Herbert had been prone to rashes since he was a kid. He caught them all, like a rash magnet…it was inexplicable. He had at least three rashes on any given day of his life. As a sickly nerd, he never had friends…..so how the heck did he get chicken pox? He never had sex, so where did he get crabs? Hell, he had rashes no one ever heard of. He was a spotty, itchy, miserable pariah (though he was a delight to his dermatologist).
Anyway, when the ‘Speckles’ showed up, Herbert was neither surprised nor alarmed…but when they became an infestation, weird stuff started happening. All his old rashes now had a rash of their own. The Speckles definitely did not respect other rashes’ turf. His chicken pox grew feathers and beaks, his goose bumps grew long necks and started nipping and spitting at other rashes and his scarlet fever?…WOW!… well…lets just say that when she reached puberty…things got REALLY awkward.
The Speckles went on to occupy every inch of Herbert and ousted all his other rashes – which would have been good except that each Speckle became enormous, grew a face and took on a personality of its own. They started talking amongst themselves – argued with each other constantly (about religion and politics, ugh!) and sang bawdy songs at all hours. It made things quite uncomfortable for Herbert, though not as bad as the realization that they’d become stronger, smarter and cooler than him. It wasn’t long before Herbert diminished completely into the shadow of his own brilliant speculations…
***Oh, how this reminds me of my teenage years…though my speckles were quite amiable and we were into the same music. Meanwhile, my new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks” is nearly ready for release, probably next week but if f you want to buy an advanced copy, leave me a message here… -Marsha
Toby had a belly button…a freakish big red one right in the center…and he was threatening to use it, too. He showed up at the White House during a political fundraiser demanding an audience and got laughed out of the place. Fox News picked up on the incident and made a giant “News Alert” stink, convincing their entire dull eyed, drooling American television audience that he was legit – and that he’d press the button and unleash the demons of nuclear hell (or whatever) if they didn’t do what he said.
Well, that was it. The world ended as we knew it (and it really backfired on Fox who figured he was their puppet). Toby brought an end to all wars and banned usury (which pretty much ruined capitalism). He stopped fossil fuel use and forced everybody to respect the environment…and that was just for starters. And every time he rested his pudgy finger on that big red button, the world went into a panic. He bullied everybody on Earth into being….. better…OR ELSE!!!
Huh! Wish I had thought of that.
***Is Toby a terrorist? Yeah, technically. Is he a “bad guy”? Well, not in two paragraphs…but power goes hand in hand with corruption and tyranny, so it’ll get there eventually…it always does. On a happier note, we have advance copies of our new book “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”. We’re already selling them to friends, let us know if you’re interested and can’t wait for the new website (w/ paypal) to get one. -Marsha
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. We can give him a Clown face – a big stupid grin.
We can hang him outside for the vultures and beetles, can 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!!
***No one is in mourning – not really. No decent, intelligent person is sorry he’s dead (but keep an eye on the ones who express their “regrets and condolences” for such a dangerous sociopath). It will take generations to undo the damage he’s done to us all – IF we survive it. And if you still believe anything they tell you officially, “he died in his sleep.” The rest of us can only hope they’re lying as usual. Although, assassinating someone (even if we think they deserve it) is still illegal…at least it WAS illegal (before HE came along). -Marsha
“Constant gravy!!…or did he say constant craving!?” but everyone was already writing and the professor’s response was garbled…sure, okay, constant gravy seemed right. I was feeling pretty woozy since I cut myself shaving earlier and couldn’t make it stop bleeding. It just gushed, thick and goopy…yeah, constant gravy…coool!
What began as a simple nick under my nose, got worse a few minutes later when blood started running down my cheek. An hour later, it was dripping copiously. In two hours it was a steady flow and by lunchtime I was squirting all over the place, soaking my clothes, the furniture and painting the walls. It was impossible to concentrate as the room kept spinning faster and faster…..
I must have spaced out for a while because when I woke, the stuff leaking out was no longer red. Thankfully it was just cheese wizz leaking from the push nozzle on my head. What?!…don’t you have a nozzle?…and what’s so weird about that? Best of all, the harder I pumped the thicker it flowed…aaaaah, pretty…..
I must have spaced out for a while…..what was I saying?…
***This really happened. Its lucky that John got a good sketch of this guy at the writing workshop before things went sideways. This post is a shortened version of the story…but we didn’t want to give away all the best parts before we publish it in our BODY-ODDIES book. -Marsha
I once had a Jester named Niggle ooze from my nostril and wiggle. With a grunt and a hack, I snorted him back but he dribbled back out with a giggle.
***I don’t remember ever writing this horrible little rhyme (though it amuses the hell out of John…). Niggle was a little jerk who made a runny, sniffly nuisance of himself on a ten hour flight to Dusseldorf – with no tissues. When I finally managed to snag him on a fingernail I took great pleasure in kneading him between two fingers until he dried up and stopped screaming. He is now a permanent smear in the booger graveyard under aisle seat #22F on flight 1134. -Marsha