Headstand

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Henry Higgenbottom had an amazing talent. Welllll, maybe not so amazing as, lets say, ‘quirky’.  You see, Henry could “headstand”.  Yeah,  not so amazing…but since nobody else could ever do it quite like him, it kinda became his ‘thing’.  And despite all practical advice. he ‘did’ the crap out of his ‘thing’.  He became a minor local celebrity (oddity), got his fifteen minutes of fame on the T.V. news and bartered that into a stint on the state carnival circuit which propelled him into a pretty good gig with a circus sideshow troupe as a ‘Tumbling Contortionist’.  All things considered, however, his convulsive hiccupping act usually stole the spotlight (and all the laughs) and made his ‘headstand’ gimmick look pretty dull.  But Henry never gave up on it.  It was his own unique gift to the world, a sacred piece of his very soul and he made sure it was part of every show he did…..until one day he accidentally mixed his hiccups with his ‘headstand’ and so disrupted his specially balanced stance that he snapped his own ridiculous neck.

***Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE who has seen the image above seems to think it has some political meaning – perhaps implying the state of the nation or of the American voting public… Bollocks and drivel!  It is no such thing.  Read the post!  Its nothing more than a tragic fragment of an ambitious loser.  We don’t do politics in this blog!

John and I will have a table in Artist Alley at the Newark Comic Con on Saturday, August 20 (1100 McCarter Hwy., Newark, NJ) where we will be presenting advance copies of my new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Creepy Clown Coloring Book”, as well as original art prints and copies of three books by our good friend Joe Del Priore.  -Marsha  

Uprising

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The Clowns rose up in anger one day                                                                      deciding enough is enough.                                                                                            They poured out into the streets en masse,                                                        yelling and juggling stuff. 

They wanted ‘equal rights’, they said,                                                                to be ‘taken seriously’.                                                                                                    An end to random giggles and leers.                                                                   They wanted respect, you see. 

Snarling traffic with mini Clown cars,                                                               squirtling flowers and ties,                                                                                         their strike turned into a riot (of sorts)                                                           pelting police with pies. 

They overwhelmed the barricades,                                                                storming the walls and ditches                                                                                  and made their way up to capital hill,                                                                    leaving the cops in stitches. 

But as they breached the chamber doors,                                                       their smiles turned into frowns,                                                                                  for the senate was already occupied                                                                      by Idiots, Mimes and Clowns.

I wrote this piece and John illustrated it almost two decades ago.  I thought, for sure, things MUST change for the better by now…..  -Marsha

Old Wives’ Tail

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Last night she came in through the bathroom window…the one up on the third floor.  At this point I’m too numb to be surprised.  Last week, before bed, she reached up to take her glasses off and her whole head came away.  She paid it no mind, just set it down on the nightstand next to her spittoon and went to sleep – I slept on the couch that night.

Three days ago she came home from a visit with her mother dragging a massive, spiked tail behind her as if nothing was amiss (talk about an old wives tail).  The dogs were pretty upset.  I spent the night ‘working’ in my office with a bottle of scotch and a joint.

So, the bathroom window thing was hardly a bother – and the mystery of how she managed the climb was solved when I noticed her folding leathery bat wings up under her coat.  What those long curly tusks could possibly be used for, I cannot guess…..but I think I’ll sleep out in the car tonight.

***This is a true story.  It happened to a guy I knew…well actually the next door neighbor of a second cousin, twice removed of my best friend’s cubicle mate (from her old job’s) mother-in-law.  It’s really sad how people drift apart but its inevitable and sometimes we just have to adapt to the new paradigm.  This is another unofficial ‘red rough’ sketch from our upcoming book “Body-Oddies” which I’m forbidden to post…but what John (my illustrator) doesn’t know won’t kill him.   -Marsha

 

Without A Clue

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Cornelius lost his head…just went completely off.  One moment he was calm, cool and collected, the next – frantic and frustrated.  He had no idea where he left the darned thing.  It was gone without a clue.  Sometimes he left it somewhere he wanted to remember to return to later (which was smart, right?) but couldn’t remember where it was later without his head.  Some times it just rolled off and bounced away on its own.  Somebody said he should get it fixed… but it wasn’t broken.  That’s just the way he was.  Besides, what would all the others say if HIS was permanent…but what does everybody else do when they lose theirs?  Oh phoooey!!  Permanent heads…..that’s just crazy, it just isn’t done!

***While we stay strictly and completely away from politics on this blog, I can’t help but notice how much John’s image resembles the American electorate in each election cycle (although for this one – 2016 – I should have an image of a moron chugging draino).  It was originally published in Analog Magazine, Sept., 2006.  My short, flash-fiction fragment is good for keeping my twitter friends comfortable.  Long posts make them skiddish.  -Marsha 

I Am Joe’s Big Left Toenail

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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

 

Anarchist

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Stop complaining!  Stop protesting!                                                                         You have your rights but don’t really need ’em.                                               We are the government.  We’re in control.                                                         This is American freedom.                                                                                              Anarchists, Hippies and Clowns, beware.                                                             We have the guns.  We know what’s best.                                                          If you make our corporate bankers upset                                                           we’ll pummel you under arrest.

***This is an excellent post for all the weeks of blowback we’ve had, not just in the U.S. but around the empire…all predicted, all preventable and all inevitable.  And what’s next?…history will tell you.  This week’s image is a page from our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”.  -Marsha

Search Me…

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They were big and beefy and incredibly strong.  They were aggressive, pointing their weapons everywhere and smelled like belligerent fear as they shouted and snarled.  They wore plate armor like insects but they were pasty and bony underneath with beady eyes and a ridiculous tuft of hair on their tiny heads – like hand puppets.  They were most definitely …ALIEN!

When they landed their starship in my back yard and demanded, “Take me to your leader!”  I was so stunned – so baffled that I just froze and blinked at them.  Their exasperated captain tried again, “Where are your leaders?!” with a sneer of contempt, as if I was a child.  I simply shrugged and said, “Search me…”

Now, I don’t know if they misunderstood me or just had a REALLY strange sense of humor…..but being held down in a medical lab with a gnarly probe approaching my buttocks is taking things waaaaaay too literally.

***This one reminds me of my last colonoscopy…And can anybody explain what the deal is with Aliens and anal probes?  Every single time; anal probe – anal probe – anal probe.  They’re almost as bad as the CIA (though, at least Aliens ask intelligent questions).  This was the (lucky) 13th cover John did for Analog/Asimov’s Magazines.  -Marsha 

Sundae The Clown

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“Ohhh…its not so bad.” his wife told him with thinly veiled sarcasm.  “You look absolutely delicious…..!” she smiled sardonically.  But it was a hot summer day and he was melting on the spot.  He wouldn’t last much longer.

Billy was so intent on pleasing his estranged wife (poor henpecked bastard) that he took her desire for an ice cream sundae too far and transmogrified himself into one, without considering the consequences.  And still, as he slowly disintegrated into a sweet soupy mess, she would not favor him with her attentions – except to say, “Ugh!  You know I don’t like pistachio…..!”

***The hell with Billy, its hot out and I want ice cream!!!  This image is another piece from our now book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”.  You can find it here at www.sallemander.com (or follow the link above).  -Marsha

What’s The Sense of it All

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Larry had no objection to toes.  He never thought much about them, really.  Sure, they help us to stand up straight and balance on two feet…but so what!?  They’re just little nubbly things.  They’re not sexy or cool like fingers (at least you can pick your nose and scratch your ass with fingers).  Toes are shit.  They make lousy ear rings, smell worse than ass crack and are too bony to eat (even sautéed in olive oil with mushrooms and onions) and they taste like chum, anyway.

So why?…..What’s the sense of growing one right out from the center of his forehead?  How could he have gone to bed last night, feeling like a perfectly normal modern man (with hypertension, diabetes and chronic back pain) …and wake up the next morning with such bad luck?  What kind of rotten cosmic karma did he upset for nature – or god (or whatever) to decide to put a big gnarly, fully grown toe, right smack between his eyes?

Seriously though, wasn’t it bad enough that he already had a whole festering patch of them growing down his back?…..UGHHH!!!  What’s the sense of it all!!?

***I’m pretty sure Larry isn’t the only one who wakes up every morning with awkward growths or nasty lumps.  Some are easy to dispatch, others we just have to live with – to be sure, I’ve noticed it becoming yet another disturbing trend among a broken people in our broken society.  But…all is not lost.  The solution to all your woes can be found in the pages of our new book, ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks.’  You can find it by following the link above to www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

Tepid the Clown

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Tepid the Clown had really bad gas.                                                                    He made ’em strong, and made ’em to last.                                                     He could fly around town propelled by his ass,                                       could leap a tall building with just one blast.

But ran out of luck with a wet squirty one                                                     and at ten thousand feet he was done                                                              and hit the street like a jelly-filled bun                                                             but, by golly! Wasn’t that fun?!!

***At first I thought this would make an excellent political post, something about the end of empire or the integrity of our legal system…but then I recalled a delightful passage I found in John’s dream journal.  A heroic tale of high adventure with a boy blessed with fart-propelled sustained flight…..and then I remembered the smell of sausage and fajita farts I endured the last time I got into his stupid car – and all I could think of was “EEW!”  -Marsha