Tag Archives: tattoo

body-oddies, Flash Fiction, Sci-Fi

Pimple Face

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Pimple Face Pat is a bubble of puss,

throbbing and itching to burst,

trying his best not to strain and fuss,

lest somebody squeezes him first.

     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 all into the same music.  My new book, “Body-Oddies” is finally done and ready for the printer. Meanwhile, we DO have four other books for sale…find them at www.etsy.com and search EEWbooks.  -Marsha

Clowns, Freaks, Political

Two Faced

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Mike was a two-faced liar…no, ‘liar’ was his last NAME.

He only had two faces, ’cause that was the way he came.

He also had seventeen toes, and a nine inch tail, which was flat,

and five short pricks that fit like a glove, but nobody cared about that!

Everyone hated a two-faced liar. They called it a curse and a sin,

but once he became the president, he actually fit right in.

Clowns, Freaks, Political

Skipper the Clown

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Business was going downhill fast

for a middle-aged clown named Skipper.

Until he applied at the local church,

who gave him a job as a stripper.

Now he has work almost every night,

’till well past three or four.

The fellas are sweet and tip really well,

but his ass is constantly sore.

NOTE: WordPress has found a way to prohibit me and other poets from posting my 8 line poem in the format I’ve used here for the last six-plus years. It will only post as a paragraph. They probably removed the feature so they can monetize it…’cause poets are sooooo rich. Well, FUCK you WordPress! Fuck your WordPress algorithm too! I hope you both die in a fiery fuckin’ plane crash! I’m tired of greedy incompetent fuckwads fuckin’ up basic shit.

***Tuesday is John’s 114th happy birthday! Write him a fuckin’ Happy Birthday message!!! But whatever you do, don’t tell facebook that February 9th is NOT his real birthday. It’s actually Feb. 31st…there’s just a problem with their stupid algorithm! (It has no sense of humor), but that’s what you get when you’re ruled by robots. We’re all doomed…have a nice day. -Marsha

Book Exerpt, Clowns, Freaks, Political

Now That He’s Dead

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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,                     dress him up nice 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,                                              give him a Clown face – a big stupid grin.

We can hang him outside for the vultures and beetles,                          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!!

***This poem and image comprise the title page for ‘Chapter 6: Death,’ in our third book, “Bludgeon the Clown” which you can find by following the link above to www.sallemander.com., or go right to Etsy and search EEWbooks.   -Marsha

Clowns, Freaks

Jack

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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 ‘279th post’…and every 279 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 ‘279th post’ celebration. Fuck you, John!  -Marsha

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

Clowns, Freaks

POOP!

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A really bad poem is one without rhyme.

It sounds really awkward every single recitation.  (time) 

It’s meter and beat are uneven and base. 

Just rhyming won’t do it, it needs a good – bouncy rhythm and a spot-on, neeto keen…..pace. 

And don’t forget poets who make up new words, 

who clutter the page with “scruffulous’ turds.                                                

A really bad poem just might make you cry.                                                      

Not like…from “feelings!”  but a poke in the eye.                                           

Yeah, a really bad poem will poke out your eye,                                         

It will stomp on your toes and might make you…..screech like a howler monkey (cry).

But a really bad poem is funny sometimes                                                         

if you get past bad meter and horrible rhymes.                                              

A really bad poem might just be crap                                                                 

’cause the person who wrote it’s a horrible chap.                                      

You might just not care for their poetic shit                                                   

and feel like you just want to…..GAG.  (spit)    

***We have all the BEST poop (and the worst bad poems).  Our poop is so good it almost looks delicious (if you only knew what we had to eat to get it to look like that…) in Fact, all the shit we make with EEW Books is the best, locally produced and free of corporate influence.  Find our books and stuff at www.sallemander.com and at our Etsy shop, (search EEWbooks).   -Marsha   

Book Exerpt, Flash Fiction, Sci-Fi

My Best Foot Backwards

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My Best Foot Backwards

     I call my left foot Lefty.  I’ve always called him Lefty.  There’s never been any argument from him and he gets no complaints.  We get along just fine, but the other foot, well…it’s like apples and oranges.

     My other foot calls himself “Backwards.”  I named him Louis but he won’t answer to that.  That one is constant trouble!  Sure, he has better balance and coordination, heck!…if not for him I’d fall flat on my face.  Let’s not even mention my dancing!  But Backwards, even as my best foot, is a hand-full (so to speak).  He likes randomly kicking things, splashing in mud puddles and somehow, always smells of doggy doo.  And “BACKWARDS?”…I don’t even get it.  Why call himself Backwards?!?

     Now, my other-OTHER foot, my right foot…that bastard!  He decided to call himself Backwards TOO!!!  What the hell!?!  I think that one goes out of his way JUST to piss me off (I can hear him giggling now).

     Honestly though, my feet aren’t even the worst of my problems right now…try keeping three wayward hands in check when you’re trying to conquer the world…

***This flash-fiction story and illustration was recently published in our newest book, “A Short Burst.” A rougher version of the image was originally commissioned for the March, 2009 issue of Analog Magazine. Find and buy all our books at our Etsy shop, search EEWbooks. -Marsha

body-oddies

Muffin Top

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Here’s another “Body-Oddies” sketch that won’t make it into the new book. There’s no room for it even if it was a strong enough idea and there’s no flash-fiction blurb or rhymed ditty to go with it anyway. But…since my goofy/fancy food photo posts get more attention on social media than my art, and the only reason to BE on social media is to promote my art and books, I figured I’d see how some goofy ‘food art’ does. Meanwhile, you can find and buy my first four illustrated books by following the links above or go to www.etsy.com and search: EEWbooks. -Marsha