Tag Archives: weird

Zebulon the Wizard

Quite puzzled now, he scoured the pages of the old wizard’s tiny journal, searching for something that might explain why his cauldron had just opened, on it’s own, without the spoken enchantment…..he didn’t even notice the pistol pointing up into his face until the voice behind it said, “Give it back, boy!… Give it back NAOW!!!…Ya yella-bellied VARMINT!!”

He called himself Zebulon the Wizard, but his real name was Ralph…and he was a thief.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, he was a really good thief who came from a long line of renowned thieves.  There was no shame in it.  Thievery was a respectable occupation in the old country, which had carried over when his family emigrated here.  But like so many young people nowadays, Ralph found himself falling short of his forefathers’ success.

Old family connections no longer guaranteed respect and a spot on a crack team of cat burglars – or elicit seed money from the mob for a grand heist.  Even the intelligence community ( the biggest employer of thieves in the world) had marginalized new hires into dull college-educated analysts.  So, Ralph was relegated to common pick-pocketing on the street, just to pay the bills.

As it so often happens (in old TV shows), Ralph found the solution to all his problems…in church.  He could always find an easy mark among the rich overdressed hypocrites on a Sunday morning, but it wasn’t until the post-service meet and greet that he was able to lift a nice fat purse from the breast pocket of – none other than – the Holy Roman Cardinal: the biggest, richest muckety-muck of them all.  What a lucky break!!!

How disappointing to find, later, that it was nothing more than a dusty old, hand-written journal…in Latin (of all things).  Ugh!!  Ralph hated Latin!  The kids in school used to tease him for sounding like a drunk Ukrainian whenever he read it out loud.

But, on closer inspection, he discovered that the book was one of those rare mystical Vatican treasures, meant to be locked away and never, ever studied (lest it disprove the church’s fairy tales…or destroy the world).  Upon reading it – and understanding it – Ralph realized he’d hit the jackpot!

The book, written by the fictional wizard, Merlin, was an instruction manual for creating a stable quantum portal, i.e., a gateway allowing him to traverse enormous distances…even time itself.  Cooool!  And if Ralph’s understanding of Latin was better than he thought, his alchemy was even better.

It only took a few weeks to beg, barter, and steal all the exotic elements and artifacts he would need.  Some were quite rare and most still had archaic names like “saltpeter.”  Who knew potassium nitrate used to be called saltpeter?…or that the chemical makeup of modern gunpowder is totally different than the black powder developed around ninth century China?

As well, Ralph found that the key to the entire project was in the spoken enchantments.  Merlin’s overall recipe was pretty straight forward chemistry…but say the right Latin gibberish, in the right tone of voice (standing on one foot with a feather up your bum), and the common reaction you’d get combining bleach and ammonia might produce an adorable plaid bunny, instead of just…a cloud of poison chlorine gas.  There was, needless to say, a good deal of trial and error (and even more tedious research) involved.

In the end, Ralph built what he called a “time cauldron” and had only to decide what he wanted to steal, from whom…and when.  He hit the books again, compiling an elaborate list of fabulous lost treasures, along with their exact locations, on specific historic dates.  But when he activated the cauldron, he was not thinking (as he should have) of the Palace of Versailles, June 15th, 1811… he was thinking of his personal hero, the greatest thief in history.

The portal opened in Missouri, April 3rd, 1882, and he was staring at a rather stunned…Jesse James.  As quick as a thief (which he was), Ralph reached in and grabbed an elaborately decorated six-gun tucked into the front of James’ belt, then closed the time portal before his outraged hero could react.

“Jesse James!” he grinned.  “How cool was that!!!?”  He laughed, very pleased with himself.

Within a year, Ralph had a warehouse full of treasures from throughout history and changed his name to Zebulon.  He was surely (and literally) the greatest thief of all time, and having encountered his older self numerous times over the next fifty years, was sure he had a bright, healthy future…

…So it puzzled him even more to find his hero, Jesse James, waving an anxious six-gun in his face…through HIS own cauldron.  How the heck did this happen?  It was still April 3rd, 1882; shouldn’t he be dead by now?

Jesse poked Ralph in the nose with the barrel.  “I want ma gun back.  I want it naow…” he stopped to pull back the hammer (very menacing), “or I’ll blow yer dang head off, boy!”  He seemed pretty pissed off.

Ralph could have crapped a brick in his fancy wizard pantaloons trying to remember where he put that pistol.  But his sweeping gaze landed on a brilliant (desperate) solution.  “I might have something better…” he said as he handed Jesse James a brand new solar-powered fully automatic plasma laser assault rifle (with pump-action grenade launcher), which he will have lifted, five years from now, off an elite storm trooper of the fifth battalion of Grand Emperor Trump’s intrepid Space Force.

Well…Jesse was giddy as a June bug in sassafras underbritches – or some such Missouri thing…and with his solemn vow (as an honest thief) to destroy the weapon after today’s gunfight, Jesse James closed the portal, none the worse for wear.

Naturally, Ralph was pretty impressed with himself for his quick wit and elegant solution to the mess he’d made…and what could possibly go wrong with handing an advanced weapon of mass destruction from the year 2024, to a gunslinger from 1882 on his death day…?

***Well, this is one of the few really long stories in our new book, “A Short Burst,” it’s a whopping two pages.  It’s one of John’s favorites because it straddles the weird, squiggly border between sci-fi and fantasy.  The original image, published in the April, 2007 issue of Analog Magazine was used as the title page of ‘Burst’ (the one above is the revised version).  You can find all our books and stuff at our Etsy shop.  Etsy.com (search EEWbooks) or just follow the link on our website (which will also bring you to Etsy).  -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

Class War

Excerpt from “Bludgeon the Clown”, chapter 5, page 79.

Class War

“Tipping points are what clowns really look forward to.” said Zig-Zag the Clown, who was thrilled to offer his comments on a painting featuring his old friend, Thorgrind the Giant, beheading a sleazy medieval aristocrat;  “In history’s rich pageant, tipping points are the main event…the height of entertainment…and the tipping point in our broken culture is inevitable.”  He went on to say that; “Class war brings inequality and instability, which leads to revolution and transformation.  It can take decades, even centuries for the oppressed to fester and pop, but they eventually rise up; they always have and they always will.  The best we can hope for is that it happens with as little violence as possible.”  I can agree with that.

Note: Since the Dark Ages, clown culture has consistently identified the giant as the embodiment of the population as a whole (the disenfranchised proletariat), while the knight represents the aristocracy.  We found epic clown ditties documenting the tipping points of long-lost civilizations stretching back for eons.

***Another all-new, never before posted image from our latest book, “Bludgeon the Clown”.  Why do I bother? …because I know that if you buy this book, it will poke you in the eye, kick your ass and completely diddle your whimsy.  Buy it at www.sallemander.com or search EEWbooks at etsy .com.   -Marsha

Sir Bludgeon the 1st.

Excerpt from “Bludgeon the Clown”, chapter 1, page 12.

Sir Bludgeon the First

Let us never forget Sir Bludgeon the First, a clown who rose to greatness during the fourth crusade in 1203, while employed as a belly-button groomer and a peek-a-boo latrineer by Lord Periwinkle the Incontinent of Swabia.

In the darkest days of the campaign, before the massacre of Adrianople, when the crusaders were under siege and facing starvation…and having eaten all their horses, servants and unnecessary limbs, they turned to their Muslim prisoners for food.  During a heated argument between our intrepid Bludgeon and the venerable Doge Dandolo, of Venice, over a young Muslim child (on whether to pummel him into hamburger or simply roast him whole over a spit), the intellectually frustrated Bludgeon flung the child away.  Luckily, he landed safely in a vat of boiling oil and fried to an enticing crisp.  The odor and taste of deep fried meat was so popular with the crusaders that Bludgeon was knighted on the spot and dubbed “The Duke of Deep Fry.”  Today, deep fried food is the staple diet of America’s growing (rotund) population…whose quality of health is almost as good now as it was in the Dark Ages.

***Yes, this is an image and excerpt from our third book, “Bludgeon the Clown”, that we haven’t posted before (though John did use the head-shot of Bludgeon the 1st for his FB profile pic. for a while).  Bludgeon is an impeccably written and illustrated marvel of whimsy and wit.  You can buy it at www.sallemander.com or by searching EEWbooks on etsy.com.  You need this book.  It will change your life.   -Marsha

 

Sea Monster

 

Elizabeth broke the surface and opened her helmet to take in the fresh air.  She floated easily in the gentle swell as the sun set over Ghast.  She remembered how much she used to love the ocean.  In her younger days she would have jumped at the opportunity to study Ghast, but the indigenous population didn’t allow alien study…and now that she was finally here, she hated the sea.  She served the Corporation as a marine biologist for thirteen years before it sapped all the joy from her soul… before joining the diplomatic corps.  The money was fantastic, but now she got stuck with all the lousy ocean missions…now, she was the official Earther ambassador to this fetid puddle of bile.

She waited only a few minutes before spotting an Earther ship de-cloaking nearby, a few hundred meters above the waves.  As it scanned, an array of strobes and lasers criss-crossing the surface, it lowered a thick hose and began siphoning sea water up into it’s holding tanks.

Elizabeth felt something move beneath her.  It barely brushed her fins, but it’s silhouette was enormous… and the ocean became perfectly calm.

Just then, the head of a sushi-man surfaced next to her.  Well, she called them sushi-men.  In their own unspeakable language, they called themselves “Shepard’s of Ghast” (whatever!).  It was Veine, her diplomatic escort.  He chirped something that her helmet-com translated as: “You don’t belong here, it is forbidden….. come with me!” as he grasped her elbow and pulled her away.

Elizabeth had slipped away from him earlier that day to come to these coordinates, in the forbidden zone, to investigate the illegal Earther poaching that the Rhee Federation were complaining about.  The Ghast did not allow alien extraction operations…ever.  They were willing to trade, but alien operations always upset the delicate environmental balance.

The water just below the ship began to boil violently.  Elizabeth broke from the sushi-man’s grasp so she could watch…as three long, massive creatures shot up out of the water, chomped on to the hull of the hovering ship with round, toothy jaws and ripped it to pieces as they fell back toward the sea.  Hundreds more of the creatures leapt up to snatch the smaller bits and chunks from the air before any of it hit the water.  There was a brief feeding frenzy before the churning abated and violent ripples receded again…returning the sea to a gentle swell.

The sushi-man chirped again: “Did you see what you were looking for?”  He didn’t wait for an answer, but grasped her elbow again and directed her away.  She sealed her helmet and swam down ahead of him.

She felt intense satisfaction.  Her mission was over…it was a success.  The Corporation would analyze her report and devise a strategy to detect and defeat those snake creatures so it could poach (steal) the chemical elements it wanted.  She would be consulted…and promoted… and become even more wealthy.

Her escort allowed her to swim even further ahead, which seemed odd.  She stopped and turned as he asked, “Have you transmitted what you saw to your people yet?”  She nodded, a little off guard.  He continued, “We know you are not here to STOP your poachers.”  She glanced around, sensing danger.

“We transmitted it too…” he continued, “In fact we are streaming live.”  She looked down to see her own body-cam still activated.  The water pressure changed perceptibly.

“I am the ambassador.  If anything happens to me, it will mean WAR between our people…”

“War…..yes.”  was all he said.

But she was angry now.  “You rotten, slimy, bottom feeders, If you think a simple minded, school of talking sushi can threaten Earther power and technology…the Masset made that mistake and look what happened to…”  The current shifted.  She screamed, “Hey!!!  You can’t hurt me… I have diplomatic immuni…”

Another long toothy creature shot out from the shadowy depths and swallowed Elizabeth in one tiny gulp.

***This is another image and short story scheduled to be published soon in our new book (our 4th book), “A Short Burst” an illustrated collection of flash science fiction.  You can find all our books and other products at www.sallemander.com or search EEWbooks at Etsy.com.   -Marsha

 

My Robot Valentine

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.

***It’s only 2 weeks until the dreaded Valentines Day.  Here is the perfect greeting card for yet another disgusting commercialized holiday travesty.  Find all our cards on Etsy (EEWbooks), or follow the links to www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha   

Persistently Inedible

Persistently Inedible  (resisting the inevitable)

They came for me in the dead of night, grabbed me and forced a sack over my head.  I was taken to an undisclosed location, locked in a room with nothing but a table and chair.  A plate of food was set in front of me.  Weird.  They told me I could leave… but only if I finished everything on my plate.  I was not hungry.

I tried to reason with them.  I ranted and raged and pounded my fists in a heroic hissy fit., I even begged…but they ignored me and by then, hours later, I was getting hungry.

The plate of food was still sitting there but I didn’t recognize anything on it.  It must have been some kind of exotic vegetables.  It didn’t smell good.  I resisted.

A few hours later I was famished.  I took a closer look.  maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but just then, something twitched.  I squeemed with the heebie-jeebies…and looking again, I could swear it was breathing.  I thought I’d puke but had nothing to give…that’s when it all started to stir and writhe and become agitated.  It was REALLY weird (but I was sooooooo hungry now).

I grabbed a piece off the plate, wrestled it into my mouth and down my throat.  It resisted, kicking and screaming all the way down.  That’s when I puked…but as it limped away angrily, I caught it again and RE-ate it.  In fact, I managed to round up every single piece of those awful, jabbering bits of freakish vegetable…and I must say, it was the best meal I’d had in ages.  In fact, I was  looking and feeling much more like my old self again.  Man!  Best Thanksgiving EVER!!!  end.

***Another image and story slated to be published in our 4th book, “A Short Burst”…a collection of flash science fiction, illustrated.  Find our first 3 illustrated books at www.sallemander.com.

My Favorite Place

baby-face-55 

I really can’t think of a favorite place                                                                    but I love the idea of flavored space,                                                                     which happens to rhyme with ‘baby face’                                                          like the horrible growth on my cheek.

I like the idea of an ‘open mic’                                                                                  as long as I’m never the Mike.                                                                                 Exposing my guts to a crowd if you like                                                             might make some people freak.

 I never accepted an open ‘Hand Shake’                                                               though I don’t mind a hand made cake.                                                              Swallowing fingers is awful to take                                                                        but easy to grasp – so to speak.

But my favorite place is up my nose                                                                        where adorable ‘nose hair’ grows,                                                                           which is usually better than ‘smelly toes’                                                             ’cause its cute and fuzzy and chic.

***Lets take a little break from our holiday shopping frenzy for something adorable and wholesome.  This little ditty makes John giggle like a tickled toddler every time he reads it.   He’s done rough sketches of all the ‘Body-Oddies’ it mentions so far (even though we only used ‘baby face’ for this post).  Even though “Body-Oddies won’t be out until next year, you can buy our 3 already published books at our EEWbooks Etsy store or by following the link above to www.sallemander.com.  Thanks.  -Marsha

Doug the Slug

Doug the Slug-77 

Doug felt sluggish sitting through another mind numbing meeting.  Boring people – like him, in boring suits – like his, sat around the conference room table giving boring briefs on their departments.  Doug’s section had nothing to report, he was only there to fill his boss’ seat while he was off golfing.  They droned on and on like lazy bees;  “Turn to page 68 and review diagram 123g…” and “good news in marketing assessment accounts payable, see the bar graph in addendum 6…” and Doug was too hyped up on caffeine to fall asleep like Bob from Legal.

Then…..he had a funny feeling.  Not a laugh out loud feeling – a strange, funny feeling…and the last thing he heard before it all went sideways was another inane comment from Alice, the CFO;  “…and sales were sluggish again last week…” and POW!!

A drip formed on the tip of Doug’s nose and slid off onto his tie, which he noticed was already flowing like liquid into his lap.  He watched as his fingers dissolved into sludge and his hands turn to pulp.  He felt his hair and eyebrows melt, his skin go flubbery and sag and finally his whole head collapse into an eggy mess down his torso before everything sploshed down into a viscous puddle of goo around his shoes (which didn’t take part in the transformation for some reason).

Funny thing is, he doubted that anybody in the meeting even noticed what had happened.  Perhaps everyone there was melting like him…but he doubted it…he could still hear Alice droning and Bob snoring.

***I think melting in meetings was the best part of working in corporate America, surpassed only by exploding like a hamster in a microwave, just to see the mess all over everybody’s boring suits.  This image is from our book, “Bludgeon the Clown” which you can find, with all our books, at www.sallemander.com  -Marsha  

Slack Jaw

slackjaw-50     Father Rodriguez Domingo Emanuel Castillo stood on the dais before his congregation at Sunday mass, slack jawed and silent – as if in a trance. Everyone was (respectfully) baffled as he committed his minor, weekly spectacle.  Intense prayers hissed through humid air, a mumbled chanting, eyes lolling, bodies swaying, swooning and barfing in awe as his lips and cheeks slackened and the agonizing minutes passed.  A thick silence fell as  his melting jaw splashed into a dribbley puddle at their feet.  Nobody moved or said anything… everyone just stared, stupidly…because it must be a miracle… right?

***I love religion, such a rich source of popular entertainment, so irrational and blind.  Someday, humans may become civilized enough to remember it fondly…like wearing diapers and learning to eat with a fork…if we survive the religion of Capitalism.  Meanwhile, you can find our books at www.sallemander.com.  Next weekend we will be at Philcon, The Philadelphia Sci-fi convention.  Come find us under the EEW Books banner.    -Marsha