Tag Archives: streetart

Complicit in his Own Death

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 hiccuping 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!

Meanwhile, finish your holiday shopping with a trip to our Etsy shop (just go there and search EEWbooks)…OR you can follow the links to our website – which will bring you straight to our Etsy shop any way.    -Marsha  

Cockeyed

Talking to a Cock

I guess I was a little drunk.  I was definitely over stimulated.  The boardwalk carnival at night was an intoxicating menagerie of sound and light, of beautiful bodies still in their skimpy beach-wear, smelling of sweat and suntan lotion, of sweet and salty junk food, deep-fried, slathered in cheese.  I wandered like a leaf on the breeze, my bare feet barely touching the wood.

The hawkers, luring people into sideshow attractions, were on fire tonight.  Business was booming at the Snake Boy house; patrons screamed in anguished pleasure.  The Winged Pigs, The Dragon Lady and Six Jesters Conjoined had long, eager lines waiting.  But the one which caught my eye was the only booth whose crier didn’t look like an ancient cigar-chomping sticky-pocketed circus clown with mirrored shoes.  SHE was a sultry middle-aged woman with curves and lumps and hair and eyes that melted my…bones.  It’s probably why I didn’t read the sign on the booth properly – or even care.  I just handed her my money and walked in.

There on the podium, in the center of a dark room with red satin curtains, stood a raging red COCK!

NO…I mean, it was a red rooster with bright flaming plumage.  The other people in the room sat on benches around the bird, enthralled.  I stood for a long moment, puzzled and awkward…until the cock looked over at me and said, “Take a seat there, Sparky, I’m just getting started,” in a voice that sounded remarkably like Noam Chomsky.

You know…I may have misheard the writing prompt today…What?  OH!!!  “Talking to a Cop”…Yeah, I don’t talk to cops.

***The image is “Cockeyed,” a Body-Oddy for our next book, “Body-Oddies.”  The story was recently published on page 58 of our latest book, “A Short Burst”…which you can find at our Etsy shop (search EEWbooks), or follow the links above to our site, which will bring you to our Etsy shop anyway.   -Marsha

Face Page

***”Face Page” is only a rough sketch.  It comes with no short story or clever rhyme.  It was designed to be the inside cover page for our new book, “Body-Oddies.”  John sat down in a lawn chair one warm Saturday afternoon and drew this as is, in one steady shot, without interruption or revision (something HE thinks we’re all supposed to be impressed with).  If you go to www.sallemander.com or to our Etsy shop (etsy.com) and search EEWbooks, you’ll find the final version of this image -in GREEN – used as banner art.  We also sell 11×14 prints of it at the comic cons, sci-fi cons and book festivals we attend.   -Marsha

Nose Hare

You’re welcome to pet him.  Just pet him, I say.                                       He’s never too sticky.  He’s really okay.

He’s just a wee hare, who lives up my nose.                                          SOME people aren’t very keen about those.

I don’t really know, I don’t really care,                                                           how he got in, or from where.

We’re best friends now.  BEST friends I said!                                            And if you don’t like it I’ll rip off your head.

So, go fuck yourself.  Fuck off, I say.                                                                  Just leave us alone.  GO AWAY!!!

Oh…oh my goodness.  You see that?  Wow!                                                   He WANTS you to pet him.  So, PET him…NOW!!!

***Another new one for our Body-Oddies book, which we’re finishing for publication early next year.   -Marsha

Baby Fat

This one is always hungry.                                                                                    That one’s ready to scream.                                                                                  This little one, below, with a rash                                                                            is allergic to diaper cream.                                                                                            I can’t get this one to sleep,                                                                                    but that ones usually sweet.                                                                            Either way, I can’t get a break.                                                                               I’m tired.  I’m hungry.  I’m beat.                                                          Sometimes they’re ALL in a tantrum,
or all have to vomit at once.                                                                                   I’ve got to get rid of this baby fat.                                                                            I don’t think I’ve slept in months.

***A rough sketch and poem for a new new illustrated book, “Body Oddies,” which  we’re finishing up for publication next year.  Find all four of our books and other stuff at our Etsy shop, just follow the links above to our site, www.sallemander.com, or search EEWbooks on Etsy .com.   -Marsha

It’s Not About You

It’s Not About You…

“It’s not about you…” she said in her best, most sincere tone, “Really.  You’re fine.  I’m really okay with it…it’s just that, I think…I’m in a different place in my life right now…”  She smiled, looking away, trying to remember some of her gentlest brush-offs.  A bead of sweat  began it’s descent down the back of her neck, even as frustration and indignation came up in her bile.

“Oh, to HELL with it!  I can’t do this!  Listen…you seemed like a nice, normal person and all but… JESUS effin’ CHRIST!!  Your dating profile NEVER said anything about THAT!!!  I mean, come ON!”  She pulled up her boot zipper, buttoned the top button of her blue jeans and grabbed her jacket off the floor as she made for the bedroom door. “You might have warned me at some point during dinner!”  She was really hollering now.  “Seriously?  I had to wait until we both undressed to find out about…..THAT?!?”  She slammed the door, making the whole room shudder, and with one final “AAAAUGHHH!!!!  FRIGGIN’ FREAK SHOW!!” she stomped away.

***This image, never posted before with this short story, was first published in the June 2008 issue of Analog Mag.  You can find it NOW in the pages of our NEW book, “A Short Burst,” by following the links to www.sallemander.com. or search EEWbooks at Etsy.com.   -Marsha

Badger

CLOWNS ARE REPULSIVE

Knob Noster, Missouri.  There is no doubt that Badger the Clown was an obnoxious, bile-inducing weenie.  That’s not an uncommon talent for a clown.  No, Badger’s unique gift was being repulsive.  I mean, he was impossible to touch – like trying to connect two positive-ended magnets.  No matter how big an object it was or how fast you threw, it veered away from him…uncanny!  He once stood stock still to let John smash a tomato on his head, point blank…and he still missed.  Badger laughed so hard he wet himself (but not a drop touched him).

***Taking another break from posting pages from our NEW book…to post one from our third book, “Bludgeon the Clown,” which is still quite brilliant and can be found, along with all three of our other books and stuff by following the link above to www.sallemander.com or go straight to our Etsy shop and search EEWbooks.   -Marsha

Twisted

Clown Juice is Pure and Potent.  (book excerpt)

Clowns are twisted, pressed, squeezed, milked and otherwise drained…regularly.  It’s how we get all the yummy juice out.

Pawtucket, RI.  When I first met Snazzy the Clown, I knew nothing about clown extracts.  He gamboled about pissing his juice everywhere, indiscriminately.  I had no idea how potent and valuable his goopy fluids could be…but when we met again two years later, he was all grown up and working for a major pharmaceutical company, squeezing powerful drugs out for erectile dysfunctional old softies.  I’m amazed at how many vital jobs clowns perform in our society.

***This image was originally commissioned fro the Oct/Nov 2005 cover of Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine.  Now it resides on page 29 of our third book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  You can find all 4 of our books and other stuff by followings the links above to www.sallemander.com or by searching EEWbooks at Etsy.com.   -Marsha

Zebulon the Wizard

Quite puzzled now, he scoured the pages of the old wizard’s tiny journal, searching for something that might explain why his cauldron had just opened, on it’s own, without the spoken enchantment…..he didn’t even notice the pistol pointing up into his face until the voice behind it said, “Give it back, boy!… Give it back NAOW!!!…Ya yella-bellied VARMINT!!”

He called himself Zebulon the Wizard, but his real name was Ralph…and he was a thief.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, he was a really good thief who came from a long line of renowned thieves.  There was no shame in it.  Thievery was a respectable occupation in the old country, which had carried over when his family emigrated here.  But like so many young people nowadays, Ralph found himself falling short of his forefathers’ success.

Old family connections no longer guaranteed respect and a spot on a crack team of cat burglars – or elicit seed money from the mob for a grand heist.  Even the intelligence community ( the biggest employer of thieves in the world) had marginalized new hires into dull college-educated analysts.  So, Ralph was relegated to common pick-pocketing on the street, just to pay the bills.

As it so often happens (in old TV shows), Ralph found the solution to all his problems…in church.  He could always find an easy mark among the rich overdressed hypocrites on a Sunday morning, but it wasn’t until the post-service meet and greet that he was able to lift a nice fat purse from the breast pocket of – none other than – the Holy Roman Cardinal: the biggest, richest muckety-muck of them all.  What a lucky break!!!

How disappointing to find, later, that it was nothing more than a dusty old, hand-written journal…in Latin (of all things).  Ugh!!  Ralph hated Latin!  The kids in school used to tease him for sounding like a drunk Ukrainian whenever he read it out loud.

But, on closer inspection, he discovered that the book was one of those rare mystical Vatican treasures, meant to be locked away and never, ever studied (lest it disprove the church’s fairy tales…or destroy the world).  Upon reading it – and understanding it – Ralph realized he’d hit the jackpot!

The book, written by the fictional wizard, Merlin, was an instruction manual for creating a stable quantum portal, i.e., a gateway allowing him to traverse enormous distances…even time itself.  Cooool!  And if Ralph’s understanding of Latin was better than he thought, his alchemy was even better.

It only took a few weeks to beg, barter, and steal all the exotic elements and artifacts he would need.  Some were quite rare and most still had archaic names like “saltpeter.”  Who knew potassium nitrate used to be called saltpeter?…or that the chemical makeup of modern gunpowder is totally different than the black powder developed around ninth century China?

As well, Ralph found that the key to the entire project was in the spoken enchantments.  Merlin’s overall recipe was pretty straight forward chemistry…but say the right Latin gibberish, in the right tone of voice (standing on one foot with a feather up your bum), and the common reaction you’d get combining bleach and ammonia might produce an adorable plaid bunny, instead of just…a cloud of poison chlorine gas.  There was, needless to say, a good deal of trial and error (and even more tedious research) involved.

In the end, Ralph built what he called a “time cauldron” and had only to decide what he wanted to steal, from whom…and when.  He hit the books again, compiling an elaborate list of fabulous lost treasures, along with their exact locations, on specific historic dates.  But when he activated the cauldron, he was not thinking (as he should have) of the Palace of Versailles, June 15th, 1811… he was thinking of his personal hero, the greatest thief in history.

The portal opened in Missouri, April 3rd, 1882, and he was staring at a rather stunned…Jesse James.  As quick as a thief (which he was), Ralph reached in and grabbed an elaborately decorated six-gun tucked into the front of James’ belt, then closed the time portal before his outraged hero could react.

“Jesse James!” he grinned.  “How cool was that!!!?”  He laughed, very pleased with himself.

Within a year, Ralph had a warehouse full of treasures from throughout history and changed his name to Zebulon.  He was surely (and literally) the greatest thief of all time, and having encountered his older self numerous times over the next fifty years, was sure he had a bright, healthy future…

…So it puzzled him even more to find his hero, Jesse James, waving an anxious six-gun in his face…through HIS own cauldron.  How the heck did this happen?  It was still April 3rd, 1882; shouldn’t he be dead by now?

Jesse poked Ralph in the nose with the barrel.  “I want ma gun back.  I want it naow…” he stopped to pull back the hammer (very menacing), “or I’ll blow yer dang head off, boy!”  He seemed pretty pissed off.

Ralph could have crapped a brick in his fancy wizard pantaloons trying to remember where he put that pistol.  But his sweeping gaze landed on a brilliant (desperate) solution.  “I might have something better…” he said as he handed Jesse James a brand new solar-powered fully automatic plasma laser assault rifle (with pump-action grenade launcher), which he will have lifted, five years from now, off an elite storm trooper of the fifth battalion of Grand Emperor Trump’s intrepid Space Force.

Well…Jesse was giddy as a June bug in sassafras underbritches – or some such Missouri thing…and with his solemn vow (as an honest thief) to destroy the weapon after today’s gunfight, Jesse James closed the portal, none the worse for wear.

Naturally, Ralph was pretty impressed with himself for his quick wit and elegant solution to the mess he’d made…and what could possibly go wrong with handing an advanced weapon of mass destruction from the year 2024, to a gunslinger from 1882 on his death day…?

***Well, this is one of the few really long stories in our new book, “A Short Burst,” it’s a whopping two pages.  It’s one of John’s favorites because it straddles the weird, squiggly border between sci-fi and fantasy.  The original image, published in the April, 2007 issue of Analog Magazine was used as the title page of ‘Burst’ (the one above is the revised version).  You can find all our books and stuff at our Etsy shop.  Etsy.com (search EEWbooks) or just follow the link on our website (which will also bring you to Etsy).  -Marsha    

A Car With Personality

“My seat smells like farts!”  she said, the minute I sat down in the cockpit.

“Oh please!” I said.  “Let’s not start that again, you’re almost seven years old…believe me, there are worse things your seat could smell of.”  I started the engine.

“My struts are almost shot!”  she chimed in…

“I know…” I said (patronizingly), “but your mechanic said they’ll be okay for a while longer.  Your struts are perfectly lovely for now,” as I adjusted the mirrors and flaps.

“Ooooh, I like my mechanic.  He has such goooood hands…” she cooed.

“Stop!!  That’s not something I need to hear.” I said.  “Ugh!  Why can’t I just have a NORMAL car like everybody else…one that LISTENS!?”

“Oh, you LOVE me,” she said.  “Besides, if you hadn’t listened to ME, you’d be broke AND divorced!”

“Yeah, instead of just BROKE!!!” I snapped.  She pouted for a bit…I felt bad…kinda.  “Let’s just go,” I said, quietly.  “We need a good time on this last qualifying run to get pole position.”

“I don’t like the way you take turn fourteen, and your angle on the following straight-away is too bumpy… hurts my struts.”

“Yeah, but it throws everybody off.  It’s our best passing opportunity before we get mired in all that switchback traffic before turn eighteen…..Don’t worry, I’ll take it easier this time.”

She was quiet for a few miles…then, “My seat still smells like farts…”

***Another image and story from our new book, “A Short Burst.”  I can’t express how pleased and proud we are with how well this project turned out.  It is a collection of illustrated flash science fiction scenes and stories, exactly as you find them here. You can buy the book on Etsy.com (search EEWbooks or use the link on our site).  This image was also made into one of the four 4x4in. stickers that come with each online book order.  -Marsha