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  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

Blue-ish Freaks


Blue-ish the Clown was a dangerous Freak,                                                  not just because of his looks, so to speak;                                                   True, both his legs were mismatched and lame                                           but neither were both of his arms quite the same.                                      So he scuttled about on his one giant hand                                               which dwarfed his oversized skull, understand?                                       Those weren’t the things, though, that made him a prick.               There was something much deeper and darker and sick.                    See, Blue-ish was closeted, Christian and white                                       from the Neo-con, fascist corporate right.                                                 Need I say anything more tonight?

***This is the cover for our first amazing book…this blog is rife with pages and passages from it and our other works.  You can find our books (and buy them) by following the link above to  -Marsha

Trousers and Clot

trousers-and-clot-53I once saw a Clown named Trousers                                                                   swallow a Juggler named Clot,                                                                               who didn’t quite like being swallowed                                                                (it was smelly inside and hot).                                                                                    So he kicked and hollered                                                                                           and squirmed and shoved                                                                                           and pushed and punched and swore,                                                                     ’till poor old Trousers burst at the seams                                                          dropping Clot (and his guts) on the floor.

***Trousers and Clot are featured in our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  for all 3 of our books, follow the link above to   -Marsha

Now That He’s Dead

Now that he’s dead we can mess with his shit.                                             We can dance really loud. We can holler and spit.

We can carry him ’round. We can make him look silly,                     dressing him up in girly-girl frilly.

We can poke out his eyes. We can cut off his nose,                              twist-off and break all his fingers and toes.

Now that he’s dead we can draw on his skin,                                             give him a Clown face – a big stupid grin.

We can hang him outside for the vultures and beetles,                          shave his whole head and poke it with needles.

We can stuff him or shred him or chop him in chunks,                          then cook him and feed him to hobos and drunks.

Now that he’s dead, he’s starting to rot.                                                   Should we bury him now…or not?

But where is the joy? Where’s all the whimsy?                                   There’s plenty to do while the corpse is still flimsy.

And when he goes stiff and gives off a smell,                                              we’ll set him on fire and send him to hell.

He can’t hurt us now. It’s over and done,                                                           so now that he’s dead…..let’s have FUN!!

***This poem and image comprise the title page for ‘Chapter 6: Death,’ in our newest book, “Bludgeon the Clown” which you can find by following the link above to  -Marsha


Creepy Clowns

***This is the cover art for our “Creepy Clown Coloring Book.”  There’s no short, flash-fiction story or clever rhyme for this one, John simply saw these guys hanging out at the blues club on 17th Street one night and did a sketch of them on the spot.  Besides the coloring book, we’ve used this image for a sticker, a 11X14 print and a greeting card.   You can find our books by following the links above to  For all the other stuff we make, you can find us at the Atlanta Comic Con, July 13-15.    -Marsha