Manitas De Tortura

By Frankie Lassut

Manitas De Tortura means, in case you don’t know; Hands of Torture.
It is about methods of torture they use in Spain when they capture British tourists who don’t flush when they use the loo in the hotel where they’re staying.
Actually, it’s about guitars. Steel string guitars; wire fences; as they were once described by a famous guitarist from Spain. In the old hit ‘The Devil went down to Georgia’, she played a violin, but if she’d played a steel string guitar the world would have been in real trouble.
It is about a secret organisation, or to be more exact, a branch of a secret organisation. They’re called the Torturosi and use criminally bad steel string guitarists to ...
I can’t tell you any more or I might be tortured by the Harmonicinati. The Harmonicinati are a branch of the Illumin ... I can’t say anymore! Basically, because I don’t want to disappear without trace because I’ve got bills to pay; never mind the mortgage. The house needs hoovering, there’s some washing up. You can read all about the fantastic thing about household chores in: For my Own Selfish Reasons

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Lassut
• Release date: Dec 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463726907

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

MANITAS DE TORTURA

A terrible method of torture which is used by the Harmonicinati;

a branch of the Illuminati

Copyright by Dave Lassut 2018

Published by Wonky Books at Smashwords

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I’m a very cheeky person. Cheeky enough to say, I was actually a musician!

Once a musician always a musician? No! I wasn’t a drummer (which would have cancelled the first sentence. I’m putting sandbags up against my front door to protect me from drummers. They’re quite dangerous to fight as they like to throw you on the floor and slap you with rhythm; in time of course; or thereabouts).

I was a guitarist. Much more though, I was a classical guitarist. I played for twenty-years and both delighted and astounded people everywhere. I performed in 42 countries; sometimes I took the guitar. Playing it was how I relaxed in between performances. I was a fantastic performer and got an Oscar. He was though far too gravitationally challenged (fat) and I sent him home.

During the time I played, I did some ear-training. Ear training was a fun aspect, a funny game. It consisted of throwing a ball and getting the ear to retrieve it. It is advisable to do it on grass, because if you train the ear well, being pulled over grass is preferable to concrete.

I was also a busker for many years. This consisted of sitting on the front of a bus and playing to a captive audience. I would sit on the bus and play to pensioners, who were a great audience due to their necessity to wear hearing aids, mixed with their refusal to buy batteries as the Government should have given them free.

FREE!

(They’re all dead now. The ones who aren’t are really ‘bitter’ vampires)

However, my ears slowly became attached to the perfect pitch part of my brain which gave me perfect pitch recognition. In today’s society, perfect pitch can be a curse, allow me to tell you why. When you mix together fate and perfect pitch you get … hmmm? How can I tell you this? I may be assassinated. But maybe they (them!) have stopped doing it? I haven’t heard about it in quite a while.

Oh, sod it! I’ll just tell you, bollocks to the consequences; the survival of mankind is more important. I think I’m okay, because as I pull back my curtain and look out I can’t see anyone suspicious. I happen to know they have devices to read thoughts which they fit at night by pushing them into your ear while you’re asleep; so, I’ve been told.

I know about the awful thing that was going on with the guitar at open mic nights! A thing that no one believes today; maybe it’s been stopped? I can only hope so. This then is a recent history of the guitar. Or should I say: ‘this is a recent history of the innocent steel string guitar as used as an instrument of torture by the musical division of the Illuminati: the dreaded Harmoincinati!’

***

A couple of musical terms

VIRTUOSO

Someone who is ‘all right’ (I hope he or she has a proper job) when playing a musical instrument, such as Evelyn Glecoe, the percussionist.

A Cussionist is a cussion maker who plays the drums. A ‘per-cussionist’ is the going rate for one; as long as they are in the musician’s union. Usually, if they aren’t, they are told to f**k off.

VIRTUOSI

The plural: A group of would be cushionists. When they meet, are usually found around a bar