F**k Yeah! by Al Calm (e novels to read online .txt) 📕

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They make me feel funny. I don't think it helps when I get hard around them. I'm a hard guy, but I