Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side
    The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side
    The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side
    Ebook154 pages2 hours

    The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side

    By Frankie Lassut

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    This is a little collection of stories that couldn’t happen. They couldn’t happen because they are silly.
    I sit here for hours writing the things the information comes out of my head; sometimes I hear it spoken by that famous psychiatrist’s dream, the ‘silent voice’.
    I must be mentally ill?
    I should book myself into an asylum?
    I had some inside knowledge told me by a doctor who works in one. He told me that the qualification that you needed was to be mad. So, if you’re a doctor and you’re mad, then like attracts like (law of the Universe). So won’t birds of a feather flock together?
    I consider myself fortunate that I don’t have wings and I have to walk this beautiful earth.
    Enjoy the stories. Actually, I’m normal (with a silly edge).

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFrankie Lassut
    Release dateNov 11, 2019
    ISBN9780463778111
    The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side
    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!

    Read more from Frankie Lassut

    Related to The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side

    Related ebooks

    Humor & Satire For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Enacting Africa

      Dec 26, 2018

      Enacting Africa
      11 min read

    • Article

      Heave’s Whisky

      Feb 27, 2024

      Heave’s Whisky
      7 min read

    • Article

      Stay and Fight

      Jul 9, 2019

      Stay and Fight
      16 min read

    • Article

      Ashleigh Bryant Phillips

      Jun 10, 2020

      Ashleigh Bryant Phillips
      6 min read

    • Article

      Human Contact

      Aug 10, 2022

      Beer tasted like wet money—or maybe just bad beer did. Viola had never tried any other kind. She preferred white wine, but there was no white wine at this party. “Drink it like medicine,” the guy manning the keg said. “It’ll loosen you up.” He wore a

      18 min read

    • Article

      The Crane Wife

      Jul 16, 2019

      The Crane Wife
      13 min read

    • Article

      Paul O’grady

      Sep 12, 2022

      Paul O’grady
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Duplex

      Jun 9, 2020

      I moved to Los Angeles to sing. When was this? August? June? I was twenty-nine, and those were shapeless months, when the days blended together and I refused to pull them apart. My landlord was unusually close to her adult son. His name was Jeffrey,

      21 min read

    • Article

      A Temporary Arrangement

      Oct 2, 2023

      A Temporary Arrangement
      19 min read

    • Article

      It’s All Relative

      Aug 1, 2021

      It’s All Relative
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Change

      Aug 8, 2019

      The Change
      10 min read

    • Article

      My First Pet

      Feb 2, 2020

      My First Pet
      9 min read

    • Article

      Best Of The Best

      Oct 29, 2022

      Best Of The Best
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Freshening

      Sep 15, 2018

      My cashier’s black hair was beautiful. Though not unlike mine, it was shinier and thicker, and hung glamorously down to her waist. It looked strong, too, like Christopher Reeve’s in the Superman movies. A strand of Superman’s silvery hair could hold

      21 min read

    • Article

      Jamie Lenman

      Sep 17, 2020

      What’s the worst thing about being in a band? “Not being able to get paid for your calling, your vocation. It used to be a career option, an actual viable job choice, but now you can’t get paid enough from being in a band… So that’s why I’m not in a

      3 min read

    • Article

      Little House

      Jun 5, 2023

      On Monday nights our mother made popcorn and served it to us in mugs with milk poured over. My younger sister and I carried our mugs into the family room and ate the popcorn with spoons, like cereal. We were five and seven. Until we were allowed to s

      21 min read

    • Article

      The Letter box

      Jan 1, 2020

      Dear Cricket, I have read your magazine many times and I love it! It makes me happy when it comes in the mail. I am legally blind and cannot see as well as others, but that’s OK, because I am still very smart. My type of blindness is caused by albini

      7 min read

    • Article

      J. Jezewska Stevens

      Dec 15, 2017

      The party was a failure. I can’t even tell you what a failure it was. There are no words. Only a great pain in my chest when I wake up. On the veranda. It’s better when I sit in the chair. Oh, but then I can see around. The gauzy curtains, pushed by

      15 min read

    • Article

      The Letterbox

      Apr 1, 2022

      Dear Cricket, Your magazine was first given to me by an older friend of mine, and now I’ve bought a subscription for another friend’s birthday. Your magazine will now bring joy to three people through a chain of giving—wow! I just wanted to thank you

      7 min read

    • Article

      Q-tip Options

      Oct 10, 2023

      I am not a good person. Abby was at my door. My reaction when I saw her should have been more charitable. She was young and cute and needy, but all I wanted was a nice relaxing day at home. When the police questioned her, I should have let them take

      16 min read

    • Article

      Wild Days

      Jul 27, 2020

      Wild Days
      7 min read

    • Article

      Grin And Bear It

      Dec 3, 2021

      Grin And Bear It
      10 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side - Frankie Lassut

      The Party Goes On, On the Furthest Side

      Copyright by Frankie Lassut 2019

      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.

      THE FAIRIES IN THE GLADE

      This is a Kiddult story i.e. a kid’s story for adults; and it’s true.

      This, as just stated, is a true ‘make believe’ story. That means that the author has to make you believe that it is true; which shouldn’t be difficult because however unlikely and daft it sounds, if you believe it’s true; it is true.

      TRUE!

      The Cottingley Fairies?

      Even back then anyone could see they were cardboard cut-outs; or maybe the girls were into mass hypnosis? Or they had found their mother’s secret stash of gin? These two girls found fairies in their back garden. Ok, that’s fair enough as fairies exist, don’t they?

      There are a whole lot of things on this planet that exist, but some don’t believe it. The young lad (could have been a girl) in that Loch Ness film with Ded Tanson said it: You have to believe in it first or you won’t see it.

      Well, let me tell you this, see what you think. I have a mate, Clive. He had his friends around the shared house which he lived in, in Coventry. He discovered fairies at the bottom of his landlord’s garden.

      You: Fairies! In his landlord’s garden? What drugs are you on?

      He had a little bit of a fun relationship with them too. There was no dope involved except a bit of alcohol, but people don’t see fairies because they have had a few pints, do they? Clive, who knew me well and knew that I wrote stories in my own genre of Friction (a fact and fiction mix) asked me to write this one.

      Clive would say to his friends who came a calling when the weather was nice; Fancy going to the tree at the bottom of the garden?

      It was a nice tree by the way. It was cherry tree which looked even nicer when it was covered in blossom. It was tainted a little by the body hanging from it by the rope around its neck’, a novelty item from the garden centre. The fact that it looked very real was a sheer co-incidence; that’s what Clive told the police anyway.

      It’s funny living in Coventry, for instance. If you say to someone ‘how was the disco last night?’ or ‘how was shopping today?’ the answer, ‘Oh it was murder’ and they mean it, literally. Coventry is like living in a spaghetti western. The perpetrator walks past the undertakers and says ‘five’. He means coffins for the people he’s going to kill. Actually, that’s not true, because in this fair city it’s a woman who puts in the order for RIP pine boxes.

      Clive regularly asked his friends around for a chat and a laugh in the warm Summer months, and they always said yes because they had always been drinking; it was like a barbecue party without the barbecue. But although they were always merry, they knew Clive’s fridge would be well stocked and it would be free; because, like me, he was a very generous and brilliant, good looking with everything great going for him person. But they never added to that well stocked-ness; what tossers!

      Well stocked with food? That stuff you eat? You ask. Clive thought not! Don’t be foolish, that isn’t what fridges were invented for Jeremy believed. Mr Clarence Birdseye would agree with that no doubt.

      Not believe me? I’m the author by the way.

      Clive knew a talented Clairvoyant who shouted Clarence up one night; here it is

      Clairvoyant: "Is there anyone here with us?

      Little pregnant gap …

      Hello! Yes there is, it’s Clarence Birdseye. How are you all, ok?

      Clairvoyant: Yes, fine thank you very much. Tell me, did you invent the fridge to keep food fresh, or is that what boring people decided to do with it?

      CB: No, I invented it to keep beer and cider cold. And yes, keeping food fresh is what boring people did with it. Bloody wasters if you ask me.

      There you go! Straight from the horse’s mouth.

      One of Clive’s garden guests would say: How about we take up some cold cider?

      Another guest would say: Yes! We could water the plants with it.

      And the plants would overhear and say:

      "You got nothing stronger? I’m a plant and I’m bored."

      Back to the posse.

      They always said a ‘hearty’ ‘yes!’ simply because it was free (FREE!) from Clive’s fridge; not because they were Long John Silver fans. They would grab a couple of cans each and make their way to the top end of the garden. So, they would sit there talking crap, laughing and supping cider. Bubbles though, which are made from carbon dioxide, don’t much like being locked in a human body basically because in the average abused human body, it’s crap i.e. no pleasure dome. But what is pleasure to a bubble?

      "Bubble, what’s your pleasure in traversing a human body?"

      Fart Bubble: Well, I’m not sure really? It’s fun when we travel around a bit and then gather up and form a burp. There are those who like to hang around for a while in the colon and take part in a fart. It’s a group gathering where we can discuss future plans if we ever meet again.

      "So, in order to get out, they disobey gravity and demand freedom; the outside world is ‘freedom’. Carbon Dioxide from the human body likes mixing with the atmospheric air and flying around the planet. The trouble is, when it leaves the lungs of a human, it has to pass through the larynx, which tends to vibrate, and cause a human to, erm, belch. Isn’t that a waste if a fart was in order?"

      This is seen as bad manners for some reason, but still it happens (and always will). It happened a lot with Clive’s women guests especially, and the ‘glade’ they were sat in was the rather regular host to several very large farts. Clive don’t understand it, because beer apart, the other favoured drink was cider:

      Cider is a great because cider can be classed as one of your five a day as far as fruit is concerned and women fart far worse than men. Women are Amazonians remember, and they were warriors, so, if they want to fart; they damn well can! And then blame the men. Amazonian prerogative.

      Eventually, it was christened Farty Glade because of this.

      Blame the women.

      And that is the ‘legend’ of Farty Glade or at least why it’s called Farty Glade.

      Clive being an intelligent character thought it was more like the’ leg end’ of Farty Glade. Women though find it much more difficult to blame botty burps on men. That’s because burps are out in the open whereas farts can be hidden. The only thing with farts is keeping a straight face. What’s harder? Keeping a straight face if she follows through.

      Anyway, one nice day, Clive thought he would take his lunch to the glade and eat it in the shade of the cherry tree. He would sit against the tree while he had his beans on toast, which he thought was a lovely meal; especially if he put salad cream in the beans; yum! That was his personal taste and he had never seen or heard of anyone else doing it.

      This day he was sat against the tree chomping away, when he heard a squeaky, ‘mmmmmmmm!’

      Was it a rat? There was nothing there he could see. Was it a squirrel? It did seem to come from the tree and rats are good climbers, but not as good as squirrels obviously. Nothing, so he got back to eating. He had nearly finished his lunch and there were only two beans left on the plate. He put it down and got up. He looked into the tree canopy just to check for cheeky animals; nothing. Then he had a thought. He thought he would speak to whatever it was.

      Do you like beans?

      A little squeaky voice said: ‘Mmmmmm!’

      Then there was a giggle and a little rustle in one of the bushes. He looked down at his plate. There was only one bean!

      Cheeky little!

      Little what?

      Then something pulled his hair from above. He tried to brush it off quickly with his hand, but there was nothing there. He looked up, but whatever it was had gone. He then heard another rustle in another bush and a giggle. He looked at his plate, the last bean had gone.

      You enjoying that? he asked.

      ‘Mmmmmmmm!’ squeaked the voice.

      Blimey, he had fairies at the bottom of the garden. Just like the Cottingley girls; but his are r.e.a.l.

      ‘Mmmmmmmm!’ squeaked the voice.

      Then all was quiet, except for the magpies shouting away and locks giving up the ghost as daylight car thieves went about their business. Ah! City life. He picked up his empty plate. There was some small writing in the partially dried tomato juice, it read ‘thanks, we now love beans. Can we have some more tomorrow please? The weather will be nice again."

      Clive thought Ok, message received loud and clear. He then headed back to the house. He took a quick look over his shoulder, but there was nothing in the glade, no movement and nothing which had frozen still to avoid his gaze. It was a good job he was open minded and believe in fairies and elves and other fantastic things. Oh, and Santa of course. People love Santa, even though an anagram of his name is ‘satan’.

      It would explain Christmas.

      ***

      He thought that fairies, being magical creatures and him being quite creative; wouldn’t they appreciate a little more than just beans? He therefore began to devise some interesting recipes, in miniature. Well I mean, a bean must

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1