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    Tits Up
    Tits Up
    Tits Up
    Ebook80 pages59 minutes

    Tits Up

    By Frankie Lassut

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    About this ebook

    Apology. As this book has just been loaded, there may be some formatting problems. We will fix them asap.

    Quiet self time is liquid gold time, it is so very precious.
    No quiet time, and noise prevails inside the human, and that’s the invite to madness, and in many cases, the doorway to the world of therapy. It’s not enough for sleep to be the only escape from an increasingly insane world.
    Silence is golden.
    Silence is our true nature.

    To ‘chill’ (the modern word for meditate, or ponder), some people like to watch tropical fish (nothing against solitary ambitious goldfish).
    Some like to drive to a country car park away from the hustle and bustle, eat their sandwiches, not talk, stare at a field, then go homeand think about what to have for tea (it’s called marriage). Some like to sit in, or stroll through a wood, hopefully an empty one. For others it’s the middle of a field. Just somewhere where they can be with nature. Nature is exquisite.
    Some may be handed a back garden, in a quiet area, where, with a little work, they can create a beautiful ‘chill’ Nirvana. Somewhere lovely, to go and lose themselves, as in my case. I was lucky though, because as there were small sections of wooded area, I would be surrounded by glorious tits.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFrankie Lassut
    Release dateDec 20, 2011
    ISBN9781908796127
    Tits Up
    Author

    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!

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      Book preview

      Tits Up - Frankie Lassut

      Tits Up

      Copyright by Dave Lassut 2011

      Published by Wonky Books at Smashwords

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Important note: Don’t forget to laugh.

      EPUB ISBN: 978-1-908796-12-7

      EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-908796-13-4

      This work is dedicated to Sarah Golding, who said I should write it down.

      TECHNURD

      The cover pictures don’t look up to the standard of a photographer, which I kind of ‘am’. That’s because no matter what system or programme, there was no way a way could be found of transporting a picture from a DVD digital movie camera to the computer, without a fat wallet that is. The best we got was a transfer to the computer file which refused to be anything but green. That makes me a technurd, and how I haven’t managed to smash my computer up through frustration is beyond me.

      But, I’m supposed to be creative, and so, I thought that I could maybe take a photograph from the little foldy out led screen on the DVD camera. That’s probably cleverer than actually transferring a picture through the electronic gadgetry and PC shop ‘extras’ needed for such a seemingly simple job.

      A Tiny Intro

      Sitting in a nice garden can calm the mind, which is easy to work out; you’re a part of nature. One can sit there, smell the flowers, watch the little birds nibbling your nuts, listen to the bees buzzing, and just let the mind go quiet in its core, as you contemplate doing nothing; realising that a ‘contented’ good feeling mind cannot produce stress; only ‘nice’ things.

      The only question you may ponder to cause a pleasant good feeling thought, may be: ‘will the garden need a water feature to finish it off? Hmmmm?’ That would be a nice visualisation. And, if ‘I’ get one and I fall asleep after 2 bottles of wine, will the trickling water cause me to piss my pants?

      Luckily. The garden has a railway line just 50 meters away.

      Lucky you say?

      Yes.

      Consider this.

      Just a thought, in case you’re looking to purchase a house.

      It’s nice living next to a railway line. During the early hours, let’s say, 3am, you would think it would disturb REM sleep patterns, but no; it is a comfort. ‘A comfort?’ you ask. Why yes, it is always comforting to know there is another human being or more in the vicinity, it makes one feel safe. Imagine waking at 3am, and finding an evil axe murderer standing over you, axe raised above their head. That can be quite scary; but, if a train goes past, the feeling of security is so refreshing for the terrified one, yet scary for the axe murderer, because you could compound the nearness of these travelling humans, with a few words maybe? Say "Ah! 3a.m. my cleaner will be here in 25 seconds; she’s an insomniac. While they shake in fear over the presence of nearby humans and look in the direction of the door for the cleaner (witness), you can pull them over by grabbing their legs, grabbing the axe, and then giving them a good seeing to (hopefully the blade will be sharp, which will reduce the amount of effort needed; especially if you’re a woman with thin arms, or a pacifist with thin arms? Or a pacifist with one arm? A pacifist with no arms would be silly).

      It isn’t recommended putting the limbs and head into the recycle bin. Instead, put limbs and head in one bin bag, and the torso in another, then stick them both in the wheelie ... I learnt that off Fred West, Appropriate Adult. Surprising what you can learn off the TV.

      It is a well known fact that 99% of dead axe murderers are found in wheelie bins from houses within 100 metres of railway tracks.

      I suppose the same thing would go for a house at the end of a runway?

      ***

      Part 1. The chill out garden dream.

      Tits Up. Part 1. This story is dedicated to Sarah Golding who laughed when I told her this on the phone, which encouraged me to write it down.

      For the last 106 years (for that’s what it feels like) I’ve lived in a particular shared house in the Radford area of Coventry. When you live in shared houses, as I have done for 20 years (consciously unintentional), crazy things happen ... due to the

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