The Demon

By Frankie Lassut

Have a torch handy, because if The Demon scares you like it might; you may go and hide under your bed. And then, if when you’re under your bed and it’s maybe dark ... well, you’ll have a torch to read the rest of the book. We get a massive cheque from Duracell each year for improving their sales of batteries. Plus, we get a large cheque from James Dyson for sales of the ‘Dyson Underbed Cyclone Cleaner’. That’s because when someone notices the muck under their bed when they dive under when reading our stories. We would also like to mention to Mr Dyson that if he can spell the word ‘Cleaner’ with a K instead of a C; it will be great for publicity i.e. DUCK. Hey Presto!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Lassut
• Release date: Aug 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463167601

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 Demon

Copyright © Frankie Lassut 2018

2nd Edition

Published by Wonky Books at Smashwords

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Contents

The Demon.

Well, if you’ve ever had this experience, you’ll know how it makes your heart race as you panic; say no more. But from an event of this nature; there’s a fantastic invention. All someone needs do is get it manufactured (and you’ll make millions).

The Heart-warming story of Crappy Corkscrew

Personal experience (say no more)

The Shack

Came to me straight away. But I thought … publish it, never mind the competition.

Dead Wife Sex

This is terrible. But it was in the newspaper… so, what could I do?

***

The last story is very short and not really a story. But when I imagine it happening, it makes me angry; because I can’t stand it … aaarrghhh!

It’s about people who have an awful psychological problem. They’re being sought after by the Harmoni-inati (a branch of the Illuminati … they’re evil!) It makes me so angry I can’t even tell you what it’s called because it upsets me to even write it down,

Good luck with it; if you dare read it. If you start to think about it and the power of your thought attracts it into your life (that’s how things work) … please don’t blame me.

A sort of true story.

Jerry used to be a bus driver. He took ill, went to hospital. The surgeons had a good time chopping bits of his gut out. His wife then kicked him out. Cruel? Well, if you knew him you’d understand why. He ended up living in the room opposite me.

Now, they say (I’ve never found out who ‘they’ were or are?) to the unemployed, ‘Get a job’, it’s as easy as that! Don’t sponge off the state! You pilfering scum! Robbing OUR i.e. the taxpayer’s money! As a matter of interest, do you know what the word TAX means.

Quick explanation:

Tax. In days of old when kings used to raise taxes to have say a war. They would send some big knights out to a village. They called them psychopathic peacocks. When the King wanted money on his coffers for a war, the peacocks went out to get it, and ransacked villages in the process. When they had the money, gold etc, they would leave. When they left they said ta and blew a kiss X.

Jerry fought to get his job back, and at the same time, going to hospital numerous times for checks, until he was finally released with a package of pills to swallow every month. Thankfully, after he had started getting pains in his fingers and knees, he was finally talked out of taking the dangerous drug Simvastatin (it reduces the lipids in your blood … they provide usually brilliant joint lubrication).

He then got a temporary job coach driving, for which he had to somehow get to Birmingham every morning at some ridiculous hour. He held it for a while until he was laid off when the contract ran out. He has just completed the last day of training and landed his old job back on the Ghost Town buses.

On his last morning of training (before re-entering the crazy world of the mobile lunatic asylums), he asked me if I would give him a lift to