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    The Flark and the Day of the Priffids
    The Flark and the Day of the Priffids
    The Flark and the Day of the Priffids
    Ebook82 pages1 hour

    The Flark and the Day of the Priffids

    By Frankie Lassut

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    About this ebook

    This book is written in a style called Bizzaro. Bizzaro is fairly new and people who are Bizzaro writers have fertile imaginations. Their inner-beings if you believe in such far-out things are a little nutty.
    Bizzaro writers like myself carry red noses with them and if a situation arises where it is needed; they wear it. If the Kray twins had done something silly and someone had donned a red nose and said to them “That was a bit silly, wasn’t it?” The Twins would have burst out laughing.
    If however it had of been moi, I would have said “it was a bit dark in there as they extracted my head from my ass (hole).
    So, Bizzaro is a little crazy, but, that’s the information I receive from inside. So as you read it, spare a thought for me as I lay in bed unable to sleep; and fed up of the neighbours banging on the wall and shouting “it’s four am! Can’t you stop laughing and go to sleep you knob!”
    No.
    Two parodies of two great stories and films. Enjoy!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFrankie Lassut
    Release dateSep 3, 2019
    ISBN9780463928288
    The Flark and the Day of the Priffids
    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

      The Flark and the Day of the Priffids - Frankie Lassut

      A BIZARRO PARODY

      The FLARK

      and

      THE DAY OF THE PRIFFIDS

      Copyright © Frankie Lassut 2019

      Published at Smashwords

      This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book 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.

      Edited by Evo Nelliott

      Preface:

      Science and physics is baffling. So, how do you make it unbaffling, because it’s usually a load of lines and numbers on a board.

      Well, you ‘imagine’ it.

      To the vast majority of people the imagination is something of little importance and is used by people with too much time on their hands. That is as perceived by ‘normal’ people who usually hate most things about life but have no time to imagine; the imagination getting in the way of good honest hard work.

      In other words, imagination is useless.

      !

      ***

      Hello and welcome to this Bizzaro Mind Movie presentation. I’d like to now do a thirty second interview with the writer i.e. me:

      So , how long have you been writing, me?

      Hello me. Quite a while

      Do you drink, me?

      Of course I drink, I’m a writer; you should know that, me.

      I do yes. Just to change the subject slightly, erm … where did these two brilliantly written stories come from, me?

      Oh, here and there me.

      Well ok. That was me interviewing me; I sincerely hope you enjoyed it???

      So that was it, the interview. We’re left with here and there, which is supposedly where stories come from. What a waste of time that was, I could have been doing something more rewarding. Something such as drinking alcohol which I find really, erm, entertaining. So, as I find it really entertaining, I hope you find the stories entertaining. I mean, have a drink while you read them as it might add to the entertainment value. Ah bollocks, just get on with it.

      The ‘B’ Movie

      THE DAY OF THE PRIFFIDS

      There was a programme on TV the other night, it was the remake of Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham. They’re the walking plants that kill and eat humans. Didn’t John Wyndham make a lot of money from the Triffids? Does that mean that the imagination is good after all?

      Triffids are bred for the oil, which is very useful to humans, and with a bit of GM, their use has managed to stop global warming. It looks very much like global boring is therefore going to ensue. The only problem is; the Triffids have a poisonous sting which they can flick out on a ‘tendril’ that can reach fifteen feet; and they can walk. As a result, they’re kept in warehouses under strict control conditions. How hunky dory and perfect that is, but, as you can guess, no good for the human. The human likes to throw shit at the fan and then moan. Then there’s a solar storm, which is quite pretty for a while, and then it blinds most people. Then, someone opens the door for the Triffids to go ‘hunting.’ Humans resume everyday position i.e. look grim, and moan.

      Harry Jones is from a really nice little town.

      Harry Jones hated his wife with a passion.

      Harry had a condition called Philopeas, which meant, he loved peas. Harry didn’t love any old peas though, he loved the ones that grew in his garden. Harry’s peas were sweet and gorgeous, and it was as near as he got to heaven when he ate them.

      Harry’s wife, Joan loved peas too, but hated Harry (at least they had something in common). She hated the fact that he had never provided her with the standard of living she wanted, and she dearly wished that she had listened to her mother and married Andy Davenport, a very successful surgeon, who did chase her for a while, but gave up when she began to date production line worker, Harry. Joan obviously knew of Harry’s love of his own peas, which is why she deliberately refused to cook or eat them, and instead served Harry with the tasteless, mass produced supermarket variety.

      One stormy night, Harry Jones killed his wife (well, can’t blame him really, she had it coming). He strangled her. He then left the body while the blood congealed, but not long enough for the gases to expand, as dead women’s farts smell as bad as dead men’s farts. So as not to have to dispose of the body in the ‘normal’ way, Harry, using his expertise as a gardener turned her into compost. It was obvious what to do with the compost too... pea food!

      He had a large garden with his ‘escape the wife’ shed at the top. It was decorated with a few flowers, for colour, and hundreds if not thousands of pea plants. It was also his favourite time of year; early spring, just before planting time. Harry worked Joan into the soil and realised that this was the first time he had ever properly loved her. He then planted his peas ‘snugly’ in their rich compost.

      The peas took a few days to show shoots, as normal, and then started to grow pretty quickly, which wasn’t surprising with the unusual richness that was awaiting their roots.

      The first pick of peas happened a couple of weeks later, and as bitter as his wife had been to them when she was alive in body, nor that she lived on in the soil and fed the peas with her juices; they were the sweetest peas Harry had ever tasted.What a pity he couldn’t bottle his wife’s juice and sell them in a garden centre. He could see the bottle in his imagination:

      Joan’s Juice

      Pea Plant Food

      For growing the sweetest peas you’ve ever tasted.

      A taste people would kill for!

      But, we’ve already mentioned that the imagination is useless.

      His grand-children visited with his daughter and her husband, and Harry asked the children if they wanted to try the peas? At first they said ‘yuck’ because they were typical kids and hated vegetables. They only agreed when their mother promised to take them for a Mac and Ronald’s and give them a wage every week,

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