Tag Archives: humor

Jar Heads

***This is the NEW red-rough sketch for “Jar Heads.”  The old one sucked.  Final art for this will be a page in our new book, “Body-Oddies,” which will be finished soon (in the next few months).  This was one of those lucky shots – done in one try – sitting in the back yard shade during quarantine almost a week ago.  There’s no short story to go with this one (yet), and Body-Oddies is meant to be an ‘Art Book’ anyway.  Meanwhile, you can find our first four illustrated books at etsy.com (search EEWbooks).   -Marsha



GODIVA  (book excerpt, page 64)

Saggy Bottom, West Virginia.  The most important thing about this image of Godiva the Clown is that she is not just your average tattooed chick on a raging purple horse…..what you see is all Godiva, horse and all.  I was already impressed with her before I realized… well, just how dynamic her lady parts were.  But WOW!!!

Back in the day, between the oil wars and the water wars – before crazy fascists started hunting clowns and anarchists and Indians (again) for their skins – it was hard to go half a block without running across another painted, naked wench on a hybrid psychedelic farm animal.  It was high fashion for a while.  It was even worse out west with winged warthogs and angry caterpillar chicks trophy hunting for penis.  Aaaahh…..can’t wait ’till those were the good old days.

***The image above is the original red rough sketch for the illustration on page 65 of “Bludgeon the Clown.”  I have never posted the final image.  If you want to see it, you’ll have to buy the book.  I reserve the BEST art for paying customers.  Find it and buy it at www.sallemander.com or search EEWbooks at etsy.com.   -Marsha  

Bludgeon the Clown


***These are the original rough sketches for the cover of our 3rd book, “Bludgeon the Clown,” a fully illustrated graphic field guide exposing the grizzly details of our current worldwide clown conspiracy. The material in this book could irrevocably alter life as we know it (for the better), unless we’re really careful.  Written by Marsha Mellow (with over 100 illustrations by John Allemand), it is 100 pages of candy-coated, yummy, clown-infected goodness (with nuts).  Find it and buy it at www.sallemander.com or search EEWbooks at etsy.com.   -Marsha




I was in no particular hurry at 7:15 on a Saturday morning.  I was driving north on Interstate 295 at about 70 mph. and there was hardly anyone on the roads.

I used the center lane.  It kept me out of the way of the odd car entering or exiting the highway on the right, and there was no reason to be in the passing lane on the left.  But even at that hour, the occasional knot of fancy, expensive cars came up like a swarm and flew past on either side as if I was standing still.  No problem.  It was no bother to me.  There was plenty of room for everyone to do their thing.  They could all crash and die, for all I cared, and I would simply steer around the mess and be on my way, unfazed.  I just never seemed to be in a hurry any more, and I couldn’t imagine that kind of stress ruling over me…or the lack of self control.

I saw the black Mercedes approaching in my rear-view from two miles back.  A minute later it was right behind me, center lane, barely a car length away.  There was no one else on the highway.  There was an empty lane on either side of us as I just explained…and there he stayed.  This tailgating assmonkey with a bloated sense of entitlement, decided to try to bully me out of his lane rather than use his signal and steer around.  He pulled right up to my bumper, flashing his high-beams and honking.  I could see him  shaking his fist and hollering something which looked like, “Let the fudge outta my brain!”  Weird.

Oooooh, the seething madness that consumed his face and filled his luxury cockpit with vitriolic bile, the angry expletives bellowed, the spittle sprayed at the indignity I caused him to suffer by obstructing him, in HIS lane, at a measly five miles over the speed limit…and to watch it increase as I smiled and calmly took my foot off the gas petal, slowing down to 65…was priceless.

The sheer hugeness in the way his rage increased at that moment made me laugh out loud.  By the time I’d slowed to 58, he literally seemed to expand, turn beat-red and blow white steam out of his ears, and just as I reached the minimum, at 40, he popped.

I saw his windows suddenly pasted with gooey chunks of reddish bits,  teeth and slabs of fatty flesh (though, no brains).  His car veered off, crossing the left lane and slammed into the concrete barrier dividing the north and southbound lanes, exploding in spectacular fiery carnage.  Mangled pieces littered the grassy median and black smoke rose 400 feet into the sky…..which NOBODY actually saw.  None of it inconvenienced anyone.  No lanes were closed, no traffic jam formed, nobody was the least bit bothered…because there was nobody else on the friggin’ road!  And no reason for that assmonkey to have tailgated me.

With a carefree smile, I slowly brought my speed back up to 70 and turned the volume up to eleven as “Dead and Lovely” by Tom Waits played on the radio.

*** Where I come from, Assmonkey is the name we use for tailgaters, people with no self control who drive their cars close enough to your rear bumper to smell your last meal.  This red-rough sketch and short story draft are new for our 5th book, “Body-Oddies,” which we’re finishing up for publication early next year.  They will surely be revised and finished beyond recognition, so you should try to enjoy them while you can.  As it is, only a fraction (barely 13 percent) of the material from any of our books is ever released on social media, so you really should try to get the books.  Find all our stuff at our Etsy shop (search EEWbooks), or follow the links to www.sallemander.com, which will take you to our Etsy shop.   -Marsha 



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

Spare Rib


Ancient Christian texts claim that when God removed one of man’s ribs to make “woman,” he also yanked out the other, just to even things up…but not needing it for anything, tossed it into a dung heap.  This, according to Christians, is the key to the miracle of their existence.  That single bit of rib bone and ragged flesh flourished in God’s blessed poop, reforming as a gangly, festering, embryonic growth.  When it finally gained enough strength to scrape and scrabble into the light of the world (like a schloppity bubble of methane), it burst forth and immediately began juggling rancid chunks of excrement for God’s divine amusement “…and it was gooood…”  Apparently, early Christians were as loopy as our modern, bat-crap-crazy kind.

Ancient Babylonians were quite certain that the first clown hatched like an egg from the severed nut sack of a pregnant goat, caressed by the triple tongue of Ama-Arhus, goddess of fertility.  This theory has some merit, as I’ve observed and documented similar occurrences in this book.

Most American Natives agree that clowns came to the “New World” from Europe as a plague of sickly, pale ghouls in great smelly wooden canoes.  They say they were invited here by the legendary trickster “Coyote” as a prank…which backfired when he became an alcoholic and died of smallpox.

In all, I unearthed about 407 clown origin myths from the records of dead religions across the globe, some of whose sheepish followers still blindly believe…and continue to provide a rich source of entertainment to American popular culture (bless them).

The U.S. University of Clown Knowledge (U.S.U.C.K.), in Waldo, Maine, are the government contractors who track and monitor clown activity throughout North America (they are also the esteemed fact-checkers for this book) and are the ones who ultimately revealed the truth.  They discovered that early clowns (about 7 billion years ago) made a significant evolutionary choice which divided them forever;  A majority of clowns decided to fully integrate with the most dynamic and intelligent race on Earth…and live out their lives in contented, peaceful bliss.  The remaining minority chose to merge with primitive humans…..who by now, have managed to hunt their brethren, the whales, to the brink of extinction.

These days, there are clowns so integrated into our society, they no longer realize they’re clowns…and their subversive influence is incalculable.  The fate of the world, it would seem, now rests in the hands of the sort of delightful fellows featured in this book.

After all my intense research on the history of clowns (an entire Saturday afternoon…wasted) a couple of things stand out.  First, people think clowns are creepy (surprise!!), and second, nobody gives a squirt about history.  As long as clowns distract the kids, folks will overlook just about anything.  Not even the telltale stench of rancid armpits and boozy puke breath – or a police rap sheet of armed robbery and indecent exposure – will put people off these days.  And here they remain, hidden in plain sight…waiting.

***This post is NOT from our latest book, “A Short Burst.”  It is an excerpt from our third book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  While the image makes me want to puke (John loves it of course), it is the most exhaustively researched article on the true history of clowns ever written.  True, it’s kinda short, but piss off!  It’s all we REALLY know about the clown species.  You can find “Bludgeon” and all our books and stuff by following the link above to www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha 

Orbital Fracture

“Well, that was pretty weird…” Quinn’s dad said, as they strolled out of the hospital emergency room toward the car.  Quinn nodded in solemn agreement.  His brain rattled a little, still full of purple marbles and tapioca.  He winced as his now full blown concussion sent steam whistling from his ears and left a trail of silly string on the asphalt.

Just a few hours earlier, Quinn, the goalkeeper for his club soccer team, came out of his box low and fast, to intercept a couple of players desperately sparring for the ball.  He dove in, punching it away as one of the players aimed a kick…but instead of connecting with the ball, his foot caught Quinn in the face like a grizzly car crash (an all-too-common goalie accident).

Quinn’s jaw spun away with a funny “vip-vip-vip!” and hit a light post, exploding in a shower  of sparks.  His teeth peppered everyone within fifty yards…but his head flew straight up in the air at such velocity that we lost sight of it shortly before his “AAAAAAAAAAAH!” diminished into the night.  What a mess!

Willy the Astronaut was a clumsy buffoon who, for the second time this month, slipped and splashed into the molding tank at the polar ice mine on the surface of Mars…as it’s contents began to freeze.  His heavily insulated vac-suit protected him from harm, but he wasn’t discovered until the 60 ton cylinder of ice had already been rocket-lifted up to the orbital processing plant, where it would be transformed into liquid oxygen rocket fuel.

Willy’s coworkers labored fruitlessly for eight frustrating hours with a laser drill to free him, without luck…..until Willy noticed Quinn’s gnarly, high velocity head glance off the ice and careen away, still hollering, “Aaaaaaaaaah!”  Quinn’s head must have hit a sweet spot in the ice, just so, because it fractured the cylinder neatly, allowing Willy to escape unharmed and without a costly, shattered mess for the mining company.  Willy never mentioned Quinn’s head to his employers, he was a known buffoon and his credibility was already compromised.

As to Quinn; his dad managed to gather up all his bits and parts and take him to the hospital, where the clever use of duct tape and super glue had him back on his feet in a few short hours.  We figure his wild story about ice mining on Mars was probably just a symptom of his concussion.

“Well, that was pretty weird…..”

***This is a totally true story from our new book, “A Short Burst” which you can buy at our ETSY shop – just search EEWbooks or follow the etsy links on our website.  -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


Jack the Clown

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 ‘195th post’…and every195 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 John’s notes and reworked it to put his own 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 ‘195th post’ celebration…  -Marsha

*P.S.  The only problem with Venus’ limerick (besides being disgusting) is that you have to mispronounce Iraq like a typical American (eye-rack), for the rhyme to work properly.  Find our books, buy them all at www.sallemander.com or search EEWbooks at etsy.com.   -M 

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back


Milton was an odd fellow. Everybody thought so. He had wild ideas about everything from politics to gardening. He thought animals would be healthier if we didn’t butcher them. He thought terrorism was a bad way to fight terrorism and had, daily, heated arguments about transference with the wooden Indian outside the smoke shop….very odd.

He painted a creepy clown face with purple polka-dots on his van (even though he can’t drive). He muttered bizarre things to ladies as he passed them in the streets, like: “Have a nice day!” and “Love your head scarf!!” – it was horrifying. Last week he predicted the world would end two years ago and hung unauthorized presidential campaign posters for ‘asparagus’ and ‘enchiladas’ (even though they were probably better candidates)…and every time he ate pickled anchovy sandwiches with mayo and peanut butter, his breath still smelled like beef jerky…..Huh!

For all this and much more, Milton was the subject of intense gossip all over town. He often made the front page of the local Gazette and people got into fist fights over the consistency of his guacamole. To some, he was a nuisance, to others a local folk hero – and to others still, a tourist attraction.

Well, that was all good and fine for most folks…but for me, seeing him stroll about with three fully grown legs – one facing front and two facing back, was truly a marvel…..and wow, what a snazzy dancer!

***This is a sketch and flash fiction piece for my “Body-Oddies” book project, which is well underway and on schedule for publication in 2020 (that is, if John can get his lazy ass in gear and finish the illustrations).  The publisher is really excited with the whole project.  You can buy our first 3 books by following the links to www.sallemander.com or go to EEWbooks at Etsy.com.    -Marsha Mellow