The Chuckling Crab

By Frankie Lassut

The tantalizing story of the Ghost Town's (Coventry) brilliant specialised seafood restaurant, which was made to sparkle by Nim Chana, an alien. The restaurant was a legend in its own lifetime.

Mouth wateringly funny!

Crabs rule ok!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Lassut
• Release date: Jul 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781907630705

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

The Chuckling Crab

Copyright by Dave Lassut 2011

Published by Wonky Books at Smashwords

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EPUB ISBN: 978-1-907630-70-5

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-907630-71-2

This ditty is dedicated to Nim (Nirmal Chana), for being man (alien) enough the have the humour to allow it in the first place (The bastard won’t sue me and propel me into the limelight)

I’m stinking ‘not’ rich because, amongst other valid reasons, I don’t wash. So, in order to cheer myself up, I eat crab once a week; as it makes me ‘feel’ stinking ‘rich’ for a change. I’m joking. I eat crab simply because it tastes nice. I also laugh when I eat it, as it was a crab that almost stopped me reaching the earth this time via my parents, and eventually opening Coventry’s famous and much loved, Chuckling Crab Restaurant.

You see. When my dad was courting my mum, up North, on the West Coast of Cumbria, in the laal town of Millom, they went swimming one Summer day to a cute seaside place called White Rock. My dad decided to be daft, and lay stomach down on the bottom of the briny, and then grab my mothers’ ankle, drag her under, and give her a big, romantic, salty kiss; trying to avoid any passing ‘log’ sewerage in the process. But, while he was down there, a big common brown crab nippered his testicles, the exact moment that he had subdued her (chinned her), and planted a big Frenchy on those rosy red lips.

As a result, he gave out an underwater scream, and filled my mums’ lungs up with air, to the point where she floated to the surface like a balloon, and did the loudest burp that had ever been heard in Cumberland (It wasn’t Cumbria back then); the record still stands. It showed as an earth tremor on the Richter scale.

She was very embarrassed, and everyone on the shore laughed. My future dad was laying on the bottom trying to get the common brown off ‘me’, when he was dragged up by the hair by the one he loved (encouraged by the shouted instructions from the shore from his future mother in law, along the lines of ‘Don’t let him drown, he gets a good wage!’).

After my future mother pulled the crab off and crushed it as though it were made from tissue paper, they began to row... as in ‘argue’, because they didn’t have a ‘row’ing boat in which to row, and everyone on the beach laughed again.

Ever since then I’ve loved crabs for being beasts of great entertainment value, they taste yummy as well.

Sweet and beautiful. Bright and beautiful. All things.

Every time I see crabs nippers, I think of my dad’s knackers. What a great memory eh?

***

Welcome! Welcome! To the snazzy, tasteful, restaurant of Frankie Lassut Stein, Coventry’s Premier, Á la Carte, Blue Ribbon (bought some from the market’s haberdashery stall), Michelin unstarred, one table, two customer restaurant, The Chuckling Crab, where crab, is our speciality.

We deal totally in the ‘cream’ of the crab, the nippers, which we sell in a Nouveau Artistic Fashion (please don’t read, NAF into that) to such a degree that you will gasp in delight as your plate is presented to you.

It is very handy, because the crab nippers we buy from the supplier are of the best quality, and are pre boiled, which is handy, as we do not have to cook them, although we do tend to make some noise in the kitchen, which makes customers feel better (they think we’re doing something posh).

Our Supplier, from Ghost-town Market.

This is Clive Hemmings, who has a stall on Coventry market. He thinks I’m completely mad.

Here’s a free advert for him:

SMITH AND HEMMINGS

FISHMONGERS

COVENTRY MARKET.

Suppliers to the famous Chuckling Crab Restaurant

That’s not bad for a fiver is it (The advert that is, not the crab).

A vital member of the team.

NIM

Lady luck will favour, just a little shaver,

over one who’s