Book Exerpt, Clowns, fragment

The Hobo

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 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

Book Exerpt, Clowns, fragment

The Mime

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Book Excerpt

The Mime

I tried to interview several of these snooty ‘French’ creatures before the government started rounding them up with the ‘Muslims.’  I could neither distract, nor get a peep out of one, they ignored every question with expressionless contempt.  When I finally stormed off in righteous indignation, I tripped on an invisible rope and chipped a tooth on the edge of an invisible box…while their silent laughter danced up and down my spine.  There aren’t too many mimes around any more (’cause they’re A-holes) but John likes them.

***This one is part of a whole section of work nixed from my “Bludgeon the Clown” book by the editors at EEW Books.  It saddens me but still makes a good blog post.  -Marsha 

Flash Fiction, robot, Sci-Fi

Brain Salad Buffet

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We think they consumed intelligence the way we consume food.  It sustained them and they were drawn to it like moths to a flame.  We think the people who came for the speech must have attracted them, after all, the event drew some of the top thinkers from the party; business executives, media luminaries, religious icons…all gathered together like a brain salad buffet.  We think their mistake was just a matter of bad timing, because by the time the singularity formed just above the President’s head and they began flooding through the rift like a swarm of gangly metal spiders, the bloviating buffoon at the podium had already been speechifying for over an hour.  A whole hour of engorged bravado, exaggerated assertions and pandering half-truths…reducing the (otherwise intelligent) audience to a drooling mob of seething stupidity.

We saw them spread out through the arena, randomly plucking dull witted followers from the audience like daisies, harvesting their heads for the tasty data in their brains….only to come up short.  The more heads they dissolved, the more puzzled they became…unsatisfied.  In fact they appeared to be weakening…starving – but then, who comes to a political speech, nowadays, for intelligence?

And as the rift sputtered and closed and the invaders lay down to die, we think we heard them mindlessly chanting …U.S.A….U..S..A…..u…s…a…..

 

Book Exerpt, Freaks

Dragon Man Dan

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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

Clowns, Political

GIMME!

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***The editors at EEW Books got hold of a leaked CIA study, thoroughly analyzing the history of the Middle East since before WW1.  It was thinner than you’d expect (thick as a porter house steak), printed on bright yellow (saffron) paper in a succulent Helvetica Bold font, and absolutely stuffed (like tur-duck-en) full of big, juicy, important words…but it’s conclusion rendered down to one simple, tasty theme… which John has illustrated into a single cartoon image.  Bon appetit!  I’m off to lunch…I’m famished.  -Marsha 

Clowns

Bladder the Clown

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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

body-oddies, Flash Fiction, fragment

Fish Ed

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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!!!”

 

Clowns

Tommy The Clown

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Tommy the Clown got sliced in half,                                                                      to expose his charm and wit                                                                                       but all I could see as he came apart                                                                    was maggoty chunks of shit. 

***It’s just that kind of week…John’s brother’s wife died on Saturday, his other brother is coming up from Florida to stay for the funeral on Thursday.  His two youngest sons graduate high school on Friday, his mother is coming in from Utah to stay for that – as well as his middle son’s birthday and his oldest son’s college graduation… AND one of his cars was in a fender-bender this morning while he was getting his youngest son back to school after a face breaking concussion and recovery.  Glad I’m not him.  On the bright side, all I have to do is continue working on our new book – which is nothing but hours and hours and hours of fun… -Marsha

Flash Fiction, fragment, Sci-Fi

Orbital Fracture

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“Well, that was pretty weird…” Quinn’s dad said, as they strolled out of the hospital emergency room toward the car.  Quinn nodded in solemn agreement.  His brain rattled a little, still full of purple marbles and tapioca.  He winced as his now full blown concussion sent steam whistling from his ears and left a trail of silly string on the asphalt.

Just a few hours earlier, Quinn, the goalkeeper for his club soccer team, came out of his box low and fast, to intercept a couple of players desperately sparring for the ball.  He dove in, punching it away as one of the players aimed a kick…but instead of connecting with the ball, his foot caught Quinn in the face like a grizzly car crash (an all-too-common goalie accident).

Quinn’s jaw spun away with a funny “vip-vip-vip!” and hit a light post, exploding in a shower  of sparks.  His teeth peppered everyone within fifty yards…but his head flew straight up in the air at such velocity that we lost sight of it shortly before his “AAAAAAAAAAAH!” diminished into the night.  What a mess!

Willy the Astronaut was a clumsy buffoon who, for the second time this month, slipped and splashed into the molding tank at the polar ice mine on the surface of Mars…as it’s contents began to freeze.  His heavily insulated vac-suit protected him from harm, but he wasn’t discovered until the 60 ton cylinder of ice had already been rocket-lifted up to the orbital processing plant, where it would be transformed into liquid oxygen rocket fuel.

Willy’s coworkers labored fruitlessly for eight frustrating hours with a laser drill to free him, without luck…..until Willy noticed Quinn’s gnarly, high velocity head glance off the ice and careen away, still hollering, “Aaaaaaaaaah!”  Quinn’s head must have hit a sweet spot in the ice, just so, because it fractured the cylinder neatly, allowing Willy to escape unharmed and without a costly, shattered mess for the mining company.  Willy never mentioned Quinn’s head to his employers, he was a known buffoon and his credibility was already compromised.

As to Quinn; his dad managed to gather up all his bits and parts and take him to the hospital, where the clever use of duct tape and super glue had him back on his feet in a few short hours.  We figure his wild story about ice mining on Mars was probably just a symptom of his concussion.

“Well, that was pretty weird…..”

***This is a totally true story which happened to John’s son, Quinn, last week, at a soccer game in Millburn, NJ on June 9th, 2017.  Quinn is recovering (slowly but steadily) and has been corresponding with Willy the Astronaut on facebook.  Quinn’s dad is building a rocket ship in the barn out back, so they can visit the ice mine on Mars next month.  -Marsha     

body-oddies, Clowns, Flash Fiction, fragment

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

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Milton was an odd fellow. Everybody thought so. He had wild ideas about everything from politics to gardening. He thought animals would be healthier if we didn’t butcher them. He thought terrorism was a bad way to fight terrorism and had, daily, heated arguments about transference with the wooden Indian outside the smoke shop….very odd.

He painted a creepy clown face with purple polka-dots on his van (even though he can’t drive). He muttered bizarre things to ladies as he passed them in the streets, like: “Have a nice day!” and “Love your head scarf!!” – it was horrifying. Last week he predicted the world would end two years ago and hung unauthorized presidential campaign posters for ‘asparagus’ and ‘enchiladas’ (even though they were probably better candidates)…and every time he ate pickled anchovy sandwiches with mayo and peanut butter, his breath still smelled like beef jerky…..Huh!

For all this and much more, Milton was the subject of intense gossip all over town. He often made the front page of the local Gazette and people got into fist fights over the consistency of his guacamole. To some, he was a nuisance, to others a local folk hero – and to others still, a tourist attraction.

Well, that was all good and fine for most folks…but for me, seeing him stroll about with three fully grown legs – one facing front and two facing back, was truly a marvel…..and wow, what a snazzy dancer!

***This is a sketch and flash piece for my “Body-Oddies” book project, which is well underway and on schedule for publication in 2018 (that is, if John can get his lazy ass in gear and finish the illustrations).  The publisher is really excited with the whole project.  -Marsha Mellow