Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Persistently Inedible

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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

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

Making “Speech”

making-speech-54      Oh no!  What are they doing?  Are they going to talk now or…?   Oh god!  They’re about to make…..”SPEECH!”  Oh, eeeeeew, its all over the podium, it even smells like speech.

Every time these political types get up in front of people, they speech and they speech and they speech, incessantly.  Its the worst, the nastiest – sloppiest speech you ever heard.  Like a big steaming pile of drunken speech stumbling about, speeching its filth everywhere.

Oh well, I guess its a sign of the times…but just look at the crowd gathering, its sickening – and they love it.  Ooooh, now they’re spraying the stage with raw speech, projecting hot, sleazy speech all over everybody…..as they bath in it with relish.  Oh, the humanity!  And no matter how I try to avoid it, I end up covered in it too.  It spatters my shoes, my clothes and gushes painfully from my ears.

I thought it might be different this time around.  I thought we all might have a good healthy discussion like civilized people…..but all we got is more “speech”.

***Was that another clusterfuck debate on Sunday?  Is there ANY intelligent person willing to vote for one of those two assholes?  My god…we are soooooo screwed…..  Meanwhile, Our image is from our wonderful new coloring book, which you can buy on our EEWbooks Etsy store/site.  Here’s the link…  https://www.etsy.com/shop/EEWbooks?ref=hdr_shop_menu   -Marsha

Master Debater

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What a lovely outing! It was a gorgeous day in America, strolling about in broad daylight was so uncommon for HIM that he was exhilarated to the point of giddiness.

As an unconventional fellow with such an unusual profession and an incredibly off-putting appearance, it was downright strange to pass through so many ‘normal’ social situations, this wonderful day, with little notice – with barely a sideways glance from the people he encountered.  To be sure, he certainly enjoyed the tremendous effect he’d always had on people in ages past.  It amused him to no end to see them faint, scream, flee in horror – even die on the spot…..but today, not even the sight of Lucifer, The Devil himself, phased these modern Americans, so jaded and broken.

They actually applauded him as he made his way to the stage to moderate this season’s first presidential debate.  He marveled at their cognitive dissonance, knowing how completely screwed they will all be, no matter which of THESE candidates win…..and to think, he didn’t even pick them this time.  They did that aaaaalll by themselves.

***I spotted him coming out of the debate with a forlorn look of such profound disappointment, I thought he was going to cry.  Our eyes met for a second and I knew exactly how he felt…because I felt it too. 

***Any way, Our Etsy store/site is up and running with our two new books and 12 original art prints for sale.  Go to etsy.com, search for EEWbooks and ‘fave’ my page.  Thanks.  -Marsha

Willy Pete

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Willy Pete was the smartest person he knew. He was thinking all the time.  He had little else to do in his crate – yes, Willy lived with several other smart fellows like him – in a crate, in a warehouse.  For their first few years they were moved around a lot.  They were transported from warehouse to warehouse, in different parts of the world, sometimes by truck or by ship or by cargo plane.  Willy could always tell where they were by the air pressure, humidity, altitude, motion… because he was REALLY smart.  Eventually, he and his fellows were let out of their crate and clamped under the wing of an airplane.

Willy Pete loved flying from the moment they took off.  He loved the speed, the wind in his face and that he could finally see everything in the wider world – rivers, mountains, fields and forests…and all of it made him even smarter.  They flew for hours and hours and every moment was wonderful.

They careened mere feet above the ocean waves, steered wildly through desert canyons and between tall buildings – then angled upward and climbed so high above the clouds that he could almost touch outer space……But as they dropped back down toward the city below, Willy received a signal which armed him for what he realized was his true purpose.  The wing clamps released, his cameras and control fins activated and a pilot, half way around the world, took control and guided him toward his target.

Willy thought feverishly, knowing he had just seconds left (that apartment building was getting huge, fast) wondering why he was released.  He trusted…he HOPED he would serve a noble purpose.  He yearned for the chance that his death might have meaning…perhaps to save the world?

But as he crashed through a kitchen window, plowing through furniture, appliances and toys, he saw the startled look on the faces of several people gathered for an evening meal – and counted no less than six children around the table – as he explo………

***Exploded…..I think it meant to say, “exploded” before the transmission ended.  -Marsha

Slack Jaw

slackjaw-50     Father Rodriguez Domingo Emanuel Castillo stood on the dais before his congregation at Sunday mass, slack jawed and silent – as if in a trance. Everyone was (respectfully) baffled as he committed his minor, weekly spectacle.  Intense prayers hissed through humid air, a mumbled chanting, eyes lolling, bodies swaying, swooning and barfing in awe as his lips and cheeks slackened while the agonizing minutes passed.  A thick silence fell as  his melting jaw splashed into a dribbley puddle at his feet.  Nobody moved or said anything… everyone just stared, stupidly…..it must be a miracle… right?

***I love religion, so entertaining, so debilitating…but no matter how I’d love to rant on about it, I’m even more compelled to announce that we now have our ETSY shop up and running (just follow the link to www.sallemander.com and you’ll find the link to the site/shop).  You can get our two books and soon, original art prints.  Also, we now have both our books for sale at St. Mark’s Comics in New York City (one of our favorite places on Earth), so go there and buy our shit!  -Marsha

Gob the Clown

Gob the Clown-49      Spartacus Spittle woke up the moment he hit the wall.  What should have hurt like hell, only exhilarated him as he gasped his first breath and his first gooey thought shat through his brain bubbles.  His brand new eyes popped open in time to spot his birth father tromping away in floppy, oversized shoes, a bright orange wig and a baggy, polka dotted jumpsuit.  Spartacus felt a wave of affection wash down his still unformed leg jizzle.

The impact with the wall spattered most of his foamy mass of phlegm in an impressive spread but he was already retracting elastically into a sloppy infant form.  Just below him, however, was the spittoon that his father was aiming for as he made his glorious journey, rumbling up from the lungs and simultaneously snorking down from the sinuses,  commingling on the birth canal tongue to be fired out of his silly painted gob with a convulsive “HORK!!”

As Spartacus clung to the wall for dear life – lest he fall into the spittoon and die – he felt confident that if he’d inherited his father’s bad aim he would probably miss the pot anyway.

***As much as I’d love to expound on all the fascinating data we’ve compiled on Clown reproduction and birth, I’m even more excited about our new ‘Creepy Clown Coloring Book’, which is where this week’s image comes from.  Even better, we’ve just ‘opened’ our Etsy shop where you can find both our new books by searching “EEWbooks”.  When I figure out the actual link, I’ll let you know.  -Marsha  

 

Old Wives’ Tail

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Last night she came in through the bathroom window…the one up on the third floor.  At this point I’m too numb to be surprised.  Last week, before bed, she reached up to take her glasses off and her whole head came away.  She paid it no mind, just set it down on the nightstand next to her spittoon and went to sleep – I slept on the couch that night.

Three days ago she came home from a visit with her mother dragging a massive, spiked tail behind her as if nothing was amiss (talk about an old wives tail).  The dogs were pretty upset.  I spent the night ‘working’ in my office with a bottle of scotch and a joint.

So, the bathroom window thing was hardly a bother – and the mystery of how she managed the climb was solved when I noticed her folding leathery bat wings up under her coat.  What those long curly tusks could possibly be used for, I cannot guess…..but I think I’ll sleep out in the car tonight.

***This is a true story.  It happened to a guy I knew…well actually the next door neighbor of a second cousin, twice removed of my best friend’s cubicle mate (from her old job’s) mother-in-law.  It’s really sad how people drift apart but its inevitable and sometimes we just have to adapt to the new paradigm.  This is another unofficial ‘red rough’ sketch from our upcoming book “Body-Oddies” which I’m forbidden to post…but what John (my illustrator) doesn’t know won’t kill him.   -Marsha

 

Without A Clue

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Cornelius lost his head…just went completely off.  One moment he was calm, cool and collected, the next – frantic and frustrated.  He had no idea where he left the darned thing.  It was gone without a clue.  Sometimes he left it somewhere he wanted to remember to return to later (which was smart, right?) but couldn’t remember where it was later without his head.  Some times it just rolled off and bounced away on its own.  Somebody said he should get it fixed… but it wasn’t broken.  That’s just the way he was.  Besides, what would all the others say if HIS was permanent…but what does everybody else do when they lose theirs?  Oh phoooey!!  Permanent heads…..that’s just crazy, it just isn’t done!

***While we stay strictly and completely away from politics on this blog, I can’t help but notice how much John’s image resembles the American electorate in each election cycle (although for this one – 2016 – I should have an image of a moron chugging draino).  It was originally published in Analog Magazine, Sept., 2006.  My short, flash-fiction fragment is good for keeping my twitter friends comfortable.  Long posts make them skiddish.  -Marsha 

I Am Joe’s Big Left Toenail

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I am Joe’s big left toe nail.  See me soar through the air like a demented boomerang.  I know not where I shall land but I’ll probably miss the trash bin because Joe’s ability to aim the stuff he spits out is for shit.

I guess Joe finally got tired of my glorious reign at the tip of his big toe as master of all I surveyed.  I must have threatened his manhood (or ruined the toe of one too many socks).  He tried to clip me with a fingernail trimmer but I valiantly resisted – and broke it – so he got pissed off, sat down on the toilet and bit me right off his toe with his teeth.

I say, ‘Good riddance to Joe!’  I shall become king of all the gross stuff next to his overflowing trash can – as I can see that I am already the mightiest of all the toe nails there and I shall rule for an eternity, since Joe is far too lazy to clean his friggin’ bathroom, which smells like the squeaky ass end of a dead rhinoceros on a hot, sunny day.

***Yes, we have the cult classic “Fight Club” to thank for the inspiration for this flash-fiction fragment.  It originated as a prompt in our Saturday ‘Free-Write’ workshop with the  Montclair NJ Write Group.  I pilfered the “Feet” image from one of John’s horrible Clown illustrations, slated for publication in 2017 in our book, “Bludgeon the Clown”.  -Marsha