Frankie Lassut

The Irritation (eBook, ePUB)

• Format: ePub

Produktbeschreibung

Well 'whoopy doo!' Here's another little Quick Flash story. Again it's in A and B mind movie form. The B part which is first (logic), tells another little part of a writer's life i.e. usually about handling the huge amounts of money which comes to writers from their armies of adoring fans. Writers you see are traditionally believed to be so broke that when they buy a box of matches to light the candle to heat up the economy beans they double use the matches, which means they get a piece of string, tie it in bow and arrow fashion to one stick and then use that one to spin the other one usually on one of those joss stick burners. Tissues can be used as kindling when the friction produced is furnace hot, but as tissues are expensive, the writer can use nasal hairs or head hairs or even ear hairs if the writer is a middle aged man or his dad or Granddad has fallen asleep by the fire (they always have mega hairy ears). That's why Ray Mears and Bear Grylls have no ear hair. Women writers are lucky because women have soft downy hair on their arms and can shave that off with their rusty razor blade and use that. When the friction match has worn down to about one centimetre or down to a safe to strike distance between finger and combustible end bit ... then it can be used normally. Match manufacturers hate writers. But that's not true, I made it up ... writers are stinking rich and have several Aga stoves each signed by Aga herself and three or four hi tech gas lighter things with jewels encrusted in them.
The A movie is about a man with a ... I can't tell you that. You can though take heed from it and avoid doing what he did (or does), because the result isn't very nice. He has been through a terrible irritation barrier to help 'you' avoid it. How self- sacrificing is that?
Then someone says 'won't writing about how rich writers are get up people's noses?'
I can only reply 'not if they have decent nasal hair growth.'

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Dieser Download kann aus rechtlichen Gründen nur mit Rechnungsadresse in A, B, CY, CZ, D, DK, EW, E, FIN, F, GR, H, IRL, I, LT, L, LR, M, NL, PL, P, R, S, SLO, SK ausgeliefert werden.

Produktdetails

• Verlag: Frankie Lassut
• Erscheinungstermin: 27. April 2015
• Englisch
• ISBN-13: 9781311980090
• Artikelnr.: 46922075

Autorenporträt

I am the one being shaved; the other one Nim, is is a looney bin now!
I went to see a psychic years ago who ended up as my girlfriend; she didn't see that one coming! But she was extremely honoured. However it ended badly i.e. it rained heavily as I buried her body and I got soaked. No! You don't really want to hear about it, it's depressing; I was joking about the burial. She told me that I was to uncover a talent I had ... Well, another psychic told me that as the first one was dead; I was lying when I said I was lying. Nothing happened for quite a while. Suddenly I realised I needed a 'job' quite badly as I was beginning to drink halves. No, not a boob 'job'! I went for the cheap option i.e. the surgeon gave some socks to shove up my jumper when I go out. I got a 'job' (have you got boobs on your mind?) because someone told me that bus-driving was easy because you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel. She was about six, a wise woman ... that's called an oxymoron. Fantastic! I thought get the job and in a couple of days I'd be driving all the nice passengers around and about seeing all the sights for a fraction of the cost of a tour bus; and we'd have a roof in case it rained. Easy! First of all though there was the training; and I entered hell.

I was born in Cumbria in a little ex-iron ore mining town called Millom. It was only small, a one- horse town; the horse was called Peg. It had a pedigree name too, but I can't remember it at the moment: Peggy Suss? However, I got fed up and left as I was the only man in a town full of women and they were all lesbys; I've always been lucky. I went to Blackpool and attended the photographic college. I then moved to Coventry and met the psychic who would tell me what was going to happen. I could say now that the rest is history. Well it is, but obviously not history as that's all made up anyway. Then I got the job bus-driving, which as I said is easy 'you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel'. The bus station management weren't pleased that she had said that though, so she was tried and sent to Guantanamo Bay; they have a section for young kids who are bad to the bone.

The job was so mad that I thought it would be a good idea to write out some posters and stick them all on the wall of the bus station. The other drivers enjoyed them, but the management tore them down, the badstars (that's an anagram of astards +B). I carried on and ended up with a manuscript for a book, which, by ...