Master Debater


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, search for EEWbooks and ‘fave’ my page.  Thanks.  -Marsha

Willy Pete


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… 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 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