pro_junior Report This Comment Date: January 20, 2009 09:41PM
No Flies On Frank
by, John Lennon
from his book, In His Own Write
There were no flies on Frank that morning - after all why not? He was a
responsible citizen with a wife and child, wasn't he? It was a typical Frank
morning and with an agility that defies description he leapt into the bathroom
onto the scales. To his great harold he discovered he was twelve inches more
tall heavy! He couldn't believe it and his blood raised to his head, causing a
mighty red colouring.
'I carn't not believe this incredible fact of truth about my very body which has
not gained fat since mother begat me at childburn. Yea, though I wart through
the valet of thy shadowy hut I will feed no norman. What grate qualmsy hath
taken me thus into such a fatty hardbuckle.'
Again Frank looked down at the awful vision which clouded his eyes with fearful
weight. 'Twelve inches more heavy, Lo!, but am I not more fatty than my brother
Geoffery whise father Alec came from Kenneth -- through Leslies, who begat
Arthur, son of Eric, by the house of Ronald and April -- keepers of James of
Newcastle who ran Madeline at 2-1 by Silver Flower, (10-2) past Wot-ro-Wot at
4/3d a pound?'
He journeyed downstairs crestfallen and defective -- a great wait on his
boulders -- not even his wife's battered face could raise a smile on poor
Frank's head -- who as you know had no flies on him. His wife, a former beauty
queer, regarded him with a strange but burly look.
'What ails thee, Frank? she asked stretching her prune. 'You look dejected if
not informal,' she addled.
"Tis nothing but wart I have gained but twelve inches more tall heavy than
at the very clock of yesterday at this time -- am I not the most miserable of
men? Suffer ye not to spake to me or I might thrust you a mortal injury; I must
traddle this trial alone.'
'Lo! Frank -- thous hast smote me harshly with such grave talk -- am I to blame
for this vast burton?'
Frank looked sadly at his wife -- forgetting for a moment the cause of his
misery. Walking slowly but slowly toward her, he took his head in his hands and
with a few swift blows gad clubbed her mercifully to the ground dead.
'She shouldn't see me like this,' he mubbled, 'not all fat and on her
thirtysecond birthday.'
Frank had to het his own breakfast that morning and also on the following
mornings.
Two, (or was it three?) weeks later Frank awake again to find that there were
still no flies on him.
'No flies on this Frank boy,' he thought; but to his amazement there seemed to
be a lot of flies on his wife -- who was still lying about the kitchen
floor.
'I carn't not partake of bread and that with her lying about the place,' he
thought allowed, writing as he spoke. 'I must deliver her to her home whore she
will be made welcome.'
He gathered her in a small sack (for she was only four foot three) and headed
for her rightful home. Frank knocked on the door of his wife's mothers house.
She opened the door.
'I've brought Marian home, Mrs. Sutherskill' (he could never call her Mum). He
opened the sack and placed Marian on the doorstep.
'I'm not having all those flies in my home,' shouted Mrs. Sutherskill (who was
very houseproud), shutting the door. 'She could have at least offered me a cup
of tea,' thought Frank lifting the problem back on his boulders.
pro_junior Report This Comment Date: January 20, 2009 11:27PM
alternate pic title: Flies On Crack
ORLANDO399 Report This Comment Date: January 21, 2009 07:20AM
Damn you fossil,I was fixing to launch this pic..thanx alot!