All posts by Marsha Mellow

Bio of Marsha Mellow by Marsha Mellow I knew I wanted to be a famous writer from the time I was a little girl (my high school cheerleading career was never going to pan out). Originally I thought I'd write books but growing up in a conservative, gated community in Texas left me with NO creative ideas, so I chose corporate journalism. My daddy (I think he was an Exxon climatologist) made sure I got the finest education money could buy, although he seemed disappointed when I finished with a degree instead of a husband. My meteoric rise in journalism began as an unpaid intern at my hometown weekly, The Village Gossip, writing garden party reviews (very high brow stuff). From there I went to The Star Tribune where I won the 'perkiest obituary award' 6 years running. But I really hit it big at Newscorp, typing bottom-scroll news alerts on live cable T.V. I was a perfect fit at FOX...but that ended abruptly when my boss's wife objected to our afternoon "production meetings" at the Parkway Motel. Oh well, who cares about a silly bunch of torture, illegal wars and drone terrorism anyway? I spent the next seven years as a copy writer for the pharmaceutical industry, doing side-effects disclaimers for all the new drugs. My favorite was "...may cause anal discharge from the naval." Ooooh, but those were good times...doing god's work...with endless free samples... When a bizarre set of stories about Clowns piqued my curiosity, I saw a golden opportunity to do some REAL, Fox level, journalism and exploit the hell out of them. Clowns were an already marginalized population of simpletons...easy money. Of course, having to associating with 'those' freakish people was a little out of my comfort zone...and I ran into technical problems which forced me to partner with an 'artist' (the only creatures I loathe more than Clowns, Ugh!) but this was an important story and I expected it to bring me the fame and fortune I deserved. Ultimately, Clown stories don't measure up to celebrity sex scandals and outed congressmen in the mainstream news, so my work never went to press. A BOOK of Clowns, however, seemed a perfect consolation....and put me right back on track to fulfill my earliest childhood dreams. Coming soon, "Marsha Mellow's Blue-ish Freaks." Bio of John Allemand by Marsha Mellow A lot of people like John’s art…but he’s really not the sort that ‘respectable’ people should get to know. He’s been known to associate with circus people (Clowns!), has arguments with random body parts (spleens!) and has an ugly prejudice against sentient technology (robots!). He’s certainly not the type you’d “want to have a beer with” like George W. Bush. In utero, John had a conjoined twin brother attached at the buttocks but by the time he was born, his twin had been completely absorbed..…except for its tiny, powerful brain. Being the dullard of the two, John naturally deferred all of his higher thinking to his (lower) smarter brain. I often say that most of his best ideas come straight out of his ass. He was born in East Orange NJ, the youngest of 16 and despite a typical American public school education, he came away with a deep appreciation for diverse cultures and ideas - a freakish critical thinker…very disappointing. A few years later, however, he learned to suppress his personal integrity and craftsmanship as it made him a pariah among his peers and a liability to his clients. Lowering himself into the sleaze of corporate advertizing, he convinced himself it was all worth it ‘for the sake of the kids’ (which it wasn’t). John had a spectacular 30 year career in film & animation doing amazing work on some of the worst T.V. shows and dangerous commercials ever made. He was a master of selling useless crap to gullible people. When the corporate art industry collapsed under austerity, he retired to follow his passions. In Costa Rica he became a Free-Range Guacamole Rancher but something in the water caused a partial rebirth of his twin brother through his scrotum. In Kalamazoo his 'Shits and Giggles' Gourmet Taco Truck was a raging success until he sold it to a fellow with one leg named Willy when local Taco Mobsters made threats on his yet unnamed legs. In Weehawken, he became a live organ collector for Morty’s Door-to-Door Coffin Emporium...but was fired for sampling the merchandise. He caught the itch for art again in Flushing, as a happy-face painter at Herbies Corpus’ Human Taxidermy. He left to become a urinal cake decorator for Jakes Kakes in Coxsackie, New York (still giggles when he hears "Coxsackie"). When I finally tracked him down (milking bulls at the County Fair in Sheboygan) I offered him a job (and a hot shower) on the spot. Despite my personal dislike for his kind, real artists are hard to find now-a-days and he was my best and only hope for illustrating my extraordinary projects. It took some maneuvering but once I got him to sign my (clever) contract we set off, that very night, across America for a one month research road-trip…..and didn’t return for 10 years. What we discovered and documented in our search for Clowns, Freaks and Oddies is quite amazing.....but to learn more, you’ll have to buy my books. These days, John spends his time illustrating for me, desperately searching for a way out of our contract (ha ha ha!). He often dreams of becoming a spotted pink rhinoceros while his sharper twin brother plots to take over the world.

Anarchist

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Stop complaining!  Stop protesting!                                                                         You have your rights but don’t really need ’em.                                               We are the government.  We’re in control.                                                         This is American freedom.                                                                                              Anarchists, Hippies and Clowns, beware.                                                             We have the guns.  We know what’s best.                                                          If you make our corporate bankers upset                                                           we’ll pummel you under arrest.

***This is an excellent post for all the weeks of blowback we’ve had, not just in the U.S. but around the empire…all predicted, all preventable and all inevitable.  And what’s next?…history will tell you.  This week’s image is a page from our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”.  -Marsha

Search Me…

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They were big and beefy and incredibly strong.  They were aggressive, pointing their weapons everywhere and smelled like belligerent fear as they shouted and snarled.  They wore plate armor like insects but they were pasty and bony underneath with beady eyes and a ridiculous tuft of hair on their tiny heads – like hand puppets.  They were most definitely …ALIEN!

When they landed their starship in my back yard and demanded, “Take me to your leader!”  I was so stunned – so baffled that I just froze and blinked at them.  Their exasperated captain tried again, “Where are your leaders?!” with a sneer of contempt, as if I was a child.  I simply shrugged and said, “Search me…”

Now, I don’t know if they misunderstood me or just had a REALLY strange sense of humor…..but being held down in a medical lab with a gnarly probe approaching my buttocks is taking things waaaaaay too literally.

***This one reminds me of my last colonoscopy…And can anybody explain what the deal is with Aliens and anal probes?  Every single time; anal probe – anal probe – anal probe.  They’re almost as bad as the CIA (though, at least Aliens ask intelligent questions).  This was the (lucky) 13th cover John did for Analog/Asimov’s Magazines.  -Marsha 

Sundae The Clown

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“Ohhh…its not so bad.” his wife told him with thinly veiled sarcasm.  “You look absolutely delicious…..!” she smiled sardonically.  But it was a hot summer day and he was melting on the spot.  He wouldn’t last much longer.

Billy was so intent on pleasing his estranged wife (poor henpecked bastard) that he took her desire for an ice cream sundae too far and transmogrified himself into one, without considering the consequences.  And still, as he slowly disintegrated into a sweet soupy mess, she would not favor him with her attentions – except to say, “Ugh!  You know I don’t like pistachio…..!”

***The hell with Billy, its hot out and I want ice cream!!!  This image is another piece from our now book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”.  You can find it here at www.sallemander.com (or follow the link above).  -Marsha

What’s The Sense of it All

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Larry had no objection to toes.  He never thought much about them, really.  Sure, they help us to stand up straight and balance on two feet…but so what!?  They’re just little nubbly things.  They’re not sexy or cool like fingers (at least you can pick your nose and scratch your ass with fingers).  Toes are shit.  They make lousy ear rings, smell worse than ass crack and are too bony to eat (even sautéed in olive oil with mushrooms and onions) and they taste like chum, anyway.

So why?…..What’s the sense of growing one right out from the center of his forehead?  How could he have gone to bed last night, feeling like a perfectly normal modern man (with hypertension, diabetes and chronic back pain) …and wake up the next morning with such bad luck?  What kind of rotten cosmic karma did he upset for nature – or god (or whatever) to decide to put a big gnarly, fully grown toe, right smack between his eyes?

Seriously though, wasn’t it bad enough that he already had a whole festering patch of them growing down his back?…..UGHHH!!!  What’s the sense of it all!!?

***I’m pretty sure Larry isn’t the only one who wakes up every morning with awkward growths or nasty lumps.  Some are easy to dispatch, others we just have to live with – to be sure, I’ve noticed it becoming yet another disturbing trend among a broken people in our broken society.  But…all is not lost.  The solution to all your woes can be found in the pages of our new book, ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks.’  You can find it by following the link above to www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

Tepid the Clown

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Tepid the Clown had really bad gas.                                                                    He made ’em strong, and made ’em to last.                                                     He could fly around town propelled by his ass,                                       could leap a tall building with just one blast.

But ran out of luck with a wet squirty one                                                     and at ten thousand feet he was done                                                              and hit the street like a jelly-filled bun                                                             but, by golly! Wasn’t that fun?!!

***At first I thought this would make an excellent political post, something about the end of empire or the integrity of our legal system…but then I recalled a delightful passage I found in John’s dream journal.  A heroic tale of high adventure with a boy blessed with fart-propelled sustained flight…..and then I remembered the smell of sausage and fajita farts I endured the last time I got into his stupid car – and all I could think of was “EEW!”  -Marsha 

Do They Come Any Weirder?

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Skippy the Jester came with a grunt.                                                                   Leopold came with a smile.                                                                                            Pat came juggling big squishy balls                                                                         in a highly provocative style. 

Montalban came in his polka dots.                                                                     Willy came wearing a dress.                                                                                          Mimsy came bouncing and shaking in white                                                      but left an absolute mess.  

Timothy came in a Santa suit.                                                                                       Bob came dressed as a cop,                                                                                            shoving his night stick in everyone’s face                                                             and no one could make him stop.

Bill the Mime came with Sissy the Clown.                                                        Do they come any weirder?…..Please!                                                              But when the guy with the camera came,                                                     they all came in close and said: “CHEESE!!”  

***John took our new book, ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks’ to the Scare-A Con in Springfield Mass. this weekend.  It was amazing.  The place was infested with Clowns, actors, freaks and nerds…and every one was brilliant.  There were photo ops, selfies and even the odd grin-n-grab and every famous person we met was warm and kind.  This post seemed to capture the whimsy and chaos of the convention.  -Marsha 

Freaky Uncle

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We never spoke about Uncle Dixon. Our whole family tip-toed around the subject…but I could tell there were powerful feelings just under everybody’s skin.  He was a horrible pariah.  The black sheep of the family.

We kept him straight-jacketed in one of the padded cells in the catacombs below our cabin.  He was never allowed out in the light of day (lest one of the neighbors spot him), only after midnight on stormy nights and always tightly chained, gagged and bound in one of those psycho metal hockey mask get-ups.  He got wheeled around in a steel cage on a hand truck under constant, heavily armed guard.

As if that wasn’t bad enough…Uncle Dixon was never allowed to go wilding with the rest of the family, never allowed to invade homes, to rape and burn and shoot folks in the face with shotguns or dismember them with his best machete before skinning and roasting them on the Bar-B-Que for the family feast…..how sad and dull.

I felt bad for him.  What possible meaning could his life have?  I always wondered what awful thing he could have done to deserve such treatment – until I overheard Pappa Ripper telling old cousin Head-Stomper that Dixon was a pacifist, an atheist and… a vegetarian (whatever that was).  He also said that he had NEVER murdered a baby in his whole life – actually refused to do it!!!  Eeeeew!  What a Freak!?!

***Every family has at least one crazy relative that makes Thanksgiving an unforgettable event rivaling any ten episodes of The Jerry Springer Show….and worth 6 months of therapy.  I think my illustrator, John, serves that role in his family.  John’s illustration is from our book, ‘Bludgeon the Clown’, scheduled for publication in 2017.  -Marsha

Worse Day of My Life

“Worse day of my life…” began the stranger at the bar, “…the day I lost my HEAD!” He stared at me oddly, chuckling. His words hung in the air for a while as I wondered who the heck this guy was and why he was chatting me up. He sounded absurd!  “What?!” I asked, a little annoyed. “Yeah!” he continued, “It just tumbled off and rolled away. I couldn’t find it for a YEAR!” ‘How ridiculous’ I thought – but then, I remembered hearing about that sort of thing happening more and more these days. “I found it conjoined with some other dude’s left hand like a circus freak-show exhibit …awkward!”

 

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I reached for my beer glass but knocked it over with the empty stump of my wrist. The stranger grinned at me and chuckled again knowingly. It seems that both my hands had quietly popped off and were crawling down the bar toward the attractive woman in the breasty, low cut blouse at the end…the one I was too shy to approach earlier. I didn’t know what they planned but I could just imagine what MY brainless hands might like to do with HER. That’s when I noticed the stranger’s collar – bolted tightly ‘round his neck. It looked positively medieval but locked his wayward head soundly to his torso. ‘How clever?!’ I thought.

The barkeep wiped up my spilled beer with a lovely pair of shapely, ladies arms –which did NOT match the rest of his otherwise burly, tattooed frame. He caught me staring but shrugged and nodded me in the direction of my hands as they broke into a run…..while the woman’s breasts leapt out of her blouse and took off in opposite directions.

***John did this image for our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks” which is available now, just follow the link above to www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

 

Say It Isn’t So

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“Oh no!…Say it isn’t so!!!” Willy whined, staring down at his belly in horror.  “This is just getting weird…”  His therapist told him time and again to let his ‘inner child’ out but THIS was ridiculous!  What began as common heartburn blossomed into something completely bizarre.

Willy was the typical modern American man; A politically connected (racist), deeply religious (extremist), highly educated (affluent) corporate executive (dullard) – a completely normal, well adjusted person in a desperately broken society.  So naturally, he was quite fucked.  It was no wonder he developed chronic aches and pains…and over time they became rather terrible.

Willy’s doctors found nothing wrong with him, no infections, no disorders, no cancers.  They told him it was ‘all in his head’ (it was actually in his torso, an inch above his liver and just to the left of his pancreas) but his shrink found him just as fit as his peers.  Still, the pain got worse and worse until finally, at his absolute breaking point, Willy had…..a breakthrough.

He woke up one night from a juicy steak and alcohol-induced stupor to find a finger sticking out of his belly (and the complete absence of pain).  It was so weird he thought he must be dreaming and dropped off again but by morning a whole arm had emerged while a pair of feet proceeded to push out of his back with a gooshie spluck.  He was so freaked out, he fainted…..and when he got up again, he could do nothing but watch as a whole person emerged form his torso, front and back.

“Holy crap on a cracker!!!” he screamed.  But the Willy in his belly, who looked just as frantic, hollered, “Shut up, old man!…How do you think I feel?!  Oh no…Say it isn’t so!!!”

***We spent the better part of two days in the NJ motor vehicle gauntlet this week, getting licenses renewed and title, tags and registration done for a car.  John did this sketch while we waited which perfectly captured the experience in one shot.  -Marsha

 

Sammy the Clown

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Sammy the Clown thought he could fly                                                              so he threw himself  off the roof                                                                           and flapped his arms for eighty-nine floors                                                 ‘fore he realized his tragic goof.

***Even if Uncle Sammy here is only an inch or two off the ground he’ll still make a painful, messy landing.  There isn’t much more to say about American politics today…except that we do real Clowns a disservice by associating them with politicians.  It taints their integrity and sense of decency.  This is a page from our new book, ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks’.  You can find it at;  www.sallemander.com  -Marsha