Tag Archives: tattoos

Talking to a Cock

I guess I was a little drunk, I was definitely over stimulated.  The boardwalk carnival was an intoxicating menagerie of sound and light, of beautiful bodies still in their skimpy beach wear, smelling of sweat and suntan lotion, of sweet & salty junk food deep fried in sugar and cheese.  I wandered like a leaf on the pungent breeze, my bare feet barely touching the sticky wood.

The hawkers, luring people into sideshow attractions were on fire tonight.  Business was booming at the Snake Boy house, patrons screamed in anguished pleasure.  The ‘Winged Pigs’, ‘Dragon Lady’ and ‘6 Jesters Conjoined’ had long, eager lines waiting.  But the one which caught my eye was the only booth whose crier didn’t look like an ancient, cigar chomping, sticky pocketed circus clown with mirrored shoes.  SHE was a sultry, middle aged woman with curves and lumps and hair and eyes that melted my…bones, which is probably why I didn’t read the sign on the booth properly – or even care.  I just handed her my money and walked in.

There on the podium, in the center of a dark room with red satin curtains, stood a raging red COCK…..no…I mean, it was a red rooster with bright flaming plumage.  The other people in the room sat on benches around the bird, enthralled.  I stood for a long moment, puzzled and awkward…until the cock looked over at me and said, “Take a seat there, Sparky, I’m just getting started…” in a voice that sounded remarkably like Noam Chomsky’s.

You know…I may have misheard the writing prompt today…  What?…OH!!!, “Talking to a Cop”…yeah, I don’t talk to cops.

Our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” is all done and off to the printer.  Our publisher, EEW Books uses a tiny, local printer in Bloomfield NJ, a mile from our old studios.  There are plenty of excellent printers up here in the frosty north, but none better than Tom DeStefano and his team at Budget Print (332 Broad Street).  It’s a family owned, very professional, highest quality, friendly business whose integrity is rare nowadays.   If they were located in Reykjavik or Kathmandu or Djibouti… we would still travel there for their services.  -John

Always the Quiet Ones

 

Bilious Blunt was a bloviating buffoon.  He was the loudest, most opinionated fellow in town.  He lacked social skills and self control and nobody could stand him.  He smelled funny, had a constant menagerie of food and grease on his shirt front and dressed like a clown without even trying.  He spit and defecated in public and his Sunday sermon belches were epic.  Worst of all, he cultivated an unusually long, phallic nose that made everybody…uncomfortable.

People avoided him like a social disease and spent most of their thoughtful energy focused on his awfulness…perfect!…because nobody suspected him.  He didn’t ‘fit the profile’ and hardly a spare idea could penetrate the obnoxious, tasteless distraction he presented…..and nobody EVER found out…

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 ‘100th post’…and every100 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 his notes and reworked it to put his 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 ‘100th post’ celebration…  -Marsha

*P.S.  The only problem with Venus’ limerick (besides being disgusting) is that you have to mispronounce Iraq, like an American (eye-rack), for the rhyme to work properly. 

Making An Entrance

      They called it ‘Body Piercing.’  It was very rare, very risky…for both the acrobat and the victim.  Frisbee the Bouncer contemplated the origins of the maneuver he had just failed to properly execute.  Willy the Clown (the victim) was finally settling down a bit, allowing Frisbee some time to think: you see, audiences had gotten bored with traditional tumbling and acrobatics, even parkour had lost it’s charm…free-runners traversing buildings, flipping and spinning across rooftops and bridge rafters, bouncing about from car to car in midtown traffic…I mean, it’s not as if everybody could do it nowadays, but people got bored seeing it all the time.

New ideas evolved to shock and awe the masses, each more extreme, risky…deadly.  The ‘Tongue In Cheek’ was already banned in 17 states, the ‘Cockeyed Cock’ was responsible for 3 temporary deaths, 12 online divorces and 41 spontaneous abortions (in Tennessee alone)…then came ‘Body Piercing.’  It was like a grizzly car crash on the turnpike that you can’t help staring at.  Frisbee recalled that the most difficult part was the need to make an entrance (not what you’re thinking).  How does an acrobat bounce right through the center of an unsuspecting victim’s body (without using an existing entrance – or exit)?  Well, Frisbee was quite certain he had it all figured out…but…..well, look at the picture!

Willy the Clown went quickly from surprise to horror, screaming bloody murder for 30 minutes straight…now he was just pissed off at Frisbee, who simply mumbled, “That should have worked!…Why didn’t that work?” over and over and over.

Somebody call an ambulance…!?!

***I wrote this piece last week, sitting out in my new back yard, atop the loveliest snowdrift in the midnight sun, watching flying reindeer dogfighting overhead.  I’m so happy in my new house at the North Pole.  The image is one from my “Creepy Clowns Coloring Book,” which you can find for sale by following the links to my website.  -Marsha  

The Common Clown

 Book Excerpt

The Common Clown

Common clowns are often disregarded as low bred buffoons.  They are, in fact a surprisingly talented, hard working lot, although, for much of what they do, it hardly matters whether they’re ‘real clowns’ or not…and most people can’t tell.  Many have families and live in homes like regular folks.  Despite being the most steady and conservative of the species, they take the brunt of people’s fear and hatred and bigotry – as they are also the most recognized as clowns.  I encountered some heavy drinkers, rabble-rousers, dysfunctional lovers and one or two creepy invitations to get into a van for some free ice cream…but most were essentially harmless.

***This is the 4th of 4 in the series which originally had 6, but the other two were nixed from “Bludgeon the Clown” and repurposed earlier.  The intro to the book simply took a different (better) direction as we hammered and honed it into shape.  Now John is stuck in the new offices of EEW Books, finalizing the page layouts piece by piece.  This book is gonna be a dooozy when it’s done.  -Marsha

The Jester

 Book Excerpt

The Jester

The jester of today doesn’t (often) look this way anymore.  The ‘jester’ best represents the incredible influence clown culture has had on human art, music, literature, (engineering) and especially fashion.  Jesters are considered dangerous and subversive for inspiring creativity, craftsmanship and integrity.  While they often blend in with intellectuals, they are easily exploited by the corporate aristocracy.  Jesters have integrated with humankind more effectively than any other species of clown, though, many have no idea of their unique heritage.

The Hobo

 Book Excerpt

The HOBO

This poor, pathetic fellow has fallen completely out of favor with the public since the death of the American dream.  The hobo, once a celebrated icon of pop culture, is now despised by people taking heavy losses in the corporate class war and the ever widening income gap.  Too many people, who have fallen short of their parent’s success and have no hope for their own children, already resemble hobos…and don’t think they’re funny any more.  These days it is illegal for them to appear in public in many American cities.

***Yes, this is the next in a series of pages that were eliminated from the ‘Introduction’ my new book, “Bludgeon the Clown,” by the publisher.  It was a perfectly good illustration and blurb, but its point and purpose in the book was better illustrated with better material…I can hardly wait to show you.  Meanwhile, I can only share the juicy rejects…  Next week: The Jester.  -Marsha

Dragon Man Dan

Dragon Man Dan had a lot of nice pills.                                                                Some made him better and stronger.                                                                    One for his asthma,                                                                                                          one for his heart,                                                                                                                 one made his pecker longer.                                                                                      But all of his pills,                                                                                                              for all their delight,                                                                                                            killed him as you might expect,                                                                               though they kept his body                                                                                          preserved for years                                                                                                          and left his penis erect.

Dragon Man Dan was the tattooed freak of the ‘Bitsy Bopsy Travelling Circus Side Show.’  His one and only tattoo snaked around over 90% of his body.  His fellow freaks swore that it came alive and flew off into the night at the moment of his death.  They also swore that they never touched Dan’s illegal stash of colorful pills, which he was known to chew like candy…constantly.

***Another page cut from my new “Bludgeon the Clown” book by the editors at EEW Books.  At least the poem made it into my “Blue-ish Freaks” book.  -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 the 4th of July.  What…you don’t get it?  That’s okay, its a tricky one.  Leave me an angry comment if you get it – and try not to blow your friggin’ hand off playing with fireworks.  -Marsha

Fish Ed

I woke up unconscious.  My aching head smelled funny.  There was something sticky between my cheek and the cold shelf in the refrigerator.  “Eat me!” demanded the chicken, “I taste great! Why…I taste like chicken!  Everybody loves chicken.”  He was hard to take seriously without a head – his neck hole made him lisp.  “Eat ME!!” he yelled again.

But the egg was just as bold: “NO!  Eat me!” and raising his eyebrows suggestively, with a sexy-baby voice, he said, “I’m young.  I’m soft.  You can do ANYTHING to meeee…fry me, poach me, slather me in mayonnaise… Mmmmmm!  I’m delicious!”  He grinned.

“Don’t listen to HIM!” said Chicken.  “I’m delicious with mayo too…and you LOVE barbeque and I have…”

   “WHUMP!!!”

I slammed the fridge.  I could see that the jelly was already awake and I always hated talking to her.  Besides, the guacamole was poised, just waiting for his chance to interrupt and frankly, my aching brain could not handle whatever the leftover stromboli had to say – with his nauseating salami and jalapeño breath…..and what was that funny smell?  Was that fish?  I don’t like fish.  “Hey buddy,” said the fish, “that’s not a very nice thing to think.”

“WHUMP!!!”