Tag Archives: clown

Clowns, Freaks, Political

Skipper the Clown

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Business was going downhill fast

for a middle-aged clown named Skipper.

Until he applied at the local church,

who gave him a job as a stripper.

Now he has work almost every night,

’till well past three or four.

The fellas are sweet and tip really well,

but his ass is constantly sore.

NOTE: WordPress has found a way to prohibit me and other poets from posting my 8 line poem in the format I’ve used here for the last six-plus years. It will only post as a paragraph. They probably removed the feature so they can monetize it…’cause poets are sooooo rich. Well, FUCK you WordPress! Fuck your WordPress algorithm too! I hope you both die in a fiery fuckin’ plane crash! I’m tired of greedy incompetent fuckwads fuckin’ up basic shit.

***Tuesday is John’s 114th happy birthday! Write him a fuckin’ Happy Birthday message!!! But whatever you do, don’t tell facebook that February 9th is NOT his real birthday. It’s actually Feb. 31st…there’s just a problem with their stupid algorithm! (It has no sense of humor), but that’s what you get when you’re ruled by robots. We’re all doomed…have a nice day. -Marsha

Clowns, Freaks

Jack

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I once met a clown named Jack, who shoved a grenade up his crack. They recovered his penis halfway to Venus and both of his balls in Iraq.

***Today we celebrate our ‘279th post’…and every 279 posts we publish the most offensive dick-n-balls, exploding clown limerick we can find.  This one comes to us from Venus the Clown (a major contributor to our new book “Bludgeon the Clown”).  John (the artist) claims Venus lifted it from his notes and reworked it to put his name in it.  He says he heard it a decade ago from an old friend, Robert Kopecky, when they worked on ‘Codename: Kids Next Door’ together.  I think John just hates my good friend Venus and likes to ruin my ‘279th post’ celebration. Fuck you, John!  -Marsha

*P.S.  The only problem with the Venus’ limerick (besides being disgusting) is that you have to mispronounce Iraq, like an ignorant American (eye-rack), for the rhyme to work properly. 

Clowns

Jiggy the Clown

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Jiggy the Clown-68Jiggy the Clown was spotted one day                                                                  tasting forbidden fruit,                                                                                               dancing around wearing nothing at all                                                                except for a business suit.                                                                                           They raided his place and chased him down                                                  ’till Jiggy was out of breath,                                                                                        then bound and twisted his guilt and shame                                                 and hanged poor Jiggy to death. 

***Hooray!  Its inauguration week.  We’ll soon swear in the next worst president…ever.  I don’t need to be cynical, its not as if this hasn’t been percolating now for decades.  Anybody who takes an honest look at history will tell you (if you can stand to listen).  The real question is: What are you going to do now?  -Marsha 

Clowns

Anarchist

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Anarchist-41

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

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Handyman

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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 sanity.

***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) and it lead to a new book project called “Body-Oddies” (which won’t be done for at least a year).  -Marsha

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Fudge

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Fudge-image-05a

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

 

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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!