F**k Yeah!, Al Calm [ebook reader online .txt] 📗

looking lost for words. I was hoping I hadn't taken a dump in the sink again.

 

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

 

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

 

Give me a pull on that, she says.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I smile and shrug again.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

She loses it.

 

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

 

That fucking settled it.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

You got some more gear too? she asks me.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

What? I mumble, all monged out. I think