***This is the cover art for our “Creepy Clown Coloring Book.” There’s no short, flash-fiction story or clever rhyme for this one, John simply saw these guys hanging out at the blues club on 17th Street one night and did a sketch of them on the spot. Besides the coloring book, we’ve used this image for a sticker, a 11X14 print and a greeting card. You can find our books by following the links above to www.sallemander.com. For all the other stuff we make, you can find us at the Atlanta Comic Con, July 13-15. -Marsha
Without a Clue
Cornelius lost his head…just went completely off. One moment he was calm, cool and collected, the next – frantic and frustrated. He had no idea where he left the darned thing. It was gone without a clue. Sometimes he left it somewhere he wanted to remember to return to later (which was smart, right?) but couldn’t remember where it was later without his head. Some times it just rolled off and bounced away on its own. Somebody said he should get it fixed… but it wasn’t broken. That’s just the way he was. Besides, what would all the others say if HIS head was permanent…but what does everybody else do when they lose theirs? Oh phoooey!! Permanent heads…..that’s just crazy, it just isn’t done!
***This image was originally published in Analog Magazine, Sept., 2006. My short, flash-fiction fragment is good for keeping my twitter friends comfortable. Long posts make them skiddish. You can find my first 3 books by following the link, above, to www.sallemander.com. -Marsha
Anarchrist
Stop complaining! Stop protesting! You have your rights but don’t really need ’em. We are the government. We’re in control. This is American freedom. Anarchists, Hippies and Clowns, beware. We have the guns. We know what’s best. If you make our corporate bankers upset we’ll pummel you under arrest.
***This week’s image is a page from our first book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”. Buy it. find it by following the link above to www.sallemander.com. -Marsha
Uprising
The Clowns rose up in anger one day deciding enough was enough. They poured out into the streets en masse, yelling and juggling stuff.
They wanted ‘equal rights’, they said, to be ‘taken seriously’. An end to random giggles and leers. They wanted respect, you see.
Snarling traffic with mini Clown cars, squirtling flowers and ties, their strike turned into a riot (of sorts) pelting police with pies.
They overwhelmed the barricades, storming the walls and ditches and made their way up to capital hill, leaving the cops in stitches.
But as they breached the chamber doors, their smiles turned into frowns, for the senate was already occupied by Idiots, Mimes and Clowns.
I wrote this piece (and John illustrated it) almost two decades ago. I thought, for sure, things MUST change for the better by now. Anyway, it finally got published in our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown”…which you can find (and buy) following the www.sallemander.com link at the top. -Marsha
Worse Day of My Life
“Worse day of my life…” began the 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 this guy was and why he was chatting me up. 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 is featured in our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” which is available now, just follow the link above to www.sallemander.com. -Marsha
Ugliest Man Alive
Billy O’Banion had to be the ugliest man alive. He was monstrous to look at – an absolute fright – and there was no hiding it.
Some liked to speculate that his father was a mutant clone or an alien invader. There was even a vicious rumor that his mother took a demon into her bed. Really though, the O’Banions were perfectly respectable. In fact, Billy’s birth was completely normal and he had a decent, happy childhood. He’d never succumbed to any horrible illness or accident and was never bitten by an irradiated lab rat. He simply started getting ugly at some point in his twenties, and kept getting uglier and uglier with each passing day. He was an inexplicable freak of nature…an awful, tragic figure…..how sad!?
The funny thing about Billy, however, is that he was perfectly okay with his predicament. He took it all in stride and made lemonade out of the rotten tomatoes he was dealt. He figured he was a cross between Darth Maul and a Gothic dragon…cool! See, Billy had an outrageous sense of humor which dwarfed his ugliness. He was a clever practical joker and filled his days with gigantic gobs of fun.
Nothing tickled his tendrils more than slipping quietly into a mob on the street, disguised in a hoodie…only to burst out suddenly, flashing his most charming grin, yelling “Surprise!!!” He could barely contain the giggles as they screamed, shat themselves and fainted (usually in that order). It never got old. He could clear a fast food joint or a movie theatre in seconds and never had trouble getting a good seat.
For a while, he made piles of money in the Mexican masked wrestling circuit but eventually retired on a generous pension provided by several New Jersey towns – “to stay the hell away!” These days, he lives quietly in a posh Hoboken penthouse where he writes creepy clown poetry and practices his banjo…but still gets a kick out of scaring the bajeebies out of solicitors, delivery boys and trick-or-treaters. He likes to leap out of the elevator and gobble them down whole. Oh, don’t worry, he craps them out onto the carpet an hour later…completely unharmed (at least physically), after all, he always was a vegetarian.
***I wrote this in our weekly, Saturday morning ‘Montclair Write Group’ free-write workshop with John’s horrible self portrait as the prompt. It’s good practice, good exercise and good inspiration. John’s image was originally published in a 2010 issue of Analog Magazine. We have 3 books available for sale, you can find them by following the link above to: www.sallemander.com -Marsha
Book Festival
Paranoia Smith was the most exhausting, obnoxious, insufferable, skate-punk, tattooed, cross dressing poseur I ever met at a book festival. Within a minute in this lunatic’s presence I wanted to rip off his head and crap down his neck. He babbled incessantly (when he wasn’t ‘rapping’ or screeching heavy metal lyrics) and his fake blonde goatee and dreadlocks smelled like a port-a-potty. He was one of those touchy-feely dudes who never let up. He had a finger puppet named Yak Feces who insisted on probing all of my facial orifices. And he simply could not convey any of his incomplete ‘ideas’ from a distance further than an inch from my nose with breath like the putrid steam at the edge of a volcano. He was a wild eyed maniac with no self control….actually dribbled chaw juice on my shoe, then apologized as he hosed it off with urine…..BUT, he just bought a copy of my ridiculous new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” and I love him for it. I think we could be brothers.
Oh no! Next in line was Lisa, an enormous middle aged woman in a teeny-tiny Sailor Moon costume with bits bulging from under her adorable skirt that I didn’t know women even had. I think her blue hair was her REAL hair. “Could you sign mine?” she croaked like Jabba the Hut…and I was grinning (as she pulled out exact change) too horrified to look away from…this beautiful, elegant creature who loves my book. I could have married her on the spot.
Next in line is…oh, sweet Jesus…..
***John and I brought our new book out to sell at the Gaithersburg Book Festival in Maryland last weekend. It rained…but it was brilliant. We met so many talented, decent, cool people – and artists – and vendors…What a great time – and you would not believe how many books we sold (my mother told me we should have brought more…). Wish you were there. -Marsha
Search Me…
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
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
“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