugs who'll buy a download or follow 'em on their shitty socials. It way it feels - it all a transition to sell out the people who really do care*.

 

*-'

Unreal Ronnie's six feet under. Lady Charley followed Carl Cox to Australia. Another legend for sure but Charley always said it always the memories. And both of them got grown up kids down under, too. I doubt I'll get a invite over, I've had too many deportations on me passport now. And always hear Oz real strict on border checks but Charley says the gear not bad out there even if some things better in London.

I reckon it a new way of life, Charley rings me up on a cheap phone card, we shoot the breeze, she loves hearin' me talk about Ronnie. It all I talk about in honesty, it as if he's really here. Plannin', tokin', a wide-eyed wonder - always headstrong! We laugh but tears always there.

Ronnie's not dead, Jackson always tells me, through a haze of wavy smoke. He's there, right there in our hearts, Jackson slurs, flecks of spittle spray from his wasted face.

 

I must've really zoned out as next thing I know we've left Pussy Claw. Me and Jackson quickly trek up some dull street towards the busted bus stop, fuckin' long wait on lockdown night buses some routes shut up but can only see how it goes. Only wait. It colder now but Jackson seems wired - shrugs off cold as always. I only clock we've left Franco at Pussy Claw, chuffin' roach, his iffy gear what won't get him high.

Jackson all smiley says, Dude you look real fucked! It's not even four in the fuckin' mornin'!

Fuck it, I say, fuck it all. It all I ever say nowadays. Whatta mad world!

When we get to the bus stop we wait for the bus in zoned out silence. We don't care if it late - we'll wait out for the fat old sun rise to wig out last of our buzz.

People Who Have It Out

 So it meant to be all lockdown, what are people meant to fuckin' do? I'm broke, decide to turn the room me mate, DJ Hog, usually crashes into a store room for synthetics. Hog only had a busted Akai in there, maybe a punctured airbed. Fuck knows where that fucker gone to now. Hog's gonna find it a real tough squeeze to get in there now.

 

I started order printer toner til it got tricky to order, then did same with brake fluid. Sure, I did have a shitty gig economy delivery job: eighteen hours a day for piss poor money - but fucked it off only a couple weeks into lockdown one.

 

Signed on started to live off cookies, vitamin pills, cheap noodles from the corner shop. Then ordered loads of cheap health supplements full of piperin and DMAA which is a synthetic amphetamine - real popular in the Americas as it got so cheap. It probably got banned in Blighty but it all ends up banned in shitty old Blighty, even if our politicians and their families got shares in it all! Fuckin' hypocrite central fuckers!

 

So I call up Salford John. This dude a total fuckhead.

 

He's fucked, always on shit. Really strong shit n weak odd kinda shit. Mainly prescription shit. It's the mix with the illegals n research chems that hits him; Salford John always tells me its the legal shit what fucks him up more nowadays.

 

So I tell Salford John about his new dingers, these yellow Locos, yellow circle discs. Not enough chicken powder. It weird. I tell him they're all shit. You need so many to get a tiny buzz. Even went on a squat mash up, private warehouses too, fuckin' did shit.

 

Salford John laughs, tells me: Bruv, I've been drinkin' all day, doin' shitloadsa snort, I'm sure I felt somethin' but I not sure if can get your cash back!

 

Unreal. It not about the cash. It the fact he's not even tried 'em – when he said he fuckin' had – turns out, he had to get completely shitfaced on booze, coke even his own meds! Take it really needed to top his fuckin' buzz up! No wonder he real fuckin' clueless don't even know what fuckin' day it is! I laugh then

Salford John sends me some experimental shit through the post in a bag labelled X20. I'm hopin' it ain't fuckin' bath salts but then again I'm the one who's goes from shop to shop for nail polish remover.

 

I reckon I can see out lockdown. Me missus not so good. Mel's got to do all the kids homeschool b.s. Boy she's a hardcore pisshead now. If needed any more excuse to hammer her liver, it had to be fuckin' lockdown!

 

If I'd known how much Melissa could drink, fuck unreal. She'd drink me under table any day. I tell her take some speed, have a zoot, chill. Too busy havin' a scoop. If I could get the kids homeschool shit, I'd be like maybe I can help but kids school stuff it real trippy – kinda bugs me out, end up tellin' me kids about Akira n random stuff outta 2000AD comics I read when I was a kid – fuck it don't help 'em on homework – they got online geeks anyway but they want to hear it. Melissa tells me to shut it n fuck off. All cool by me, I couldn't help nippers with basics anyway can't remember shit – sure it feels like got no memory at the mo.

 

Well chuffed when Salford John expressed delivered this X20. I open it up n look at brown crystals. It can't be good. Try testing it with a reagent but maybe the test wrong, it can't tell what it is. Fuckin' some kinda new kinda synth. It must have a name. They're all cathinones at the end of the day. Well, I been here before. Eager to try. Some lick me thumb n scoop a load. Me gob, me head goes numb. Nothing happens. Maybe I'll snort a few lines of it as well, find some closed-door football, whatever on – start to rack up the first huge line, fuck why not. My word, does it hit later.

 

Whatta fuckin' rush! This should be fuckin' legal. Easily lost a whole fuckin' day, fuck knows what I'd done, even where I ended up. It like dawn, maybe a bit later. Still early. How can you lose a whole fuckin' weekend? Time really drags on these lockdowns.

 

Melissa comes up to me, says all stern like: Don't go out again, hon. Yer scared the kids, but don't go out – probably get fuckin' busted good n proper.

All I remember is the huge streetlights turned into space ships, it bat shit. They're tryin' abduct me.

Melissa drinkin' a WKD for brekkie again, lights a fag. Looks all stern at me. It must be serious she not even put any lippy on.

Don't I get a mornin' BJ?

Fuck off – yer trippin' all fuckin' weekend! What all that shit about your gran tryin' to take you to the otherside?

Wha'?

Don't give me that. Fuckin' laughin' n cryin' hours. People thought we were havin' a domestic till Plod turn up see yer beatin' yourself up. They couldn't be fucked, they left – said a paramedic on way. Paramedic didn't wanna go near!

Whoa shit, guess Salford John's right.

What – yer fuckin' remember?

 

I suddenly clock real fast that I can't remember for shit where I put the rest of that fuckin' mad X20 packet. Unbelievable! Did I do the lot or is there some left?

 

Where's me mobile?

Fuck knows. I'll ring it. What was that shithead mate right about it?

What?

Oh for fuck's sake. Said he' s right – take it he's dosed yer, some experimental shit, it'll fuck yer up even more?

Shit – I wish I knew of a fuckin' rave on.

A rave? There been no fuckin' raves dozy fucker – it why yer doin' me fuckin' head in, IT'S FUCKIN' LOCKDOWN FUCKER!

Yeh, yeh, I know.

Don't be gettin' some daft fuckin' fine, I knew it. Fuckin' knew it when chipped out wanderin' tryin' find some shitty rave. We can't pay a fine like it, why do it? Fuckin' crazy fucker!

Yeh, soz babe, I won't. I need to look for somethin'. Need to find it real quick.

I bet! Need to find me own mind to stay here! I'm havin' a bottle of Chablis after all that. Mad fuckin' mentalist. I had no idea yer real mad.

Yeh, I been mad years n years.

God, it unreal. Guess gonna have to join a queue, there must be a phone line or video call you can do.

Fuck knows, babe. I'll try not to wig out again.

 

Melissa kept gassin', on n on – pisshead tellin' how no shame to get help. All I could think of was that fuckin' packet. In me mind I saw it laughin' at me, a cheeky cartoon chuckle.

 

Fuck all that, I need to get me mind back. It when I started to think where I put that fuckin' – if the kids got it fuck they'll be havin' a wicked time, straight down the park tuck right in. I really need to find it. Break out in sweats.

 

Hear Melissa say, Shit, don't look too good, you...

 

I end up goin' bog. On the bog I give birth to some kinda turd weasel. It alive, snarlin' as it breathes the funky bathroom air. I'm fucked. I guess it not too weird I see this weird alien turd weasel. We look at each other. With it's tiny turd weasel cock, while I'm tryin' to shit its afterbirth it sprays me with foul weasel spunk. I'm covered. It makes me yell. Fuckin' turd weasel got wings, I can't catch it – flies right outat the bog window. Fuckin'; sneaky laughin'; weasels. Don't go all Roger Rabbit man, keep it Fritz the Cat. I wipe me butt its like I've not shit. Fuckin' trippy invisible turds. Sure, I can ride it out. If I tell myself it find, it'll be cool.

 

Get out the bog, head spin on top of the stairs. Melissa's there naked caked in that foul edible massage oil she likes. She's got that bottle of Chablis. Wonderin' if she'll fuck it again like at start of lockdown.

So you gonna fuck me mad again, like last night? This is one lockdown uplift I can fuckin' get used to.

I drop me trackies, stare at me boner - it looks like Bela Lugosi! What the fuck?

I'll take it – I would've preferred Christopher Lee but I'll take Bela.

 

Melissa all wild eyed, knows she going to get her bucket of a cunt fucked good n proper. She slurs, Yer did all this weird stuff before yer -

 

I start to kiss Melissa, wanna chew her face off, I've suddenly got real mad lockjaw – always wanted to go like Pryor's old man anyway - then we end up downstairs, bent over the counter, I'm poundin' Melissa's huge cunt from behind. She had loads of kids - nothin' beats a bucket cunt.

 

The kids watch us for a bit at it as they come down for tap water n biscuits – all I can fuckin' think of how to find me fuckin' packet. I can still hear it laughin', hidin' n laughin' at me. Fuckin' X20! The kids laughin' also but that packet laughs loudest.

I yell again as Melissa screams. Hope no one bells Plod thinkin' it a domestic.

I get no outer body shit, feel a bit cheated. Hope it'd be like DMT but can't have it all. I keep thinkin' n thinkin', where me fuckin' packet!

 

I see this packet as some fuckin' monster now, it gone all Killer Condom on me, I'll fuckin' find it even if I tear our gaff apart. Then Melissa's clawin' at me. Shit she turned into some purple skinned ogre witch, fuckin' mouthful of Day-Glo puke, her nose steamin' - fuck her out of fear I'm still thinkin' of this packet. At least she pukin' on the counter – if she on her back she'd be doin' a Jimi! Whatta mad fuck – Melissa's pissed herself too. She hittin' me, probably wants me to stop.

 

Melissa screams right down me fuckin' bad ear: DON'CHA FUCKIN' STOP!

 

I can't believe it if I see a packet, hidden under the counter, I don't trust me eyes. I look back at Melissa n see she's turned into a massive, gooey, packet of X20.

 

God, I love this trippy shit! Lockdown fuckin' sucks, but thank fuck there's plenty of DIY drugs what'll save us!

 

 

Impressum

Texte: Al Calm
Cover: Al Calm
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.10.2021

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Oi oi massive, Peace, Love, Unity n Respec'!;P RIP Skiba