Mr Pingerz

Kev fell off the cooked cunt tree and got penetrated by every fucboii branch on his descent to sweaty shame. He tried his first taste of MDMA at a mate’s house party and has been a loyal follower in the church of pingerz ever since. In the meeting of life he missed the memo that reminds us that drugs do not make us cool, so he wears his gurn like a badge of facially distorted honour. Pingerz for dayz lads.

Kev derives his income from selling pills that are so weak they make a wristy from a depressed sloth seem like a porn grade jack-hammering. Each week he builds a strong case against himself by sending out cryptic messages to his rinser mates, “got CD’s, hell kuta, $35”. Genius. He jumps on his skateboard and cruises to meet his first customer in Mount Lawley. He rinse-swaggers towards his customer like that ratty kid from the Bomfunk MC’s film clip. He bigs up his product by spitting straight from the top of his dome, “these will get you cooked brah, as I said hella kutz”.

His online carry-on is less than discreet also. Happily sharing event posters from promoters who think the flavour of the week is shameless “gurn” and “cooked” references. A tried and tested way to have the K9 unit rock up at your event and really give your patrons a rinsing! It’s not that common sense should ever yield to edgy Facebook advertising though right? That wouldn’t be very “cool”.

Not being burdened by the weight of employment, Kev gets ready to attend his weekly pilgrimage to Metros for his dose of “wubs” and “phat rinses”. His pinger-income has allowed him to get kitted out in the finest Street X has to offer: a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of black mesh shorts with a red X on the leg. He rocks a North Face windbreaker, Nike Airmax 90s and his proverbial crown: a Hilfiger bucket hat. However, all this fuccboi-fashion is only a cocoon for the flourishing cringe butterfly underneath his shirt: a white “Where’s Molly?” singlet that he plans to reveal mid-rinse.

He arms himself with dual Vic’s Inhalers before snorting his first pinger embossed with a white star in the toilets. Despite filling his body with as much MDMA then you’d find in Adam Hunter’s piss at Breakfest, he acts like a gakked cookie monster in a desperate charade to convince other bucket hatted peasants to buy his chalky goods. Despite endlessly banging on about how much he loves “drum n bass” he finds himself outside smoking Benson & Hedges for the majority of the night with his rinselurksquad. They discuss how sick pingerz are and how drinking is for knuckledraggers.

By the end of the night, Kev has consumed 5 pills but happily tells anyone that will listen that he has had 10 pills and is as cooked as an episode of Masterchef. He says his farewells, “legit cya, so done in the jungle”. If there is more to life than pingerz, than Kev doesn’t want to know. However, if he ever tried a true pinger like a Green Mitsi or a Red VW, he would be crawled up on a nang covered floor praying for the baby Jesus to help him.

Enjoy your night and shut the fuck up about how many pingerz you are on.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?