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    Warm Your Cockles
    Warm Your Cockles
    Warm Your Cockles
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    Warm Your Cockles

    By Frankie Lassut

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    About this ebook

    Hello again, that is if you’re one of the ten nice, gorgeous, lovely (and we hope you are very happy and wealthy beyond your wildest dreams) people who bought one of our other books. We really love our customers and we thought we would give you two options of rewards. The first: If you’re the ten millionth customer to purchase one, we will present you with a five-pound note. The note will be made of plastic and will not fold. The last person we gave a fiver to folded it up and put it in their pocket. It unfolded very quickly and threw them over a wall. It was okay thank God as it was a mattress factory reject yard. The second is, come around to our country mansion and have a cuppa. We must warn you though, about mother, who is completely harmless and just likes wandering around with an axe ... and a saw, in case she catches anyone. Just joking! It’s Father; he likes to wear a dress and a wig, although he says that the tights make his legs itch and his ankles swell up when he farts.

    Some cheeky people have said that these write-ups are better than the books, the badstars!
    They were easily dealt with; we just invited them around for a cuppa; they’re no trouble no more (God rest their souls). The only negative is we find is that we’re running out of room in the cupboard under the stairs. So this little offering is called Warm the Cockles. It’s a bit mad but very normal but you like that don’t you?
    The other is a true story about the things that happen in an old folk’s tea- room. And the last set of stories are very short and based on four great jokes I once heard. The very last is a question which should, if we’re luck cause a row with you and your family.
    Enjoy.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFrankie Lassut
    Release dateApr 14, 2015
    ISBN9781311176233
    Warm Your Cockles
    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

      Warm Your Cockles - Frankie Lassut

      WARM YOUR COCKLES

      By

      Frankie Lassut ©2020

      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.

      Praise for Frankie Lassut and Evo Nelliott’s book

      ALBERT ZONDO:

      Frankie and Evo’s book is brilliant and should be read by millions, but:

      Albert Zondo is a renowned writer who scribbles stories about Zombies; because he knows a few and therefore knows his stuff. He knows what Zombies really want, but they can’t tell people because their throats and therefore their voice-boxes have rotted away; which makes it impossible. Also, in Zombie world, eating people alive is a sign of friendship and not evil as it has been thought for a long time now. In fact, I was told by a zombie in sign language that humans are zombies too, some of us eat steak tartare (what is more zombie flesh-eater that?). As for the undead bit, a lot of you don’t live your lives to the full, so you’re half dead sleepwalkers.

      No, undead isn’t so bad . A lot of people say, When I die, I want to become un-dead and then I can live my un-dead life to the full! I want to dance in the nude in the rain, I want to ride a wild mustang over the plains etc. It’s easier to do that when you’re a dead zombie than a half alive human.

      STEPHEN CLING:

      Frankie’s and Evo’s book is brilliant, but:

      Well, I’m a brilliant horror writer and I’ve never read anything as good as this. Brilliant! What I mean is, this book is brilliant but mine are better!

      JAMES TURBOT:

      Frankie and Evo’s book is brilliant, but:

      I’m an extra brilliant horror writer. I’m better than that joker Cling! I sold fifteen books last month and he only sold ten, which proves it! My latest novel, The Cats will prove I’m the best.

      It’s about cats which eat people, which I think is an original idea. I nearly called it Pussy Flesh Eaters, but my self-publisher wouldn’t accept it; I blame computers.

      Enjoy this selection of short stories …

      THIS ONE IS THE ONE

      Above all, maintain a good sense of humour, best done by saying silly and stupid even every time you get a chance..

      John A Schindler MD

      I was down old City Centre. I felt blessed by the Lord without ever going to church, because I had walked more than ten meters and hadn’t been mugged. I was feeling a little peckish (bird metaphor) so, when you’re a ‘Pentertainer’ (entertainer with a pen, the pen is now a computer), you either can’t afford the bus fare to the city or you will already have walked down there and be a well known face in the soup kitchen. Well, my Rolls Royce was parked outside.

      So having sold a ‘few’ books I went to the butchers with the proceeds and purchased the best steak money can buy. This was followed by a trip to a wine and champagne warehouse to get a few bottles of Glug. Is it Glug? Or Krug? Wasn’t Krug someone off Star Wars? It shows that I’m no ‘connysir’ of wine or champagne (yuck!). If only.

      Do you feel sorry for me yet?

      A storyteller like myself, i.e. a discovered golden child, can afford a couple of chicken drumsticks once in a while, (just depends on when I’ve picked enough change up off the street). Well, I like drumsticks goddam it! I nearly threw the receipt away, but my awareness was tickled by the statement written on it. I was intrigued. That’s what it’s like being a Pentertainer; your awareness is always on and sleep is a rare commodity that should be and is, cherished. I kept it and carried it home lovingly as one would carry a baby.

      It was so precious to me that I had a word in the right ears and as a result it’s up for auction in Southerby’s next month and is expected to fetch … sorry, I can’t tell you. If I do you may tell you friends and then there will be a riot outside the place with desperate people asking for money; not to mention the begging letters. Do you know the worst thing about begging letters in the good old days? Let me tell you.

      We used to have milkman who would put or the pints on the step. We would come downstairs in the morning, wearily open the door and find our milk bottles with the aluminium tops pecked open by blue tits (they got the blame) and the cream that was gorgeous and floated atop the milk, had been drank by those feathered friends. But that problem was sorted by getting rid of the milkman by selling milk in the supermarkets in plastic bottles and milk cartons. Blue tits everywhere protested, but no one understood what the hell they were tweeting about. A scientist who had a disorder which meant he heard blue tits loudly was nearly driven around the bend by their chatter, so in a petri dish he managed to give life to a thing called a cat. Cats are an evil things that see off bird populations for fun; and are then mollycoddled by their owners. Now life is perfect for people like me because I get my milk from the corner shop.

      At last! The true story.

      Warm Your Cockles

      Cyril is a cockle farmer and seller of the same; nothing zzzz exciting about that; except like the other story; you never know what crazy things some people get up to. There again, they’re only crazy to ‘normal’ people.

      Normal, by the way, is constructed from an English word ‘No’ and

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