Do They Come Any Weirder?

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Skippy the Jester came with a grunt.                                                                   Leopold came with a smile.                                                                                            Pat came juggling big squishy balls                                                                         in a highly provocative style. 

Montalban came in his polka dots.                                                                     Willy came wearing a dress.                                                                                          Mimsy came bouncing and shaking in white                                                      but left an absolute mess.  

Timothy came in a Santa suit.                                                                                       Bob came dressed as a cop,                                                                                            shoving his night stick in everyone’s face                                                             and no one could make him stop.

Bill the Mime came with Sissy the Clown.                                                        Do they come any weirder?…..Please!                                                              But when the guy with the camera came,                                                     they all came in close and said: “CHEESE!!”  

***John took our new book, ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks’ to the Scare-A Con in Springfield Mass. this weekend.  It was amazing.  The place was infested with Clowns, actors, freaks and nerds…and every one was brilliant.  There were photo ops, selfies and even the odd grin-n-grab and every famous person we met was warm and kind.  This post seemed to capture the whimsy and chaos of the convention.  -Marsha 

Freaky Uncle

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We never spoke about Uncle Dixon. Our whole family tip-toed around the subject…but I could tell there were powerful feelings just under everybody’s skin.  He was a horrible pariah.  The black sheep of the family.

We kept him straight-jacketed in one of the padded cells in the catacombs below our cabin.  He was never allowed out in the light of day (lest one of the neighbors spot him), only after midnight on stormy nights and always tightly chained, gagged and bound in one of those psycho metal hockey mask get-ups.  He got wheeled around in a steel cage on a hand truck under constant, heavily armed guard.

As if that wasn’t bad enough…Uncle Dixon was never allowed to go wilding with the rest of the family, never allowed to invade homes, to rape and burn and shoot folks in the face with shotguns or dismember them with his best machete before skinning and roasting them on the Bar-B-Que for the family feast…..how sad and dull.

I felt bad for him.  What possible meaning could his life have?  I always wondered what awful thing he could have done to deserve such treatment – until I overheard Pappa Ripper telling old cousin Head-Stomper that Dixon was a pacifist, an atheist and… a vegetarian (whatever that was).  He also said that he had NEVER murdered a baby in his whole life – actually refused to do it!!!  Eeeeew!  What a Freak!?!

***Every family has at least one crazy relative that makes Thanksgiving an unforgettable event rivaling any ten episodes of The Jerry Springer Show….and worth 6 months of therapy.  I think my illustrator, John, serves that role in his family.  John’s illustration is from our book, ‘Bludgeon the Clown’, scheduled for publication in 2017.  -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!”

 

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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

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“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

 

Sammy the Clown

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Sammy the Clown thought he could fly                                                              so he threw himself  off the roof                                                                           and flapped his arms for eighty-nine floors                                                 ‘fore he realized his tragic goof.

***Even if Uncle Sammy here is only an inch or two off the ground he’ll still make a painful, messy landing.  There isn’t much more to say about American politics today…except that we do real Clowns a disservice by associating them with politicians.  It taints their integrity and sense of decency.  This is a page from our new book, ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks’.  You can find it at;  www.sallemander.com  -Marsha

Primal Urge

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I love brains!…LOVE them.  Can’t remember why I ever ate anything else…ever.  I vaguely remember being bitten, I think there were six of them.  They ripped out my stomach and organs as I turned…..then I joined in…and I tasted pretty good – but not as good as brains.

I don’t talk much any more, nobody in my group does.  It’s okay, I never was much of a conversationalist…and most folks seem too afraid of me to chat, anyway.  They run away screaming a lot or try to stab me in the head with sharp stuff… I never liked most people that much, so it doesn’t really hurt my feelings.  Their brains, though…ooooooohhh, nice!  Better than goose liver pâté and double fudge brownies.

I saw my own reflection yesterday, I’m looking pretty rugged.  I’ve really slimmed down without my guts…finally lost that extra thirty pounds.  And my skin, well…a mottled blue-ish grey with black streaks – reminds me of camouflage, my favorite color.  But oooooohh, the brains…did I tell you how good those are?  I highly recommend them.  Ooooooom!  Ughhh!!  Brains!!!  I love the brains.  Ummmmmm…I can’t remember why I ever ate anything else…ever.  I vaguely remember being bitten, I think there were six of them.  They ripped out my stomach……

***I’m obligated (by John, my illustrator) to mention that the image for this post is an “unrevised original rough sketch” and below his normal standard of quality.  I actually LIKE this one…but its also a crap-load of fun watching John have an OCD hissy-bitch fit over his stupid etchings.  I’m a big fan of zombies, even the bad ones are beautiful.  -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

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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 

Labyrinth

Labyrinth-28      His dreams were frantic.  She was always just-out-of-reach and each time he caught a glimpse, she was further away than before as he chased her through the labyrinth of his anxiety.  He KNEW he was only dreaming…  he KNEW she lay right next to him, asleep…but he could neither escape any more than catch up to her.  And as his heart broke apart and crumbled to pieces for the one he had loved unconditionally, he realized that these pathetic dreams were better than his reality.  This was all he had left, so he relished in the chase each night…..for just one more night…and tried to remember all the good things they’d had for a few precious moments more…before she faded completely, leaving him alone in the labyrinth.

***Our poor friend Balthazar lost his cat recently…well, she’s not missing – we’re not out searching or anything – I mean, he had a falling out with his precious Miss Fuzzy Britches a few weeks ago and hasn’t been able to patch things up.  I wrote this little piece for them…though I don’t hold out much hope.  Meanwhile, Our new book is out.  Its beautiful and awful and available by following the link at the top/right to our site;  www.sallemander.com .  -Marsha

Blue-ish Freaks

Blue-ish-cover-27 ***Our new book is finally out and available for sale at; www.sallemander.com (just use the link at the upper right).  Its also been a while since we posted a decent (horrible) Clown poem, so…  -Marsha

Blue-ish the Clown was a dangerous Freak,                                                  not just because of his looks, so to speak;                                                   True, both his legs were mismatched and lame                                           but neither were both of his arms quite the same.                                      So he scuttled about on his one giant hand                                               which dwarfed his oversized skull, understand?                                       Those weren’t the things, though, that made him a prick.               There was something much deeper and darker and sick.                    See, Blue-ish was closeted, Christian and white                                       from the Neo-con, fascist corporate right.                                                 Need I say anything more tonight?