Tag Archives: tattoos

Search Me…

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They were big and beefy and incredibly strong.  They were aggressive, poking their weapons everywhere and they smelled like belligerent fear as they shouted and snarled.  They had plate armor like insects but were pasty and bony underneath with beady eyes and a ridiculous tuft of hair on their tiny heads – like hand puppets.  They were most definitely …ALIEN!

When they landed their starship in my back yard and demanded; “Take me to your leader!”  I was so stunned – so baffled that I froze and just blinked at them.  Their exasperated captain tried again; “Where are your leaders?!” sneering with contempt, as if I was a child.  I simply shrugged and said, “Search me…”

Now…I don’t know if they misunderstood me or just had a REALLY strange sense of humor…..but being held down in a medical lab with a gnarly probe approaching my buttocks is taking things waaaaaay too literally.  These humans area  nasty bunch.

***This story reminds me of my last colonoscopy…And can anybody explain what the deal is with Aliens and anal probes?  They’re almost as bad as the CIA (at least Aliens ask intelligent questions).  This was the (lucky) 13th cover John did for the Jan/Feb 2015 issue of Analog Magazine.  You won’t find this image in any of our 3 current books but you can find our books by following the links to www.sallemander.com and our Etsy shop.   -Marsha 

Freaky Uncle

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We never spoke about Uncle Dixon. Our whole family tip-toed around the subject…but I could tell there were powerful feelings just under everybody’s skin.  He was a horrible pariah.  The black sheep of the family.

We kept him straight-jacketed in one of the padded cells in the catacombs below our cabin.  He was never allowed out in the light of day (lest one of the neighbors spot him), only after midnight on stormy nights and always tightly chained, gagged and bound in one of those psycho metal hockey mask get-ups.  He got wheeled around in a steel cage on a hand truck under constant, heavily armed guard.

As if that wasn’t bad enough…Uncle Dixon was never allowed to go wilding with the rest of the family, never allowed to invade homes, to rape and burn and shoot folks in the face with shotguns or dismember them with his best machete before skinning and roasting them on the Bar-B-Que for the family feast…..how sad and dull.

I felt bad for him.  What possible meaning could his life have?  I always wondered what awful thing he could have done to deserve such treatment – until I overheard Pappa Ripper telling old cousin Head-Stomper that Dixon was a pacifist, an atheist and… a vegetarian (whatever that was).  He also said that he had NEVER murdered a baby in his whole life – actually refused to do it!!!  Eeeeew!  What a Freak!?!

***Every family has at least one crazy relative that makes Thanksgiving an unforgettable event, rivaling any ten episodes of The Jerry Springer Show….and worth 6 months of therapy.  I think my illustrator, John, serves that role in his family.  John’s illustration is from our new book, ‘Bludgeon the Clown.’  You need this book.  It explains EVERYTHING!  Find it at www.sallemander.com (links above)  -Marsha

Sundae the Clown

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“Ohhh…its not so bad.” his wife told him with thinly veiled sarcasm.  “You look absolutely delicious…..!” she smiled sardonically.  But it was a hot summer day and he was melting on the spot.  He wouldn’t last much longer.

Billy was so intent on pleasing his estranged wife (poor henpecked bastard) that he took her desire for an ice cream sundae too far and transmogrified himself into one, without considering the consequences.  And still, as he slowly disintegrated into a sweet soupy mess, she would not favor him with her attentions – except to say, “Ugh!  You know I don’t like pistachio…..!”

***The image is another piece from our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”.  You can find it here at www.sallemander.com (or follow the link above).  The story…is based on actual events.   -Marsha

Lester the Jester

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Lester the Jester threw up his supper,                                                   emerging instead as a fool named Skupper                                                  who gagged on his guts as they spilled from his gob                                      expelling another named Bob,                                                                             who horked up a loogie of phlegm and bile,                                                        appearing at last as a Jester named Lyle                                                               who turned to his mates and stuck out his tongue saying,                         “Better off here… than out Lester’s bung.”

***He must have eaten something funny.  This is from our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks.”  Buy the book.  It will transform your life.  Visit our website (find the link at the top of the page);  www.sallemander.com   -Marsha 

Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen

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Food was scarce.  People were struggling.  The war was taking it’s toll as there were shortages of everything from fuel to toilet paper to empathy.  Rationing was severe and people were showing signs of stress.  There was unemployment, hunger and daily violent protests against the corporate government who caused this blowback war after decades of capitalist conquest.  There was no sign of improvement on the horizon and…..food was scarce.

Leon’s Bar and Grill, however, seemed to be an exception to the misery. Leon, the proprietor, had a brilliant (desperate) idea a few months back when he realized he had too many cooks in the kitchen and not enough food to serve.  Seeing his business on the brink of failure, he did the only logical thing;  He ‘fired’ all his cooks and took over in the kitchen personally.  He posted a new menu featuring ‘Chef’s specials’ like Chef’s Stew, Chef Pot Pie and Roasted Leg of Chef.  He fired them all… in the big convection oven (though a few got deep fried, stewed…or grilled…..and one guy got sautéed in a wok) and his business has been thriving ever since.

Funny thing, though…once he solved his cook problem, he settled an old issue with that annoying waitress, Marge and finally took care of that pesky neighborhood Clown who always annoyed his customers as they came and went.

These days, ‘Leon’s’ is the only establishment in town with a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window…and I hear the food’s really good.

***We thought a little cannibalism this week would be a welcome break from what has become the norm in America;  Illegal war, torture, kidnapping, rape, assassination, terrorism, corruption, torture  usury, inequality and a massive political freak show.  Hmmmm…..eating people’s got nothin’ on Corporate America – bon appetit!  (This is another page from our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  Find it – and buy it – by following the www.sallemander.com link above.)  -Marsha

Jack in the Box

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Jack the Jester lived in a box                                                                             ’cause he had no legs or feet                                                                                   and liked popping out of his box -SURPRISE!!                                                -to frighten the children…NEAT!                                                                             He loved young children most of all,                                                                     so innocent, kind and sweet.                                                                                  The crunchier ones always tasted best                                                             but the chubby ones had more meat.

***This is “Jack in the Box,” an image and rhyme from my first book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks,” find it and buy it at www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha

Jonny Bot 5

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Jonny Bot 5 got horny and hot                                                                                 for a high fashion mannequin girl (who did NOT!).                              Classy and fine, Jonny loved her a lot,                                                              she turned up her nose…a high minded snot.                                                  He brought wild flow’rs by the bunch, by the pot,                                   tried candy, tried gems, read poems – what ROT!                                      But kindness in turn Jonny 5 never got,                                                           not an ounce, not a peck, not even a jot.                                                       Tried…..and tried ’till his brains were quite shot                                        until finally…Jonny went cold……and forgot.

***This is an image and poem from my new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” which you can buy if you follow the links, above, to my website www.sallemander.com.  When we met Jonny Bot 5 he was already retired from the department store and well beyond his bad marriage with the mannequin…but was now engaged in a sordid online sex thing with Siri the phone chick…it was…well, lets just say ‘I wish I could un-see some things.’  I think John got some good sketches of them during the interview but our publisher (EEW Books) censored them.   -Marsha

Mulligan

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There once was a Clown who fell in his glass                                              who went by the name of Mulligan.                                                                      He drank it all down before he passed…                                                           but when he woke up it was full again.

***The thing to understand about Clowns here, is that they can transmute their body fluids.  I met one fellow who could drink lemonade and piss grape soda.  Another Clown turned red wine into pure maple syrup.  Some can do different flavors depending on their mood.  Mulligan usually pissed single malt whiskey when he was feeling sassy but could only manage a weak mimosa when he was glum.  Clowns are SO fascinating…  I even saw one cheeky freak squeeze cherry ice cubes from vodka…OUCH!!!  This is a page from my first book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks.”  Follow the links above to www.sallemander.com…and buy it!   -Marsha

Niggle the Clown

niggle-image-01I 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.

***This extraordinary piece of highbrow literature is featured in my new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” on sale now (follow the link above to www.sallemander.com).  I don’t actually remember writing this horrible little rhyme (though it amuses the hell out of John…), but 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 immense 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 seat #22F on flight 1134.  -Marsha

Peek-A-Boo

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I had a good breath diving under…good for at least 3 minutes.  Fifty yards out from the dock, I angled down deep for about 35 feet.  It was exhilarating.  The fish were strange today. They weren’t acting right.  It was just my instinct but…they seemed to crowd me instead of scattering at my approach. Pensive.

Weeds were thick but I liked swimming through them, like parting curtains…..until I saw the eyes – big eyes – cunning eyes.  I stopped, dead.  Froze.  They were staring at me with unnerving intelligence and all the little fish began darting about frantically – and I nearly lost my breath.

Through the gloom, I began to make out the long, hulking form behind the eyes; Strange limbs, sharp fins, long feelers, fleshy lips with menacing barbs, monstrous teeth…..smiling at me?

Now I was afraid! In one swift motion my hand swept down to draw my knife from it’s ankle sheath – but lightning fast, the creature’s arm shot out from between the weeds and wrapped its long scaly fingers around my throat – my jaw – my entire skull.

I lost my air…and then, lost consciousness.

I woke up…breathing. I started to remember…..swimming through weeds – fish acting oddly – then the eyes…and a massive claw, engulfing my head.  And as it all went dark I thought I heard a sinister, gurgling “Peek-a-boo!”

I was inside now. It was stifling and smelled like cat food mixed with burning tires. I sat up in a lumpy soup of viscous bile and big bloody chunks of meat. My hands and face burned but my wet suit protected the rest of my skin. A sphincter opened behind me and sucked me out, like a dumpling in a steaming meat-soup, down a tube whose bulbous nodules bathed us in a spray of acid. It stripped the fur and skin from the meat and dissolved my hair along with a painful layer of exposed skin.

I dropped into a bony chamber in which long, razor sharp blades shredded the meat into hamburger (along with most of my wetsuit). I was quickly evacuated into another chamber which flooded with thousands of tiny, finger sized worms (with very sharp teeth), who consumed every speck of the remaining meat sludge before I alone, the squirming, inedible lump, was expelled once more, through slimy bowels, into a vat of solid waste.

This wondrous fleshy sack looked and smelled like the inside of a rotting, bloated elephant carcass.  Minutes passed, possibly hours, while a steady stream of sticky, gloppy gunk filled the space, until there was no more room.  I thought this must be the end. With goop filling my ears and covering my mouth, I took my last full breath of air (a three minute breath?) before black sludge covered and consumed me. One minute…two minutes…nearly three minutes passed before I felt a great shuddering shift, followed by a resounding (satisfied) grunt….and I was suddenly shot, like a torpedo, out into clean, cool lake water.

I surfaced near the shoreline, gasping for air. Although I emerged from the lake a raw, tattered and thoroughly disgruntled piece of fish poop…I was alive. It was, perhaps, not my greatest adventure but surely a ‘fantastic journey.’

 

***The only thing better than a giant fish swallowing a dude and crapping him back out is doing the same thing to a great old Asimov concept (like I just did here).  Aaaaah, fish poop!…one of the great mysteries of life.  The image was originally a cover John did for the May, 2011 issue of Analog Mag.    -Marsha