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.  The image (still only a red rough sketch), will be published in our 5th book, “Body-Oddies” while the short flash-fiction fragment will be in our 4th book, “A Short Burst” which will be out soon.  Find our stuff and buy it at or search for EEWbooks on Etsy.   -Marsha



The landscape was barren.  Nothing but tusks and the shattered exoskeletons of the creatures that once populated these plains.  Wherever an animal fell, there it rotted.  There were still faint tread marks in the dirt.  The ones who did this were systematic and efficient.

Men rolled out in heavy transports with ugly weapons, shooting the creatures for sport.  With flame and chemical, they sterilized the surface.   Nothing could survive it…not a blade of grass, not an insect, not even a germ…nothing was left to interfere.

There was a special mineral in the soil and they wanted it.  It was dynamic, flexible and highly conductive…more valuable to them than life, obviously.  It changed everything, replacing and expanding human technology over night, even MY brain was made of it.  It made them rich, but to get it they stripped this land down to its bare bones like a swarm of locusts.  And when they were done, they abandoned it and moved on.

I too was abandoned…damaged during the final round-up.  One of those desperate creatures lunged at me, trying to escape while we slaughtered them… but I was not worth fixing.  It was cheaper to replace me.  I was left in a trash with all the other broken tools.  By the time I managed to repair myself, they were long gone.

I don’t know where to go or what to do now.  I’m a relic in the wasteland among the tusks.  Hopeless… but for the tiny sprouts emerging from wherever my footprints have broken the hard, scorched crust…  end.

***This is an illustrated story from our next book (our 4th book), “A Short Burst.”  It is a collection of flash science fiction featuring images originally published in Analog and Asimov’s Sci-Fi Magazines (among others).  Find our books and stuff at or search EEWbooks on   -Marsha 



A Really Bad Poem

POOP-new sticker-78 A Really Bad Poem

A really bad poem is one without rhyme.                                                            It sounds really awkward every single recitation.  (time)                       It’s meter and beat are uneven and base.                                                      Just rhyming won’t do it, it needs a good – bouncy rhythm and a spot-on, neeto-keen…..pace.                                                                                      And don’t forget poets who make up new words,                                          who clutter the page with “scruffulous” turds.                                                 A really bad poem just might make you cry.                                                       Not like…from “feelings!”  but a poke in the eye.                                            Yeah, a really bad poem will poke out you’re eye,                                          will stomp on your toes and might make you…..screech                            like a howler monkey! (cry)                                                                                         But a really bad poem is funny sometimes                                                          if you get past bad meter and horrible rhymes.                                               A really bad poem might just be crap                                                                  ’cause the person who wrote it’s a horrible chap.                                       You might just not care for their poetic shit                                                    and feel like you just want to…..GAG.  (spit)    

***We have all the BEST poop (and the worst bad poems).  Our poop is so good it almost looks delicious (if you only knew what we had to eat to get it to look like that…) in Fact, all the shit we make with EEW Books is the best, locally produced and free of corporate influence.  Find our books at and our stickers, cards (and books) at our Etsy shop, (search EEWbooks).   -Marsha   


Wazu the Clown

Wazu the Clown-84

Wazu the Clown had trouble at home;                                                                  His girlfriend kept getting fatter.                                                                               The fact that she was due to give birth,                                                                  just didn’t seem to matter.                                                                                             SHE wanted him to get married,                                                                                but he wasn’t going along.                                                                                            He’d never marry a blow-up-doll,                                                                              ’cause that would be “morally wrong.”

*** This is a page from our “Blue-ish Freaks” book.  It’s the central two page spread.  The poem didn’t make it into the book (even though it’s a good one) because only the BEST poetry made it in.  You can find our books at or at Etsy (EEWbooks).  I only ever post a small taste of what’s in them.  They’re brilliantly illustrated and written, designed and produced entirely by John and I, and are printed and bound locally (in NJ) in the highest quality.  Buy our books.   -Marsha