Gob the Clown

Gob the Clown-49Spartacus 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, over-sized 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 in our book, ‘Bludgeon the Clown’, I’m even more excited about our ‘Creepy Clown Coloring Book’, which is where this week’s image comes from.  Even better, we have an Etsy shop where you can find all our books and merch by searching “EEWbooks”…or just use the www.sallemander.com link above.                       -Marsha  

Not Again…


“Oh man…not again.” said Francis under his breath, as Martin, his room-mate, stood over him, drooling.

His attack was so swift that Francis barely had time to flinch before being stuffed forcibly into Martin’s toothy maw and swallowed whole.

Francis knew he had a little time to think before the digestive process of Martin, who was a fully grown polar bear, kicked into gear, pushed him along it’s hour-long journey, and shat him out again.  And really, what had begun as a quiet time for meditation was slowly turning sour as he wondered, more and more, if this little trip was really worth it.

He acknowledged that this WAS in his rental agreement, but seriously!  When would Martin develop some self control with his munchies and go make himself a peanut butter sandwich or something?  Everybody knew how bad the housing market was, and it was only getting worse, but this ‘fantastic journey’ through the body of a giant circus performer, twice a week, was really not worth affordable rent.  He’d had some horrible roommate’s before, but this one was starting to take the cake…uh oh…here we go…..  “Yeaaahhhhgh!!!” PFLOOP!  “Oooooh, yuck!

***This illustration was originally commissioned for a story in Analog Magazine back in 2008.  It was slated to be republished in our Bludgeon the Clown book with a cool (disgusting) poem, but the publisher cut it…it was good stuff, but not for THAT project.  Now, along with a new short flash-fiction story (inspired by the art), it is ready for our new book, A Short Burst, which will finally be published in a matter of months.   -Marsha

Jack the Clown

I once met a clown named Jack                                                                           who shoved a grenade up his crack.                                                                  They recovered his penis                                                                                         halfway to Venus                                                                                                            and both of his balls in Iraq.

***Today we celebrate our ‘195th post’…and every195 posts we publish the most offensive dick-n-balls, exploding clown limerick we can find.  This one comes to us from Venus the Clown (a major contributor to our new book “Bludgeon the Clown”).  John (the artist) claims Venus lifted it from John’s notes and reworked it to put his own name in it.  He says he heard it a decade ago from an old friend, Robert Kopecky, when they worked on ‘Codename: Kids Next Door’ together.  I think John just hates my good friend Venus and likes to ruin my ‘195th post’ celebration…  -Marsha

*P.S.  The only problem with Venus’ limerick (besides being disgusting) is that you have to mispronounce Iraq like a typical American (eye-rack), for the rhyme to work properly.  Find our books, buy them all at www.sallemander.com or search EEWbooks at etsy.com.   -M 

They Only Happen by Accident

Excerpt from our book, “Bludgeon the Clown”, chapter 4, page 55.

They Only Happen by Accident   

Cockeysville, Maryland.  Until I met Jonny-Bot 5, I was often puzzled to encounter robot clowns….Jonny set me straight!  As most of you know, clowns make some of the finest handmade toys in the world.  They say that a little bit of their magic rubs off on them.  It’s the only explanation we have for why so many of their products get so out of hand.  Considering what happens to clown houses and cars, it stands to reason that a toy robot could become sentient.  Robot clowns are pretty rare; they only happen by accident.  Once they exist, however, clowns readily accept them into their culture.  Military corporations like to kidnap them for secret dissection and weapons development…but the freak inside always clusterfucks their program.  It’s a good thing they do, or we’d all be losing our corporate jobs to enhanced tech…..wait…

***Find our books at www.sallemander.com or search EEWbooks at etsy.com.  Thanks.   -Marsha