Tag Archives: cosplay

Eyes In The Back Of Her Head

Mom always said she had eyes in the back of her head.  I always thought she was joking, but still, I never could get away with anything behind her back.  It was uncanny.  She was just really clever, right?  She KNEW me so well she could always tell what I was up to…..right?  WRONG!!

Yesterday she pulled me aside, angry that I tracked mud through her kitchen right behind her back and blamed my little sister for it.  She parted the neat bun of hair and curlers behind her ears to reveal a creepy set of eyes.  Wow! (did NOT see that coming) My knees gave out and I sat down hard in the puddle of mud on the floor.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, I saw a hairy nose there too…but when a bearded mouth opened wide and berated me with the colorful expletives of a drunken sailor at the volume of a drill sergeant on parade…well, let’s just say that I suddenly had more to mop off the floor than a muddy set of footprints.  (True story.)

***Another excerpt from our new book (our 4th book), “A Short Burst”…a collection of short, intense, flash science fiction.  Find (and buy) all our books at www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha 

Why the Long Face?

why-the-long-face-59-copy 

Last Wednesday a dude walked into the bar with a REALLY long face. The barkeep looked up and grinned.  I knew exactly what he was thinking.  He opened his mouth to say…..but thought better of it and simply asked, “What’ll ya have, pal?”  The horse, sitting at the end of the bar laughed hysterically.

***This is a rough sketch from what will be our 5th book, “Body-Oddies”…we’re hoping John will have the illustrations done by the first of the year, 2020, so we can have it out for sale by spring.  Find all our books at www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha

Worst Day of My Life

“Worse day of my life…” began the hairy stranger at the bar, “…the day I lost my HEAD!” He stared at me oddly, chuckling. His words hung in the air for a while as I wondered who the heck he was and why he was chatting me up. There was something ‘off’ about him that I just couldn’t put my finger on, and he sounded absurd!  “What?!” I asked, a little annoyed. “Yeah!” he continued, “It just tumbled off and rolled away. I couldn’t find it for a YEAR!” ‘How ridiculous’ I thought – but then, I remembered hearing about that sort of thing happening more and more these days. “I found it conjoined with some other dude’s left hand like a circus freak-show exhibit …awkward!”

I reached for my beer glass but knocked it over with the empty stump of my wrist. The stranger grinned at me and chuckled again knowingly. It seems that both my hands had quietly popped off and were crawling down the bar toward the attractive woman in the breasty, low cut blouse at the end…the one I was too shy to approach earlier. I didn’t know what they planned but I could just imagine what MY brainless hands might like to do with HER. That’s when I noticed the stranger’s collar – bolted tightly ‘round his neck. It looked positively medieval but locked his wayward head soundly to his torso. ‘How clever?!’ I thought.

The barkeep wiped up my spilled beer with a lovely pair of shapely, ladies arms –which did NOT match the rest of his otherwise burly, tattooed frame. He caught me staring but shrugged and nodded me in the direction of my hands as they broke into a run…..while the woman’s breasts leapt out of her blouse and took off in opposite directions.

***This image and story is featured on page 38 in our new book, “A Short Burst” which is available soon.  To see (and buy) all our books, just follow the link above to www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

Clown Parts

     Clowns Are Nuts and leave them in gooey, nasty, sacks everywhere they go.  Clowns shed nuts faster than toenails, which survive infancy more often than those spawned in poop, booger, zit, earwax, sweat, spit and severing.  The hardiest of the species seem to come from the squashy, croquet-ball-sized nut, laid like an egg by an infected gazelle.  People who find them often feel compelled to decorate them like fancy easter eggs.  Some folks mistake them for gob-stoppers.

Clowns who leave their severed parts lying about often discover an unexpected bundle of joy.  They know they can re-grow missing bits but forget that their parts can also regenerate.  Sometimes they grow to be identical twins……or worse.

I’m reminded of a secret experiment conducted by the government, about a decade ago in Yonkers, in which clown parts were surgically transplanted onto human subjects (volunteer convicts) to test their possible military applications.

It all went bad from the outset.  Each of the dissected clowns expired as soon as his various nose, hands or wiener was removed but worse, all thirteen human (victims) recipients went immediately bonkers, breaking out of their holding pens in a fiendish dancing frenzy.  Most didn’t survive the week, gorging themselves on fast food,

***These are the elements that comprise page 39 of our brilliant book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  Everything in it is absolutely true and exhaustively researched.  All our books can be found (to buy) at www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha 

Bladder the Clown

Bladder the Clown had really bad aim,                                                              though he did his best to foil it,                                                                              the bottle of booze he guzzled each day                                                            would give him the shakes and spoil it.                                                            He tried once or twice                                                                                                  to widen his stance                                                                                                       and hold his dick really tight,                                                                                    but doused his shoes                                                                                                      and sprinkled his pants                                                                                                    and still couldn’t hit the toilet.

***We’re breaking all the rules this week by posting a political one.  Yeah!  This one’s political, specially picked for early July.  What…you don’t get it?  That’s okay, its a tricky one.  Leave me an angry comment if you get it.  I hope you didn’t blow your friggin’ hands off playing with fireworks.  This is an image and poem that didn’t make it into “Bludgeon the Clown”…so this is probably the last time you’ll ever see it.  Farewell Bladder.  -Marsha

TommyClown

Tommy the Clown got sliced in half,                                                                      to expose his charm and wit                                                                                       but all I could see as he came apart                                                                    was maggoty chunks of shit. 

***A page from “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”, the finest example of clown literature ever published in America.   -Marsha

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…

Hans-talking-bear-82

“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