Real Strange Vibes Volume 10 by Al Calm (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📕

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 getting narked. Major Dribbles and the Splashback Kid, they just be full- time fuckheads. They be the sort of fuckers who are constantly looking 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. Fucking mental.

 

I know this by knowing them, watching 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' with 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