Category Archives: body-oddies

It’s Not About You…

“It’s not about you…” she said in her kindest, most sincere tone, “Really.  You’re fine.  I’m really okay with it…it’s just that, I think…I’m in a different place in my life right now…”  She smiled, looking away, trying to remember some of her gentlest brush-offs as a bead of sweat  began it’s descent on the back of her neck…..even as frustration and indignation came up in her bile.  “Oh, to HELL with it!  I can’t DO this!  Listen…you seemed like a nice, normal person and all, but JESUS effin’ CHRIST!!  Your dating profile NEVER said anything about THAT!!!  I mean, come ON!”  She pulled up her boot zipper, buttoned the top button on her blue jeans and grabbed her rumpled jacket off the floor as she made for the bedroom door… “You might have warned me at some point during dinner!”  She was really hollering now.  “Seriously?  I had to wait until we both undressed to find out about…..THAT?!?”  She slammed the door, making the whole room shudder, and with one final “AAAAAUGHHH!!!!!  FRIGGIN’ FREAK SHOW!!” she stomped out.

***Jeeeezz!  If I had a nickel for every time that happened…..  -Marsha

Santa Claws

***I found this in one of John the illustrator’s discard files while looking for images to attach to my wonderful flash-stories.  I absolutely love it.  It will be perfect for this week’s post – the last week before Christmas, there’s just something a little ‘off’ about this one, though…I just can’t put my finger on it…  Oh well,  Merry Christmas everybody!!!…go to our site and buy our books.   -Marsha

What’s The Sense of it All?

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.  But…all is not lost, the solution to all your woes can be found in the pages of our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  You can find it by following the link above to www.sallemander.com.  (This piece is reposted from June of last year.)   -Marsha

Talking to a Cock

I guess I was a little drunk, I was definitely over stimulated.  The boardwalk carnival was an intoxicating menagerie of sound and light, of beautiful bodies still in their skimpy beach wear, smelling of sweat and suntan lotion, of sweet & salty junk food deep fried in sugar and cheese.  I wandered like a leaf on the pungent breeze, my bare feet barely touching the sticky wood.

The hawkers, luring people into sideshow attractions were on fire tonight.  Business was booming at the Snake Boy house, patrons screamed in anguished pleasure.  The ‘Winged Pigs’, ‘Dragon Lady’ and ‘6 Jesters Conjoined’ had long, eager lines waiting.  But the one which caught my eye was the only booth whose crier didn’t look like an ancient, cigar chomping, sticky pocketed circus clown with mirrored shoes.  SHE was a sultry, middle aged woman with curves and lumps and hair and eyes that melted my…bones, which is probably why I didn’t read the sign on the booth properly – or even care.  I just handed her my money and walked in.

There on the podium, in the center of a dark room with red satin curtains, stood a raging red COCK…..no…I mean, it was a red rooster with bright flaming plumage.  The other people in the room sat on benches around the bird, enthralled.  I stood for a long moment, puzzled and awkward…until the cock looked over at me and said, “Take a seat there, Sparky, I’m just getting started…” in a voice that sounded remarkably like Noam Chomsky’s.

You know…I may have misheard the writing prompt today…  What?…OH!!!, “Talking to a Cop”…yeah, I don’t talk to cops.

Our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” is all done and off to the printer.  Our publisher, EEW Books uses a tiny, local printer in Bloomfield NJ, a mile from our old studios.  There are plenty of excellent printers up here in the frosty north, but none better than Tom DeStefano and his team at Budget Print (332 Broad Street).  It’s a family owned, very professional, highest quality, friendly business whose integrity is rare nowadays.   If they were located in Reykjavik or Kathmandu or Djibouti… we would still travel there for their services.  -John

Making An Entrance

      They called it ‘Body Piercing.’  It was very rare, very risky…for both the acrobat and the victim.  Frisbee the Bouncer contemplated the origins of the maneuver he had just failed to properly execute.  Willy the Clown (the victim) was finally settling down a bit, allowing Frisbee some time to think: you see, audiences had gotten bored with traditional tumbling and acrobatics, even parkour had lost it’s charm…free-runners traversing buildings, flipping and spinning across rooftops and bridge rafters, bouncing about from car to car in midtown traffic…I mean, it’s not as if everybody could do it nowadays, but people got bored seeing it all the time.

New ideas evolved to shock and awe the masses, each more extreme, risky…deadly.  The ‘Tongue In Cheek’ was already banned in 17 states, the ‘Cockeyed Cock’ was responsible for 3 temporary deaths, 12 online divorces and 41 spontaneous abortions (in Tennessee alone)…then came ‘Body Piercing.’  It was like a grizzly car crash on the turnpike that you can’t help staring at.  Frisbee recalled that the most difficult part was the need to make an entrance (not what you’re thinking).  How does an acrobat bounce right through the center of an unsuspecting victim’s body (without using an existing entrance – or exit)?  Well, Frisbee was quite certain he had it all figured out…but…..well, look at the picture!

Willy the Clown went quickly from surprise to horror, screaming bloody murder for 30 minutes straight…now he was just pissed off at Frisbee, who simply mumbled, “That should have worked!…Why didn’t that work?” over and over and over.

Somebody call an ambulance…!?!

***I wrote this piece last week, sitting out in my new back yard, atop the loveliest snowdrift in the midnight sun, watching flying reindeer dogfighting overhead.  I’m so happy in my new house at the North Pole.  The image is one from my “Creepy Clowns Coloring Book,” which you can find for sale by following the links to my website.  -Marsha  

Fish Ed

I woke up unconscious.  My aching head smelled funny.  There was something sticky between my cheek and the cold shelf in the refrigerator.  “Eat me!” demanded the chicken, “I taste great! Why…I taste like chicken!  Everybody loves chicken.”  He was hard to take seriously without a head – his neck hole made him lisp.  “Eat ME!!” he yelled again.

But the egg was just as bold: “NO!  Eat me!” and raising his eyebrows suggestively, with a sexy-baby voice, he said, “I’m young.  I’m soft.  You can do ANYTHING to meeee…fry me, poach me, slather me in mayonnaise… Mmmmmm!  I’m delicious!”  He grinned.

“Don’t listen to HIM!” said Chicken.  “I’m delicious with mayo too…and you LOVE barbeque and I have…”

   “WHUMP!!!”

I slammed the fridge.  I could see that the jelly was already awake and I always hated talking to her.  Besides, the guacamole was poised, just waiting for his chance to interrupt and frankly, my aching brain could not handle whatever the leftover stromboli had to say – with his nauseating salami and jalapeño breath…..and what was that funny smell?  Was that fish?  I don’t like fish.  “Hey buddy,” said the fish, “that’s not a very nice thing to think.”

“WHUMP!!!”

 

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

 

Milton was an odd fellow. Everybody thought so. He had wild ideas about everything from politics to gardening. He thought animals would be healthier if we didn’t butcher them. He thought terrorism was a bad way to fight terrorism and had, daily, heated arguments about transference with the wooden Indian outside the smoke shop….very odd.

He painted a creepy clown face with purple polka-dots on his van (even though he can’t drive). He muttered bizarre things to ladies as he passed them in the streets, like: “Have a nice day!” and “Love your head scarf!!” – it was horrifying. Last week he predicted the world would end two years ago and hung unauthorized presidential campaign posters for ‘asparagus’ and ‘enchiladas’ (even though they were probably better candidates)…and every time he ate pickled anchovy sandwiches with mayo and peanut butter, his breath still smelled like beef jerky…..Huh!

For all this and much more, Milton was the subject of intense gossip all over town. He often made the front page of the local Gazette and people got into fist fights over the consistency of his guacamole. To some, he was a nuisance, to others a local folk hero – and to others still, a tourist attraction.

Well, that was all good and fine for most folks…but for me, seeing him stroll about with three fully grown legs – one facing front and two facing back, was truly a marvel…..and wow, what a snazzy dancer!

***This is a sketch and flash piece for my “Body-Oddies” book project, which is well underway and on schedule for publication in 2018 (that is, if John can get his lazy ass in gear and finish the illustrations).  The publisher is really excited with the whole project.  -Marsha Mellow

 

Potty Mouth

Potty Mouth-80 

Something in the smell wafting from the bathroom told me that things were going badly.  The crap being shouted was definitely not appropriate for television.  Negotiations had broken down and a strike was well underway.  Worse…the strikers were in open revolt,  flinging their sacred deposits all over the walls and ceiling.  The trust between us was broken.  Innocents were soiled, stained and who knew if the scars would ever heal…..but all that was secondary to the fact that…I really had to go.  I REALLY had to go — BAD!

Shamefully, in typical corporate fashion, I snuck out to the back yard, found a tree and used it like a primitive monkey.  Disgusting.  Yes, I found a cheap scab replacement to the striking toilet — but I just couldn’t hold out any longer…ugh!  I felt dirty.

I say, give the strikers whatever they demand before this gets any worse and we have a real shit storm on our hands…our shoes… our trousers…..

***Two weekends and two 3-day shows in a row, selling our beautiful clown books and hawking amazing (and tasteful) ‘Poop’ stickers…..boy oh boy, this is the life.  If I knew this was going to be so good I’d have quit my old career 10 years ago.  John wholeheartedly concurs.  But, Now we have a clean stretch of uninterrupted time to finish “Bludgeon the Clown”, hopefully in early May so we can resume our show schedule.  -Marsha

 

Sausage Fest

Sausage-Fest-76      Willy arrived at the party with his friend Willy and his other friend Willy.  He was happy to be invited, he and his friends didn’t get many invites (they were kinda nerds) but it soon became apparent that this party would be another sausage fest.  The prospects looked pretty gloomy when he saw that everybody there was a ‘Willy’.  At least there was plenty of beer.  After a while he noticed the place getting really hot and humid.  There might as well have been flames licking up between the gratings in the floor…and all the Willies were getting some awkward, nasty looking tan lines – just like his – and they were drinking gallons of ice-cold beer to compensate for…

That’s when he realized…it was all a scam. This…was a…..bar-be-que!

***Today, in the midst of the ‘Blizzard of 2017’, all I can think of is bar-be-que and beer.  This is a new one from our “Body-Oddies” project, a craptastic journey through the rancid mind of my artist, John Allemand.  So glad that’s over.  We have enough material to do the book but now I guess we’re just spewing out material as a compulsion.  -Marsha

Foot In Mouth

Foot-In-Mouth-72      I woke up this morning feeling disheveled. I must have tossed and turned all night and tied myself into a knot, because when I woke up I fell out of bed…tied in a knot.  I didn’t know I could do that…and survive.  Worse than that, when I finally got myself untangled, I realized I had a foot where my hand used to be, my tongue was attached to an elbow and my hair had migrated down my back to my buttocks.  One of my hands had switched places with my wiener and one was dangling from an armpit but for the life of me, I could not find my other foot.  I wasn’t in any pain but the sight of it all made me want to scream…..except, when I opened my mouth…well, that’s when I discovered where my other foot had gone…

***This exact thing never actually happened to ME…but something resembling the ‘foot in mouth’ part definitely happened to the last loser who tried to pick me up in a bar, which…come to think of it, happened a few years ago on this same minor holiday celebrating the Marquis de Sade or something…..Valentine’s, whatever!  We’re too busy finishing our new book (‘Bludgeon the Clown’) to worry about it right now.  -Marsha