Bed, Knobs and Groom Tricks 2, Sleeping On the Job.

By Frankie Lassut

Learning the lesson from the first book, Dubai, I left the toilet door ajar this time and a draught closed it. The last book (Dubai ... well, did you? Dubai it? LOL!) is out there doing its thing, so now, locked in the loo again, I may as well start part 2. I haven’t got my jewel-encrusted jeans on this time, just my Y fronts and the weather has turned. The chill from the lino has risen from the lino to my knee caps, which makes it hard to concentrate when scribbling this new story down. To combat possible exposure, I wrap soft loo roll around my knees, and then call the locksmith ...
Twelve hours later. Story going well, must get a heater in here ... and maybe a little stove so I can make a cuppa (tea, coffee, sugar, a spoon ... the temp now should keep the milk ok for a few hours). All I need now is a huge spider to come out of ... (must stop thinking negative thoughts).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Lassut
• Release date: Nov 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781910103104

Frankie Lassut

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 the way is ‘brilliant’. The management didn’t like it, but bollocks to them.I couldn’t stop writing after that episode and I’ve been writing ever since, mostly cheques to people, such as the mortgage people and the gas board etc. I am so brilliant that I’ve lost all my friends because I wrote about them in my style which I believe is called Bizzaro. My inner being is a bit of a crazy horse, because whatever I write it has to be in that style, even the horror. It just goes that way. ‘Ordinary’ writing to me is like lemonade minus the bubbles ... I can’t bring myself to do it; but thank God I can still bring myself off. I need a selfie stick as I do that because the close focus on the phone won’t do it; how else am I going to post them on the Dark Web?Writing is like a drug. When I was writing my Millom book, the pictures that flashed into my head were so funny to me that I laughed myself into hernia-ville; my stomach tore. I got injured writing.You see, hernia-ville, a retirement home for people with stomach hernias; no comedians are booked to appear at that place.So, my writing is brilliant, so read the bloody stuff!I have actually suffered for my art. I won’t go to hospital to get it fixed because, well, I’ve written about that friggin place too.All that and now I’m an international bestselling author. I’m the only author in this world who has sold books on Mars (eat your heart out Tony Robbins), so I can say with certainty that Martians have fabulous senses of humour.What a profile!

Book preview

Bed, Knobs and Groom Tricks.

‘Sleeping on the Job’

Copyright © Dave Lassut 2013

Published by Wonky Books at Smashwords

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EPUB ISBN: 978-1-910103-10-4

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-910103-11-1

Hello (again?).

Let’s face it, erotica is boring.

As there was a shelf in the book shop beckoning his specialist talent, Frankie decided to have a go at it. After the first five sex acts when the whole game was repeating itself, he decided to go against the whole world of erotica and actually put a story in amongst the eager willies and even eagerer womens’ bits. This caused uproar, a story in an erotic story! How dare he destroy the genre! The Porn Police would get him and give him a good going over with their perfectly proportioned truncheons.

The first story concerned cash strapped Elaine and Neil. They discover that a relative, Elaine’s gran, has left them a little pressie inside one of the carved pineapples on the top of the bed post. They try a pretty outlandish and drastic method of removing the pineapple which is screwed on (blimey! I nearl ...) very tightly, but they can’t do it.

Neil Bought Elaine a plastic dildo lamp, which, when it is on and heated, gives off polymer molecules. These are breathed in by a housefly which then, because the molecules have affected its brain, builds a cocoon and turns into Superfly, a super hero with a difference. Superfly, intent on being respected, insists on being called SUPERRRR FLYYYY, which they have to sing (as does the author). SUPERRRR FLYYYYYY helps them get the fortune. There is sex along the way of course, but a little different, and certainly not, I hope, boring. It is an EBWAD book, an Erotic Book With A Difference.

Anyway, they have blown the fortune, a large part of it going towards defending their house against attacks from the music appreciator’s society (Neil is a folk guitarist and keeps forgetting to buy batteries for his tuner and his singing teacher stopped answering the door years back due to overwhelming stress), and now want to be rich again, naturally. Being rich is like several other things which are good i.e. once you’ve been there and blown it, you want to return (that was almost sexual too).

They wanted to return to Dubai for another sexy holiday and to get Neil’s folk guitar back that the authorities took off him after he kept playing Kum Ba Yaaa and She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain When She Comes, on the streets, for pleasure not money; it was actually the singing that did it, not the out of tune third string (4th string, 1st, 2nd, 5th and sixth ... a common problem amongst folkies who forget to buy batteries ... part of God’s revenge on man).

Anyway, this story isn’t about folk guitarists, it’s about SEX.

Bed, Knobs and Groom Tricks, Part 2.

Sleeping On The Job

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An ex mate of mine, S (IBM communications specialist at the time, quite a while back