Tag Archives: tattoos

Stigma The Clown


Stigma the Clown was a master of wit.                                                                His gift was ‘the awkward and creepy’.                                                               On the corner, at night, he’d stand (or he’d sit)                                               upsetting the neighborhood deeply.

He wasn’t a violent, dangerous bloke,                                                                  never groped or ran about naked,                                                                           was never obnoxious or rude when he spoke                                                    but some people just couldn’t take it.

Just stood on the corner, creepy and proud,                                                   toying with people’s prejudice.                                                                                A few of us ‘got it’ and laughed out loud                                                               but everyone else was incredulous.

“He’s a leech! He’s a thief!!  He’s disturbing the peace!”                          “He’s exposing our kids to his DICK!!!”                                                                And once they started to call the police,                                                             things got really bad…quick.

“YOU should stay in your OWN neighborhood!”                                           “Your kind aren’t welcome here!”                                                                          And they chased him down and shot him, for good                                      out of bigotry, hatred and fear.

Stigma continued his terrorist reign                                                                     form St. Patties’ Day to Thanksgiving.                                                                    Wherever he went they reacted the same,                                                        ’cause this is the ‘Merica we live in.

***I wrote this lovely little ditty to commemorate ‘The Great Clown Scare of 2016’ while John and I were at the Scranton Comic Con this weekend.  We had an amazing time – as we always do.  Another successful show with our two new books and orig. art prints.  Now I get to hibernate for the winter while we finish our next book, “Bludgeon The Clown”.  EEW Books plans to publish it in time for the spring Comic Con season.  Happy Thanksgiving.  -Marsha


Red State Blue State

red-state-blue-state-58-copyDemocrat?  Republican?  Who can fuckin’ tell?                                          Red state, Blue state?  Die and go to Hell!                                                    Argue ’bout it all you want, knock each other out.                                 ‘Right-Left’ bullshit ain’t what its about.

***”We must remember that when we choose the lesser of two evils,  we still choose evil”  (-Hannah Arendt).  I won’t vote for evil… for neither the corporate Democrat, nor the corporate Republican.  All the fear mongering, doom and gloom they project to insure our compliance in their bankrupt system is already a reality.   Pull your head out of your ass, we live in a broken society.   We owe it to those who come after us to do more than just vote ‘D’ or ‘R’ like “Good Germans”.  We owe it to them to get off our lazy asses and resist the corporate state.  Vote your conscience…and then get out, join a movement and rebel.                                 -Marsha Mellow

She Tasted Like Blue

tasted-like-blue-57 All speckled and fuzzy, she tasted like blue                                                      with spiny black tendrils of yellowish goo.                                                         She dribbled and hissed in licorice throes                                                           and sang like a frog-apple shoved up her nose.                                               Shredded and pulpy and gnawing in heat                                                           while her farts were so pungently sweet.                                                            flailing in fancy with peppermint splashes,                                                        her mango-bat claws left slashes.                                                                             And when she was salty she prattled and leapt                                              and when she was orange she slept.                                                                        And when she was rancid, with droplets of dew,                                          she definitely tasted like blue.

***I didn’t write this drivel.  Even my artist, John, in all his bizarre idiocy couldn’t compose this kind of brilliant shat.  But, as I recall…I think it was the mutant tiger chick and her kinky prey who did it.  Well, read it again and try to find the clever hidden meaning to it – then buy my books (find them at www.sallemander.com).  John’s illustration was first licensed for use as the Jan/Feb 2009 cover for Analog Magazine, for a story by Rajnar Vajra (one of John’s favorite authors)  -Marsha


My Favorite Place


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 the national disgrace of our elections for something light and 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).  Our EEWbooks Etsy store is getting some good sales and attention.  Go there, fave our shop and help us get it off to a solid launch.  Thanks.  -Marsha

Willy Pete


Willy Pete was the smartest person he knew. He was thinking all the time.  He had little else to do in his crate – yes, Willy lived with several other smart fellows like him – in a crate, in a warehouse.  For their first few years they were moved around a lot.  They were transported from warehouse to warehouse, in different parts of the world, sometimes by truck or by ship or by cargo plane.  Willy could always tell where they were by the air pressure, humidity, altitude, motion… because he was REALLY smart.  Eventually, he and his fellows were let out of their crate and clamped under the wing of an airplane.

Willy Pete loved flying from the moment they took off.  He loved the speed, the wind in his face and that he could finally see everything in the wider world – rivers, mountains, fields and forests…and all of it made him even smarter.  They flew for hours and hours and every moment was wonderful.

They careened mere feet above the ocean waves, steered wildly through desert canyons and between tall buildings – then angled upward and climbed so high above the clouds that he could almost touch outer space……But as they dropped back down toward the city below, Willy received a signal which armed him for what he realized was his true purpose.  The wing clamps released, his cameras and control fins activated and a pilot, half way around the world, took control and guided him toward his target.

Willy thought feverishly, knowing he had just seconds left (that apartment building was getting huge, fast) wondering why he was released.  He trusted…he HOPED he would serve a noble purpose.  He yearned for the chance that his death might have meaning…perhaps to save the world?

But as he crashed through a kitchen window, plowing through furniture, appliances and toys, he saw the startled look on the faces of several people gathered for an evening meal – and counted no less than six children around the table – as he explo………

***Exploded…..I think it meant to say, “exploded” before the transmission ended.  -Marsha

I Am Joe’s Big Left Toenail


I am Joe’s big left toe nail.  See me soar through the air like a demented boomerang.  I know not where I shall land but I’ll probably miss the trash bin because Joe’s ability to aim the stuff he spits out is for shit.

I guess Joe finally got tired of my glorious reign at the tip of his big toe as master of all I surveyed.  I must have threatened his manhood (or ruined the toe of one too many socks).  He tried to clip me with a fingernail trimmer but I valiantly resisted – and broke it – so he got pissed off, sat down on the toilet and bit me right off his toe with his teeth.

I say, ‘Good riddance to Joe!’  I shall become king of all the gross stuff next to his overflowing trash can – as I can see that I am already the mightiest of all the toe nails there and I shall rule for an eternity, since Joe is far too lazy to clean his friggin’ bathroom, which smells like the squeaky ass end of a dead rhinoceros on a hot, sunny day.

***Yes, we have the cult classic “Fight Club” to thank for the inspiration for this flash-fiction fragment.  It originated as a prompt in our Saturday ‘Free-Write’ workshop with the  Montclair NJ Write Group.  I pilfered the “Feet” image from one of John’s horrible Clown illustrations, slated for publication in 2017 in our book, “Bludgeon the Clown”.  -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.

***John did this image for our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks” which is available now, just follow the link above to www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha


Say It Isn’t So

body piercing-33

“Oh no!…Say it isn’t so!!!” Willy whined, staring down at his belly in horror.  “This is just getting weird…”  His therapist told him time and again to let his ‘inner child’ out but THIS was ridiculous!  What began as common heartburn blossomed into something completely bizarre.

Willy was the typical modern American man; A politically connected (racist), deeply religious (extremist), highly educated (affluent) corporate executive (dullard) – a completely normal, well adjusted person in a desperately broken society.  So naturally, he was quite fucked.  It was no wonder he developed chronic aches and pains…and over time they became rather terrible.

Willy’s doctors found nothing wrong with him, no infections, no disorders, no cancers.  They told him it was ‘all in his head’ (it was actually in his torso, an inch above his liver and just to the left of his pancreas) but his shrink found him just as fit as his peers.  Still, the pain got worse and worse until finally, at his absolute breaking point, Willy had…..a breakthrough.

He woke up one night from a juicy steak and alcohol-induced stupor to find a finger sticking out of his belly (and the complete absence of pain).  It was so weird he thought he must be dreaming and dropped off again but by morning a whole arm had emerged while a pair of feet proceeded to push out of his back with a gooshie spluck.  He was so freaked out, he fainted…..and when he got up again, he could do nothing but watch as a whole person emerged form his torso, front and back.

“Holy crap on a cracker!!!” he screamed.  But the Willy in his belly, who looked just as frantic, hollered, “Shut up, old man!…How do you think I feel?!  Oh no…Say it isn’t so!!!”

***We spent the better part of two days in the NJ motor vehicle gauntlet this week, getting licenses renewed and title, tags and registration done for a car.  John did this sketch while we waited which perfectly captured the experience in one shot.  -Marsha


Comic Con

Paranoia Smith was the most exhausting, obnoxious, insufferable, skate-punk, tattooed, cross dressing poseur I ever met at a Comic Con.  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.  Comic-Con-image-30He 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 bought one of my ridiculous ‘Blue-ish Freaks’ books just now and I love him for it.  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 brought our new book out to sell at the Philadelphia Comic Con last weekend.  It was brilliant.  He met so many talented, decent, cool people and artists and vendors…What a great time – and you would not believe how many books he sold (my mother told me we should have brought more…).  Wish I had been there.  -Marsha



Lester the Jester


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.”

***This piece, from our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”, is the one we chose as the backdrop/banner for our comicon table.  Come see us at our first show at The Great Philadelphia Comic Con, on April 22-24.  If you’re not in the area, please visit our website (link at top of page);  www.sallemander.com  -Marsha