Human Traffic

You lucky,

lucky people.

Yeah, you.

Yes, you.

Fuckin' away.

Aren't you? Fuckin' away.

Like you're late for evolution or something.

Hmm? Yeah, yeah. Oh, yeah. Everyone's at it.

I know. Everybody's at it except me.

The prince of paranoia. Yeah.

You see, at the moment, I am dealing...

with a monumental case of Mr. Floppy.

And it's killing me.

Softly. Yeah. Funny, isn't it?

Well, that's me, I'm afraid. Stressed to the max.

A legend in my own ego.

But if you think I'm fucked up, you should check out my friends.

I can't stop thinking about my girlfriend fucking other men.

It's doing my nut in.

Every bloke she looks at I think she fancies.

Even the thought of her having sex with her past boyfriends gets to me.

Whether they turned her on more or whether their dick was bigger.

It makes me feel inadequate, you know what I mean?

Koop is the best of best mates.

He's an absolute craftsman, man.

We're gonna know each other for the rest of our lives.

We're both as fucked up as each other.

You know, I love his sincerity. He's the coolest person I know.

Alright, I'm having a sub-life crisis.

I feel like a character on EastEnders ‒ the come-down version.

What the fuck am I doing in this job?

I wanna go to college, but I fucked up the interview.

When they asked me why philosophy interested me, why didn't I say something like,

"Philosophy is about the meaning of life,"' instead of...

"I've been having serious trouble trying to work life out,

and I'm now prepared to listen to other people's theories."

Now Nina is Koop's girlfriend.

I've seen her around the clubs for years.

A complete hedonist, but totally down to earth.

No edge to her at all. I trust her with my best mate.

Nina's the most together out of all of us. She's an absolute mistress.

Why would I want a man? They're all emotionally retarded,

egotistical pricks who fuck with your head.

They try to control you and make you feel like...

the whore of Babylon if you wear a miniskirt.

I'm an independent girl who wears lipstick because she wants to,

not because men find it more attractive.

I'm fine being single. I am!

Peachy fucking creamy.

This is Lulu. She's a full-on club minx.

Major head banger.

We've known each other for years. Some people find her a bit intimidating.

It's purely social camouflage.

Recently we became clubbing partners.

And that has helped me get to know the real Lulu. She's a pussycat.

See me? I'm quicker on the draw than Jesse James, my son.

Eh, eh?

I'm sending smoke signals Tonto style, you know what I mean?

I wouldn't say no to a girlfriend, you know what I mean?

How nice it would be to drink the white wine from the furry cup, you know?

I just can't be arsed with the hassle part of the dating game, do you know what I mean?

I just ‒ Having a relationship just ain't Top of the Pops at the moment, you know?

I'm having sex with music, mate.

And believe me, I can go all night.

I met Moff in a warehouse party last summer.

We've been mates ever since.

He got moved down here when his dad got promoted to superintendent.

Now Moff is the biggest pill monster I know. I love him, but he's off his tits.

I swear on my mother's life,

I'm having the best time being off my pickle...

and feeling the music.

You ‒ You-you know what I mean, yeah?

Cushty. I knew you wouldn't let me down. I knew it.

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, b-b-b...

Build it up

Tear it down

Build it up

Tear it down

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce.

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, b-b-b...

Build it up

Tear it down

Build it up

Tear it down

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

God's having a laugh, man.

He keeps digging up these social fossils from my past,

disguising them as paying customers for me to deal with.

Maybe, it's to remind me that memory's overrated.

- - Oh, my God.

It's Karen Benson. I don't believe this.

I failed the physical with her. Oh, please, just go away.

Fuck! She's coming over. Oh, fuck. I'm starting to shake.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Be cool, Jip. Nothing happened, remember?

Come on. Act like an adult and be false.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Here it comes.

Here comes the pain. Hold tight. Oh, my God!

- All right? - All right.

- Why didn't you want sex with me? - I did.

I-I did want sex with you.

So what was the problem?

I was just terrified of losing my erection.

- He couldn't get it up for the birds! - The birds!

- He couldn't get it up for the birds! - The birds!

He must be a fucking queer!

He couldn't get it up for the birds! The birds!

I'm not gay or anything, I--

I'm just having a bit of a head fuck.

- So why didn't you say so? - I was a bit embarrassed.

Thanks. Bye.

See ya.

- It was an accident. - Some fucking accident. - So you just gonna throw it all away?

You threw it away when you had your little accident with Yvonne.

- Fuck Yvonne. - No, fuck you!

You can't just take the piss outta people and then come back and expected to be Terry and fucking June.

Come on. I'm sorry.

Write a song, Tyler. I don't care.

Good luck with your life, 'cause you gonna fucking need it.

This is the third guy who's fucked me over in a row.

It's not you, Lu. You're just a fucking arsehole magnet.

Lulu didn't enroll for a degree in social masturbation,

but she's getting one anyway.

Matt and Luke are post-Goa-modernists.

They live in a canteen armed only with their Golden Virginia and Blue Rizla+.

Yacking endlessly about that psychadelic clichés and how being black is a state of mind, yeah?

Aah, and they just got back from Amsterdam.

Designer-poor and white-boy-dread posse.

Fucking space invaders.

- How's it going? - Downhill.

Right, cool.

- So, how was your trip? - Ah, well.

The theory of the 'Dam is, yeah, life's for living.

So just sit down, skin up, be blot. We chilled out in the red-light district.

- Everyone's blazing away, smoking trees of weed. - Word to the "mummyfucker."

Our last night there, we were sharing a skunk,

chillin' with these two massive Rastas.

Nobody said a word. We just sat there for three hours going up in smoke.

Nodding our heads to the dub reggae that warmed the place.

The base line was so deep, you could feel the vibrations in Jamaica.

- Yo, what's up? - Hey, nice, nice.

- Any new hip-hop, man? - Yeah.

Eh, I got some smoking West-Coast flow just landed. Raw as botulism, mate.

Now, fuck that West Coast shit.

I want some hard-core East Coast flavor beat. You know what I mean?

Well, why didn't you say so? Fat beats. Armageddon on the streets.

We're inundated with the shit, "bra."

Eh, we had anymore hard core, we'd get arrested, you know what I mean?

Yeah, high.

Now Koop's on the pulse, but he's a serious vinyl pusher.

Getting the kids hooked, hustling with style.

This... was recorded by a posse of crackheads on death row, right?

So all them little interludes of prison noises and that, they're for real.

They call themselves The Itchy Trigger Finger "Nigaz."

- The itchy what? - The Itchy Trigger Finger "Nigaz."

...Success with falling in New York is amazing...

...Nine Glock cocked ‒ cops? Fuck cops, my block...

...Execute, rip n tear, prepare electric chair...

...For the villainous, halfway crooked crimes are silliness...

...The barrenous with the venomous, tantrums so scandalous...

...Motherfuckers can't handle ‒ knock them like Rambo...

...Still caged ‒ with strength to go head-up for days nigga (Yeeeaaah). - Yeah!

...In despair as I'm sittin' in this chair 'bout to die...

...In jail a long time ‒ no lie ‒ can't cry...

...A lot of things are runnin' through my mind ‒ mostly crime...

...My last request be one more chance to say my rhyme...

I'll take that shit, man. That shit is real.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, man. Hey. Can't be missed. Twenty quid.

- Twenty quid? - Yeah, man. Eh.

You know like when the price of artists' work goes up when they die, yeah?

Well, the price of hip-hop albums go up when the gangsters get locked down.

Hey, when they get the chair, the price'll go into orbit, mate.

- Is it? - Look, it's going to be banned.

So I'd nab it now before some other hip-hopjunkie does. You know what I mean?

- Yeah, all right. - All right, nice.

Nice one. Yeah, safe.

All right.

Any new jungle in, guy?

I've got the Tarzan and Jane of jungle just swung in on the vine this morning, mate.

I'm telling you,

this could turn Hare Krishna into a bad boy.

Mmm! Jungle is massive in any place! Make a disgrace!

...Easy, man! Easy!...

Cardiff massive! Cardiff massive!

Ai! Ai! Ai!

Bounce to the beat! Bounce, bounce to the beat!

Brutal!

Fucking hell.

Fucking hate this job, man.

Fuck.

We spend nine hours a day, five days a week incarcerated in this...

wanky, fucking store...

having to act like... C3PO...