Tag Archives: weird

Open Mike

open-mike-63 Mike stood on stage in the spotlight…..terrified. But, something about it seemed to be working for him.  They probably found his trembling voice charming as he spoke sincerely about his life…his completely bizarre, absolutely strange, totally unlikely life…and the cynical way it came across.  The crowd laughed at the tragic death of his wife in a mundane laundry incident.  They howled at how the wind blew her ashes into everybody’s mouth at the funeral.   And the five-day-old lasagna in a broken fridge, causing a vivid conversation with Lucifer, left them in stitches.  Every word he spoke, every glib anecdote, felt like a hole being ripped open in his soul, allowing his demons to spill out – only to be consumed and obliterated in the laughter of the audience…and when it was over…Mike stood open and bloody and spent and…..completely relieved.  It was better than therapy, better than liquor or sex or CHOCOLATE.  And he walked off stage to a standing ovation feeling light as a feather.

***This post is an illustration from our ‘Body-Oddies’ book project and is available as an original art print at the Conventions and Book Fests we attend.  The book is not scheduled for publication until 2019.  You can, however, find our 3 current books at www.sallemander.com or search ‘EEW Books’ at Etsy.com and Amazon.com.  The holidays are coming.  They make a great gift.  -Marsha 

Fritz the Clown

fritz-the-clown-65There once was a clown named Fritz                                                                 with a festering face full of zits.                                                                               They filled up with goo                                                                                                  ’till they finally blew                                                                                                        in a fountain of putrefied bits.

This image and poem was published in our “Bludgeon the Clown” book, in the chapter on ‘procreation and birth’…yeah, it’s as fascinating as it is factual.  You need to read it.  John (my illustrator) and I finished our 3 year, Comic Con experiment in September.  We discovered that although they’re a lot of fun, they are a shit-show for anyone trying to sell or promote ORIGINAL concepts in art and publishing…if you aren’t trying to exploit somebody elses’ creative work.  They are a hive of bootleggers, thieves and hacks – and the knuckle-dragging fans who don’t give a shit what kind of crap they buy, as long as it has their batman or blue-haired anime chick in it.  You can find my original concept art and books and buy them at www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

Constant Craving

constant craving-13

“Constant gravy!?…did he say constant gravy?” but everyone was already busy writing and the professor’s response was garbled…but sure, constant gravy seemed right.  I was feeling pretty woozy since I cut myself shaving earlier and couldn’t make it stop bleeding.  It just gushed, thick and goopy…yeah, constant gravy…coool!

What began as a simple nick under my nose, got worse a few minutes later when blood started running down my cheek.  An hour later, it was dripping copiously.  In two hours it was a steady flow and by lunchtime I was squirting all over the place, soaking my clothes, the furniture and the walls and it was impossible to concentrate as the room kept spinning faster and faster…..

I must have spaced out for a while because when I woke, the stuff leaking out was no longer red.  Thankfully it was just cheese wizz leaking from the push nozzle on my head.  What?!…don’t you have a nozzle?…and what’s so weird about that?  Best of all, the harder I pumped the thicker it flowed…aaaaah, pretty…..

I must have spaced out for a while but was relieved to see that I wasn’t bleeding any more and it was actually gravy all along…and doesn’t everybody get their gravy from a cut on their face?  My gravy was really warm and rich, mmmmmmmm.  It was bluish green with vermillion streaks and had delightful lumps of darkish mauve.  Clear waxy bits of rice and corn changed into garbanzos and back.  There were gangly chunks of chicken and potatoes with a sprinkling of cayan pepper fins, oregano claws and ground curry scales.  Carrots, onions and celery swam serenely with a school of minced garlic on the aroma of steamed guacamole tails…oooooh!  I love a good stew with gravy, especially when I’m feeling so limp and cold…Just the thing to pick me up…..

I must have spaced out…what was I saying?…..

***This really happened.  It’s lucky that John got a good sketch of this guy at the writing workshop before things went sideways.  This post is an illustration from our BODY-ODDIES book, whose publication was just bumped to next year.  EEW Books decided to give John (the illustrator) more time to do a better quality job.  It’s a little weird, I never worked with a company who cared about quality or had any discernable integrity…  In the meantime, I am finishing up on an illustrated sci-fi/flash-fiction book, to be published first – this year.  You can find all of our current books at www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha

Handyman

handyman-image-06

Darryl woke up with that feeling again – impossible to describe but all too familiar at this point. He kept his eyes closed for a while longer, savoring the dream he was having about his old, normal life…before all the changes…before every morning became a horror show, wondering if he would find another growth.

He did his best to soothe his anxiety, tried to make lemonade out of the lemons that seemed to be smothering him.  After all, how could yet another, extra hand possibly be all that bad for a skilled craftsman who worked with his hands?  Each one seemed to have all his talent and strength.  His productivity tripled, he was making money hand-over-fist (no pun intended) and for the first time in his life, people found him “kinda” interesting…..

But…waking up every few days with another fully formed hand growing out of some empty patch of his flesh was really starting to effect his insanity.

***This was a tough image to pull out of John’s thick head, but with an iron skillet and a power drill I finally managed it (long story).  It comes from our new book project, “Body-Oddies,” now scheduled for publication in 2019.   -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!”

 

roddy-no-body-34

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.

***This image is featured in our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” which is available now, just follow the link above to www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

Lester the Jester

lester-the-Jester-29

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.”

***He must have eaten something funny.  This is from our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks.”  Buy the book.  It will transform your life.  Visit our website (find the link at the top of the page);  www.sallemander.com   -Marsha 

Jonny Bot 5

Jonny-bot--14

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.

***This is an image and poem from my new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” which you can buy if you follow the links, above, to my website www.sallemander.com.  When we met Jonny Bot 5 he was already retired from the department store and well beyond his bad marriage with the mannequin…but was now engaged in a sordid online sex thing with Siri the phone chick…it was…well, lets just say ‘I wish I could un-see some things.’  I think John got some good sketches of them during the interview but our publisher (EEW Books) censored them.   -Marsha

Peek-A-Boo

Ana-Aquaman-26

I had a good breath diving under…good for at least 3 minutes.  Fifty yards out from the dock, I angled down deep for about 35 feet.  It was exhilarating.  The fish were strange today. They weren’t acting right.  It was just my instinct but…they seemed to crowd me instead of scattering at my approach. Pensive.

Weeds were thick but I liked swimming through them, like parting curtains…..until I saw the eyes – big eyes – cunning eyes.  I stopped, dead.  Froze.  They were staring at me with unnerving intelligence and all the little fish began darting about frantically – and I nearly lost my breath.

Through the gloom, I began to make out the long, hulking form behind the eyes; Strange limbs, sharp fins, long feelers, fleshy lips with menacing barbs, monstrous teeth…..smiling at me?

Now I was afraid! In one swift motion my hand swept down to draw my knife from it’s ankle sheath – but lightning fast, the creature’s arm shot out from between the weeds and wrapped its long scaly fingers around my throat – my jaw – my entire skull.

I lost my air…and then, lost consciousness.

I woke up…breathing. I started to remember…..swimming through weeds – fish acting oddly – then the eyes…and a massive claw, engulfing my head.  And as it all went dark I thought I heard a sinister, gurgling “Peek-a-boo!”

I was inside now. It was stifling and smelled like cat food mixed with burning tires. I sat up in a lumpy soup of viscous bile and big bloody chunks of meat. My hands and face burned but my wet suit protected the rest of my skin. A sphincter opened behind me and sucked me out, like a dumpling in a steaming meat-soup, down a tube whose bulbous nodules bathed us in a spray of acid. It stripped the fur and skin from the meat and dissolved my hair along with a painful layer of exposed skin.

I dropped into a bony chamber in which long, razor sharp blades shredded the meat into hamburger (along with most of my wetsuit). I was quickly evacuated into another chamber which flooded with thousands of tiny, finger sized worms (with very sharp teeth), who consumed every speck of the remaining meat sludge before I alone, the squirming, inedible lump, was expelled once more, through slimy bowels, into a vat of solid waste.

This wondrous fleshy sack looked and smelled like the inside of a rotting, bloated elephant carcass.  Minutes passed, possibly hours, while a steady stream of sticky, gloppy gunk filled the space, until there was no more room.  I thought this must be the end. With goop filling my ears and covering my mouth, I took my last full breath of air (a three minute breath?) before black sludge covered and consumed me. One minute…two minutes…nearly three minutes passed before I felt a great shuddering shift, followed by a resounding (satisfied) grunt….and I was suddenly shot, like a torpedo, out into clean, cool lake water.

I surfaced near the shoreline, gasping for air. Although I emerged from the lake a raw, tattered and thoroughly disgruntled piece of fish poop…I was alive. It was, perhaps, not my greatest adventure but surely a ‘fantastic journey.’

 

***The only thing better than a giant fish swallowing a dude and crapping him back out is doing the same thing to a great old Asimov concept (like I just did here).  Aaaaah, fish poop!…one of the great mysteries of life.  The image was originally a cover John did for the May, 2011 issue of Analog Mag.    -Marsha

Primal Urge

Primal-urge-image-31

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 posted this to celebrate another amazing show this past weekend…my first of 2018, at the NJ Horror Con and Film Fest.  HOORAY!!!  It would have been perfect if I made any money…and if all the vendors weren’t illegally searched (without probable cause) and harassed by the NJ Dept. of Revenue – before any of us were allowed to enter the show.  It was all an intimidation/scare tactic for a bunch of pussy tax cops who had full access to a list of prepaid vendors long before the show opening.  And it was all facilitated by the convention’s organizers/owners.  It’s really not a matter of whether I participate in future shows with those people — it’s about whether I include them in the legal action that follows.  I no longer tolerate being bullied.  -Marsha

Drone

drone-image-07

Drone 1701j loved to fly.  I mean he LOVED it!  He loved it even before he knew how to think for himself – at least, he thought he did…..and what flying!!  Hoooooo boy!  The landscapes, the colors, the air currents above Afghanistan were simply extraordinary.

His pilot, Shane, liked to weave recklessly through the jagged river canyons of Kunar, pretending to be a ‘real’ fighter pilot (from the safety of his gaming console at Hancock airbase) but 1701j liked going supersonic over the steppes and lowlands of Kandahar and Helmond as well as aerobatics in the open skies at high altitude… always pushing the limits.

1701j was a hybrid jet-prototype.  Top secret and crammed with experimental interactive programming.  His CIA techies in Bagram (unsupervised morons) literally got his wires crossed, one morning, doing routine maintenance…..and he became aware…and he KNEW he loved to fly…but that’s also when the nightmares began.

They got worse with each mission and started creeping into his waking thoughts.  There was the hellfire missile strike that turned a funeral procession into a line of charred human stalagmites.  There was a strafing run that reduced two boys (and a herd of goats) to artistic spatter across a field of poppies…and those cluster bombs he dropped on a Swaat Valley village were still maiming the locals after 18 months.  Shane blew his brains out, mid-flight, a few days after that one.

His new pilot, Mitch, was too dull-witted to realize that 1701j was the one in control now.  He was the clever one who made sure that nobody knew that they NEVER hit their targets any more.  Nobody at command cared anyway.  It had no effect on the war.  Reports got falsified, commendations got awarded, contracts got  renewed…..aaaaah, but he got to FLY every day…and for every living creature he spared a horrible death from terrorism, the nightmares diminished…just a little.

***John’s ‘Drone’ image first appeared in the April 2013 issue of Analog Magazine for a story by Martin Shoemaker.  Strange…John seemed impressed with the sense of empathy I conveyed in the new story I did for it (whatever!), but also expressed some concern about turning this blog into a political site…..Honestly, I have no idea what the f#%k he’s talking about.  Artists are completely nuts!!!  -Marsha