Rafiq and Habeebs Hektik Adventure It was a average day in Broadmeadows, Rafiq is walking back home with Habeeb after collecting their weekly Centrelink cheques, such is the life of a minority in Melborne. As he was walking past a driveway a flash of canary yellow catches his eye. Rafiq slowly turns his gaze, a rush of excitement passes through his body. Parked in the driveway is the object of all his wordly desires; A canary yellow 1987 VL Commodore Turbo BT1. Rafiq notices a shiny object sitting on the bonnet, "the cunt left the keys on the bonnet uleh!" spurts Rafiq to Habeeb. Almost instantly Rafiq feels a brush against his arm as Habeeb runs past him towards the VL. "Get in cunt!" yells Habeeb as he grabs the keys and flings open the door. Without thinking Rafiq follows Habeeb's lead and rushes towards the car and jumps in. Before Rafiq can fully comprehend what they have just done, the car lurches forwards, the sound of tyres spinning as it moves out onto the road. Smoke fills the air as the hektik power of the RB30ET rockets them down the road. Habeeb quickly corrects the steering as the car slides past a small child with millimeters to spare, Rafiq is too engrossed in trying to operate the expensive stereo system to notice how close to scratching the perfect canary paint they just came. Habeeb feels slightly ill for a passing moment, little cunt kids are born everyday, but its been almost 23 years since the last BT1 rolled off the production line; to damage a BT1 would be an unforgivable act. After the almost suicidal encounter with the small child, Habeeb and the boys rolled into Broadmeadows maccas to have a blunt and rid of the thoughts that could've ended the religious, god like, VL. As they sat eating the greasy cheeseburgers discussing the next dose pipe design, they had an Epiphany.. Habeeb had an idea, something that no other wog cunt could come up with, a twin turbod RB30 with separate timed dose pipes. It would be something generations would speak about for hundreds of years later, It would be the equivalent of the Trojan Horse. All wogs & lebos throughout Australia would tell the tales of this mad cunt dosing down the main street of Broady, creating monstrous sounds of pure originality and badassery.. It was decided, Habeeb told Rafiq & Mohammed of the idea and they immediately felt the tears of pure originality, champagne would fall from the sky, doors would open up, wog bitches legs would burst open from the shear noise of the twin dose, their vaginas would tremble with passive sensation of pleasure. Habeeb returned to the home of DOSE, parked the VL and headed to the shed, which was in possession of a spare RB30 with two newly boxed GT60 Garrett turbos that Habeeb saved 5 months of Centrelink pay to buy. They began, stripping the engine, designing and marking, welding up the custom dose pipes to fit these monstrosity's for the twin turbo dose beast, it was being born, a potential douche fetus was becoming a miss universe.. Rafiq pulled out one of his many stolen laptops, and opened up the trading section of boostcruising.com; He quickly scanned the page for the elusive part the whole project was relying on. After scrolling past the pages of crappy skyline springs and 'Peter Brock Power Crystal Bracelets' he found it. A set of injectors from Mark Skaife's Winfield GT-R. These injectors were revered by the RB community, legend has it they flow enough petrol each to sustain the high of half a thousand abos. Without haste he negotiated the purchase of them by offering his 14 year old sister to the greasy wog seller. While Rafiq, Habeeb, and Mohammed are waiting for the cunt to come drop off the injectors and pick up Rafiq's sister; Imad strolls into the garage, holding in his sweaty leb hands a 50 bag and a slab of VB. The garage echoes with "sik cunt" as Rafiq pulls open the slab and Habeeb pulls out his zigzags. The hours quickly pass into a haze of smoke and VB. Shorty after Mohammed engineered the world first Dosepipe-Bong the injectors arrive. As Rafiq unboxes them a strange energy fills the room, almost as if god was standing in the room with them. Without a moment lost the trio begin installing the injectors, not even noticing Rafiq's poor sister being bundled into a van and driven off. She is a true martyr to the VL cause. The beast is now ready. As Habeeb prepares to start the engine a thick mist of anticipation fills the garage. The engine fires on the third rotation, the roar of the engine and smell of petrol quickly fill the surrounding area. Rafiq can barely contain his excitement as he tries to hide the new Lebanese Cedar tree in his pants. Habeeb tweaks the throttle and an almighty "TSUTSUTSU" errupts from the engine bay, Rafiq is momentarily rendered inoperable as his body spasms from the sheer joy. Once his mind is recollected he pulls his new iPhone 4 which he stole from some skippy cunt only hours before. After a few moments fumbling with the terrible input system he successfully calls all his ulehs and urges them to meet them down at the Bell Street maccas. It was quite a sight to behold; the VL gracefully crusing down the Pascoe Vale Road, with four young Lebanese immigrants inside. They felt like modern Kings, patrolling their muzza empire. As they took the ramp to Bell St across the Tullamarine Freeway they noticed a car quickly gaining on them from behind. "oi cunt, thats a fuckin SLR5000" Muhammed errupted in excitement. The SLR5000 pulled up alongside the VL, the loud booming of AC/DC pulsating from its open windows; the VL replied with a truly hektik dose. It was becoming a biblical scene, the two icons of muzzadom rolling side by side. Bell Street maccas was now only fifty metres away, Rafiq pushed the pedal into the firewall and the car launched into a slide towards the maccas carpark. The air became filled with tyre smoke, pierced with the cheering of muzzas and the squealing of underage girls.