Tag Archives: poetry

Now That He’s Dead…

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Now that he’s dead we can mess with his shit.                                             We can dance really loud. We can holler and spit.

We can carry him ’round. We can make him look silly,                     dressing him up in girly-girl frilly.

We can poke out his eyes, We can cut off his nose,                              twist-off and break all his fingers and toes.

Now that he’s dead we can draw on his skin.                                                We can give him a Clown face – a big stupid grin.

We can hang him outside for the vultures and beetles,                          can shave his whole head and poke it with needles.

We can stuff him or shred him or chop him in chunks,                          then cook him and feed him to hobos and drunks.

Now that he’s dead he’s starting to rot.                                                   Should we bury him now…or not?

But where is the joy? Where’s all the whimsy?                                   There’s plenty to do while the corpse is still flimsy.

And when he goes stiff and gives off a smell,                                              we’ll set him on fire and send him to hell.

He can’t hurt us now. It’s over and done,                                                           so now that he’s dead…..let’s have FUN!!

***No one is in mourning – not really.  No decent, intelligent person is sorry he’s dead (but keep an eye on the ones who express their “regrets and condolences” for such a dangerous sociopath).  It will take generations to undo the damage he’s done to us all – IF we survive it.  And if you still believe anything they tell you officially, “he died in his sleep.”  The rest of us can only hope they’re lying as usual. Although, assassinating someone (even if we think they deserve it) is still illegal…at least it WAS illegal (before HE came along).  -Marsha

Fudge

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There once was a Clown named Fudge,                                                     whose bowels refused to budge.                                                                       He’d sit and he’d sit                                                                                                         but just couldn’t shit,                                                                                                       not even a gob or a smudge.

***Fudge was the first ‘REAL’ Clown we ever interviewed who we regard with some affection as he exploded shortly after John sketched out this scene.  He turned out okay but destroyed a strip mall along with 27 cars and pasted us all in fudge…we laughed…..and laughed…  -Marsha

 

First Post…ever.

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Spindle the Clown was really old, so he went to Miami for rest          but drank more vodka than he could hold and collapsed with a pain in his chest.

He died that night in his hotel suit but not before fouling his shorts and hurling his lunch from his chest to his feet in retching, heaving, snorts.

Nobody knew he was there, by chance, having very few friends, to be sure, and his room was paid for the month in advance with “DO NOT DISTURB!”on the door.

So his body sat in the heat to bloat and his organs turned to soup and flies laid eggs in his nose and throat and beetles infested his poop.

Rats and roaches came up through the shower, the odors were pungent and fresh and feasted on Spindle for 93 hours, stripping his bones of flesh.

When housekeeping finally entered the room, hardly a crumb remained. Spindle the Clown was completely gone, except for his creepy brain.

 

Hello, I’m Marsha and this is our blog.  I do all the writing and John does all the art (but I’m in charge).  We’re working on several (Graphic Novel) book projects – the first, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks” will be out soon.

     We met Spindle the Clown a few years ago while researching death rituals among the Clown species.  We spent a week  documenting his demise – only to witness him defy death in the end.  Sadly, his brain grew up to be a corporate banker…..tragic.  John insisted that we use this image for our first post for some strange symbolism that only idiotic artists understand.  Whatever!