Category Archives: Sci-Fi

Brain Salad Buffet

We think they consumed intelligence the way we consume food.  It sustained them and they were drawn to it like moths to a flame.  We think the people who came for the speech must have attracted them, after all, the event drew some of the top thinkers from the party; business executives, media luminaries, religious icons…all gathered together like a brain salad buffet.  We think their mistake was just a matter of bad timing, because by the time the singularity formed just above the President’s head and they began flooding through the rift like a swarm of gangly metal spiders, the bloviating buffoon at the podium had already been speechifying for over an hour.  A whole hour of engorged bravado, exaggerated assertions and pandering half-truths…reducing the (otherwise intelligent) audience to a drooling mob of seething stupidity.

We saw them spread out through the arena, randomly plucking dull witted followers from the audience like daisies, harvesting their heads for the tasty data in their brains….only to come up short.  The more heads they dissolved, the more puzzled they became…unsatisfied.  In fact they appeared to be weakening…starving – but then, who comes to a political speech, nowadays, for intelligence?

And as the rift sputtered and closed and the invaders lay down to die, we think we heard them mindlessly chanting …U.S.A….U..S..A…..u…s…a…..

 

Orbital Fracture

“Well, that was pretty weird…” Quinn’s dad said, as they strolled out of the hospital emergency room toward the car.  Quinn nodded in solemn agreement.  His brain rattled a little, still full of purple marbles and tapioca.  He winced as his now full blown concussion sent steam whistling from his ears and left a trail of silly string on the asphalt.

Just a few hours earlier, Quinn, the goalkeeper for his club soccer team, came out of his box low and fast, to intercept a couple of players desperately sparring for the ball.  He dove in, punching it away as one of the players aimed a kick…but instead of connecting with the ball, his foot caught Quinn in the face like a grizzly car crash (an all-too-common goalie accident).

Quinn’s jaw spun away with a funny “vip-vip-vip!” and hit a light post, exploding in a shower  of sparks.  His teeth peppered everyone within fifty yards…but his head flew straight up in the air at such velocity that we lost sight of it shortly before his “AAAAAAAAAAAH!” diminished into the night.  What a mess!

Willy the Astronaut was a clumsy buffoon who, for the second time this month, slipped and splashed into the molding tank at the polar ice mine on the surface of Mars…as it’s contents began to freeze.  His heavily insulated vac-suit protected him from harm, but he wasn’t discovered until the 60 ton cylinder of ice had already been rocket-lifted up to the orbital processing plant, where it would be transformed into liquid oxygen rocket fuel.

Willy’s coworkers labored fruitlessly for eight frustrating hours with a laser drill to free him, without luck…..until Willy noticed Quinn’s gnarly, high velocity head glance off the ice and careen away, still hollering, “Aaaaaaaaaah!”  Quinn’s head must have hit a sweet spot in the ice, just so, because it fractured the cylinder neatly, allowing Willy to escape unharmed and without a costly, shattered mess for the mining company.  Willy never mentioned Quinn’s head to his employers, he was a known buffoon and his credibility was already compromised.

As to Quinn; his dad managed to gather up all his bits and parts and take him to the hospital, where the clever use of duct tape and super glue had him back on his feet in a few short hours.  We figure his wild story about ice mining on Mars was probably just a symptom of his concussion.

“Well, that was pretty weird…..”

***This is a totally true story which happened to John’s son, Quinn, last week, at a soccer game in Millburn, NJ on June 9th, 2017.  Quinn is recovering (slowly but steadily) and has been corresponding with Willy the Astronaut on facebook.  Quinn’s dad is building a rocket ship in the barn out back, so they can visit the ice mine on Mars next month.  -Marsha     

Designated Driver

Designated Driver-85 ***Marsha is away, arguing with the publisher again, probably in a belligerent blind rage.  It’s okay though, she does her best work when she’s  angry…or drunk (or both).  As you can imagine, I’m used to it by now.  But while we’ve been busy finishing our new book, she had no time to do a clever story for this illustration.  It’s an old one, the 3rd assignment I ever did for Analog Magazine (out of nearly 100); a 2 page spread for the May, 2003 issue…..I still like it.  -John

Alien Space Battle Thing

Alien Space Battle stuff-83

*****This is the 83rd post…and every 83rd post, Marsha takes a break and lets ME post one.  Hooray!  Marsha is away, arguing with the editor and publisher at EEW Books, trying to keep all her crappy mistakes IN the manuscript of our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown,” now that they’ve been edited out (and fixed).  It’s vanity and hubris to think her departure from proper English is her ‘artistic prerogative.’  She’ll argue and get concessions – and compliments – and come away satisfied…while the publishers will do whatever they want after she leaves, anyway.  It’s a messy, but necessary process….and it works.  Meanwhile, I’ve posted an illustration I did for the September ’06 issue of Analog Magazine, for a story by Edward M. Lerner.  It was a fun one to do…one of my favorites (though I’m no fan of war).  -John 

Hans and the Talking Bear

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Hans discovered that he could speak                                                                   with a bear who turned up in his flat last week,                                            as once he got past his initial dread,                                                                     he understood all that he said.                                                                                They hit it right off, like lickety-split,                                                                   just laughing and joking and shootin’ the shit…                                             ’till the bear got hungry and ate his head                                                         and now poor Hans is dead.

***This is another illustration/poem that didn’t make the cut for our new book, ‘Bludgeon the Clown’.  It’s easy to see why the image didn’t make it (it’s not very good).  It was originally commissioned for a story in Analog Magazine back in 2008…but I had hoped the publisher would find a way to keep my amazing poem in the book.  Oh well, that’s out of my hands – and the whole thing is coming along splendidly.  -Marsha

Roger!

Roger-79 copy***No clever poetry this week and no flash fiction, just an old sketch originally done (by John) for Analog Magazine back in January ’04.  It seems to be the perfect image to illustrate the incredibly mediocre NJ Horror Con and Film Festival we worked last weekend.  NEXT weekend we’ll be sharing a table at the Great Philadelphia Comic Con in Oaks PA. with our good friend Richard Laslo, the Cel King.  After that, there will be no shows until our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown”, is done and published.  We’re still shooting for the first week in May for our release…but it will just have to take whatever time it takes.  -Marsha 

Persistently Inedible

persistantly-inedible-61 

They came for me in the dead of night, grabbed me forcibly and shoved a black sack over my head.  They took me to an undisclosed location, locked me in a room with nothing in it but a table and chair and set a plate of food in front of me.  Weird.  They told me I could leave…..but only if I finished everything on my plate.  I wasn’t hungry.

I tried to reason with them but they ignored me.  I ranted and raged and pounded my fists in a heroic hissy fit.  I even begged…but they ignored me and by then, hours later, I WAS getting hungry.

The plate of food was still sitting there but I didn’t recognize any of it.  It looked like it could be some kind of exotic vegetables.  It certainly didn’t smell so good – like farts in a moldy sleeping bag.  I resisted.

A few hours later I was famished.  I took a closer look at the food.  Maybe it wouldn’t  be so bad – but just then, something twitched.  I squeemed with the heebie-jeebies!!…..and looking again, I could swear it was breathing.  I thought I would puke but had nothing to give, then it all started to stir and writhe and become agitated – it was REALLY weird (but I was sooooooo hungry).

I grabbed a piece off the plate, wrestled it into my mouth and down my throat.  It resisted, kicking and screaming all the way down.  That’s when I puked…but as it limped away angrily, I caught it again, ripped it apart with my teeth and ate it.  I managed to round up every single piece of those awful, jabbering bits of freakish vegetables….and I must say, it was the best meal I’d had in ages.  In fact, I was  looking and feeling much more like my old self again.  Man!  Best Thanksgiving EVER!!!

***Now that THAT’s over and we are well into the corporate buying frenzy marked by the high holy day of ‘Black Friday’, I can shamelessly plug my books.  With all the garbage out there you COULD buy to purchase the affections of your loved ones for the year, I stand behind my books for their quality, cynicism and sheer awfulness.  They make the best possible Christmas gift for those you love AND those you can’t stand.  They’ll help you get laid, enhance your penis and put luster in your stringy hair while that extra ten pounds you’ve been trying to shed will come right off…but be careful, you may become more popular than you can handle.  Available on Amazon and Etsy, you can find the links at www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

She Tasted Like Blue

tasted-like-blue-57 All speckled and fuzzy, she tasted like blue                                                      with spiny black tendrils of yellowish goo.                                                         She dribbled and hissed in licorice throes                                                           and sang like a frog-apple shoved up her nose.                                               Shredded and pulpy and gnawing in heat                                                           while her farts were so pungently sweet.                                                            flailing in fancy with peppermint splashes,                                                        her mango-bat claws left slashes.                                                                             And when she was salty she prattled and leapt                                              and when she was orange she slept.                                                                        And when she was rancid, with droplets of dew,                                          she definitely tasted like blue.

***I didn’t write this drivel.  Even my artist, John, in all his bizarre idiocy couldn’t compose this kind of brilliant shat.  But, as I recall…I think it was the mutant tiger chick and her kinky prey who did it.  Well, read it again and try to find the clever hidden meaning to it – then buy my books (find them at www.sallemander.com).  John’s illustration was first licensed for use as the Jan/Feb 2009 cover for Analog Magazine, for a story by Rajnar Vajra (one of John’s favorite authors)  -Marsha

 

Ugliest Man alive

ugliest-man-alive-56 Billy O’Banion had to be the ugliest man alive.   He was  monstrous to look at, an absolute fright and there was no hiding it.

Some liked to speculate that his father was a mutant clone or an alien invader.  There was even a vicious rumor that his mother took a demon into her bed.  Really though,  the O’Banions were perfectly respectable.  In fact, Billy’s birth was completely normal and he had a decent, happy childhood.  He’d never succumbed to any horrible illness or accident and was never bitten by an irradiated lab rat.  He simply started getting ugly at some point and kept getting uglier and uglier with each passing day.  He was an inexplicable freak of nature…an awful, tragic figure…..how sad!?

The funny thing about Billy, however, is that he seemed perfectly okay with his predicament.  He took it all in stride and made lemonade out of the rotten tomatoes he was dealt.  He figured he was a cross between Darth Maul and a Gothic dragon…cool!  See, Billy had an outrageous sense of humor that dwarfed his ugliness.  He was a clever practical joker and filled his days with gigantic gobs of fun.

Nothing tickled his tendrils more than slipping quietly into a mob on the street, disguised in a hoodie…only to burst out suddenly, flashing his most charming grin, yelling “Surprise!!!”  He could barely contain the giggles as they screamed, shat themselves and fainted (usually in that exact order).  It never got old.  He could clear a fast food joint or a movie theatre in seconds and never had trouble getting a good seat.

For a while, he made piles of money in the Mexican masked wrestling circuit but eventually retired on a generous pension provided by several New Jersey towns – “to stay the hell away!” These days, he lives quietly in a posh Hoboken penthouse where he writes creepy clown poetry and practices his banjo…but still gets a kick out of scaring the bajeebies out of solicitors, delivery boys and trick-or-treaters. He likes to leap out of the elevator and gobble them down whole.  Oh, don’t worry, he craps them out onto the carpet an hour later…completely unharmed (at least physically), after all, he always was a vegetarian.

***HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!…the best holiday of the year.  I wrote this in our Saturday ‘Montclair Write Group’ writing workshop with John’s image as the prompt.  Its good practice, good exercise and good inspiration.  John’s image was originally published in a 2010 issue of Analog Magazine.  -Marsha

Search Me…

Search me-image-40

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