The Trans-Atlantic Degenerate Cartel

It seems there is a group of young men, some not so young anymore, running the streets of cities on both sides of the pond, chemically fueled, breathing fire, having nervous breakdowns, avoiding emergency rooms, waking up with the shakes, speaking in tongues, driving expensive cars, some date expensive women, some date blow-up dolls, some prefer the hallucinogenic some prefer things a little harder, some prefer both, it is like a living breathing version of Miami Vice for derelicts instead of cops complete with spiffy wardrobes, hip soundtrack, exotic locales, they cannot be classified into any of the terms like hipster, scenester, indie rocker, punk, mod, rude-boy, mocker (for Ringo) the labels do not fit, the names read like a list of would be hitmen and ruthless gansters.... the Limey, the Spaniard, the Ginga Yinza Ninja, Furious, Tbag, the Lawyer, the King of North Oakland, Paddy, Quit being an Asshole Phil you Asshole, the Greaseball, oh yes kids this is a dangerous lot, particularly to their livers and other major organs but in general they are friendly blokes who you should buy a drink, offer them a smoke, enjoy the mysticism of the mongrel, of course the Spaniard might chew you up and eat you for breakfast and it could be "you're wrong night" in the kingdom of North Oakland, but do not fear kids, they are nothing more than an amphetamine fuelled version of the Breakfast Club except they dance better, they drink harder, they handle their smoke better and don't break down into the i'm so popular speech, but they are out there, lurking, smirking, into the pale moonlight, so raise that glass, bong, glass plate, syringe, prescription bottle, jet fuel, blotter, et al to the Trans-Atlantic Degenerate Cartel and as always stay gold kids.