The Trial of Mr Splish Splosh and Other Short Bizarro Stories

By Frankie Lassut

Come to the trial of Mr Splish Splosh; you won’t regret it! In this compendium of stories, we also meet Moomintroll. If you hadn’t met Moomintroll and his family when you were young, you missed out and didn’t have a proper childhood. How could your parents do that to you, you poor wee thing? Anyway, I will try and fill a little gap for you. That’s really nice of me.
What else? Ah yes. There’s a little factual story about a ‘home’ called Town Thorns which is situated in the countryside. When someone dies there. You would not believe how they dispose of the bodies. There are a lot of Undertakers in Coventry, and when someone dies they have to get the boxing ring out to decide who gets the job.
The dancer is a story of a nice couple who lived in the Lake District. That’s where I come from. You wouldn’t believe it, but I came on a shopping trip to Coventry years ago, I was knocked out cold in a street; and I’ve been kept as a pleasure slave ever since by a woman. The dance is about someone who dances. I won’t tell you any more because I don’t like giving stories away. Anyway, enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Lassut
• Release date: Sep 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463905333

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 Trial of Mr Splish Splosh

and Other Bizarro Short Stories

Copyright by Dave Lassut 2018

Published by Wonky Books at Smashwords

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Cover Photograph by Frankie Lassut

The Trial of Mr Splish Splosh

The breeze from the sea blew just ‘gently’ in his face. It was Saturday, and Marcus Jones was really, really fed up. He’d lost his business and with it his wife, who, when she realised what had happened to Marcus’s successful software company (he designed computer games), she upped and left with a man who owned a debt collection company. He could easily maintain the style to which she had become accustomed.

Marcus sighed and lowered his head into his hands; and cried.

The sea breeze continued to blow.

***

A few fishermen stood with their rods, in a line along the tide’s edge, about 200 yards from each other. A young boy and his dad tried to get a kite in the air. That made in total, several happy people! And one sat at the top of pebbled beach the on the grassy bank, who was ready to top himself. Low vibration despair thoughts went through his head; they sounded like this: ‘why me?!’, ‘that bitch!’ ‘That bastard!’ ‘What am I going to do now? I’ve lost everything!’ ‘God, you bastard! What did I ever do wrong to anybody to deserve this?!’ ‘My life’s over!’

The man felt like some revenge, which lay there like icing on top of the hatred; not just for his ex who had left him; but for the cruel world in general. God didn’t reply to such a request of course ... or did She? God always replies, without fail.

***

Some minutes passed ( a tiny, tiny, tiny x 1000000000+ fraction of eternity). Then suddenly! Marcus lifted his head from his hands so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. An idea had whizzed into his mind so lightning fast he heard the whoosh! It was like getting hit in the face by a baseball bat, minus the pain of course. It was that powerful and intoxicating a notion that the fishermen and the kite flyer and everything else faded into obscurity and the idea took a bright visual priority. The sea just carried on innocently going ‘splish splosh’, and all the sea creatures everywhere carried on as normal. As it, and they, always had.

***

Say all that again would you please asked the bemused looking lawyer the next Monday morning. Marcus had marched into the office looking so excited; the lawyer had decided to see him without an appointment. And Marcus said …

"I have come to believe, for my own convenience, that all mankind is descended from Adam and Eve, and whether that means we’re all here because of obvious incest as ‘clearly’ hinted at in the Bible, well, that’s neither here nor there as far as my claim goes. The sea is water, and water is made, like everything else, from energy, and that energy is a Divine creation, as God created the earth and then the two people (well, so it says in the Bible; so, it ‘must’ be true).

Now, as God created the ocean and God knows everything that’s ever happened, is happening, and is going to happen, which obviously includes everyone who has ever drowned. That was therefore pre-meditated murder, and, as everyone who drowned is related to me ... ‘patent copyright applied for’... no one else can sue. Therefore, I’m suing the sea for all the treasure from its floor, with the extra demand that the sea, because of its terrible crimes … be jailed for life! This will clear all the seawater away, so that then I can go and pick up ‘MY’ treasure".

Would life mean ‘life’ for the sea in this case Mr Jones?

Absolutely it would, or as long as it took me to pick all the treasure up; around about 30 years I reckon. Which is a ‘life sentence times ten’ anyway as far as the law is concerned. It would also mean life for all the sea creatures.

Why would that be Mr Jones?

Why sir? Aiding and abetting of course.

Aiding and abetting?

Yes. The sea kills, and then the creatures eat the bodies. It’s hiding the evidence isn’t it?

What about those who are washed up? Or found floating?

Their deaths are put down to drowning of course, but no one gets punished. Well, that doesn’t satisfy the addictive craving of the masses. My lawsuit will sell newspapers and give the public what they want; someone to ‘hate’. It helps them to get rid of their anger and stresses, and gives them something to rant about in the pub; make a change from the weather and the government don’t you think?

I do yes. So, I’m going to offer my services to you Mr Jones. So, you want to take the sea to Crown Court and accuse it of murder? And you’re also going to sue it for all the treasure which actually belonged to your relatives as proved by the Bible? Do I understand correctly Mr Jones?

***

The lawyer did understand correctly. She also understood that Marcus had a patent pending copyright on the idea that everyone was his relative, as they must be if the whole game was started with ‘the’ two, and no one else’s. That actually supported the general religious and government belief and wish that everyone else, apart from Marcus Jones of course were ‘separate’ entities, which worked perfectly in a hate, ‘divide, and rule’ system of society. In fact, Marcus too was separate in that respect, but, ‘he’ was legally related to ‘everyone’ and his family tree was phenomenally huge, compared to everyone else’s ‘bush’ that is. Marcus was going to be vomitingly rich because of his new