Playing with Washington’s Nipple

by Jon Mullich on July 18, 2014

The official poster for

Eclect-a-Fest, a series of one-act plays performing at the Eclectic Company Theater in which I am the main attraction, starring as a bisexual Thomas Jefferson in the featured event of the evening, Three Really Offensive Scenes About the Founding Fathers. The three-actor play (in which I am supported by Kerr Lordygan as John Adams and Paul Messinger as George Washington) depicts some hitherto unknown details about the writing of the Declaration of Independence. To give you an idea of what director Tom Ashworth is wasting my epic talents on, during a break in the rehearsal I found myself writing the following stage direction in my script: “Play with Washington’s nipple.” I have been acting, off and on, for about forty years now, but until I hooked up with Ashworth & Company, I never expected to find myself writing the stage direction “Play with Washington’s nipple,” least of all when the nipple is attached to Mr. Messinger (a former Olympic swimmer whose nipples have gone through so much plumpage and shrinkage from getting in and out of swimming pools that they can stand just about anything.) Performances are July 31 through September 7 on Thursdays and Saturdays at 8:00. At least that’s when Three Really Offensive Scenes about the Founding Fathers plays; there are other one-acts being performed on Fridays and Sundays. I can’t vouch for those shows because I haven’t seen them yet and I don’t know which historical figures are having their nipples played with.

More about Eclect-a-Fest can be found here.

The ladies of
“Professor Morlock”

Robin Greenspan. I finally overcame my obsession with creating movie posters and scenes images of the fictional Professor Morlock horror film series and finished with a bang, making images of plastic model kits of series characters Amanda Globe (Amy Ball), Janet Lawton (Mara Marini) and the sexy zombie Priscilla (Ms. Greenspan). The most popular model was Priscilla, I suspect because the box depicted the character naked as a jaybird (an undead jaybird, anyway) whereas the other characters were demurely clothed in proper science fiction attire that showed just enough skin to get a PG-13 rating). Ms. Greenspan was so girlishly nonplussed at the site of her head digitally placed atop a painting of a naked green woman that she exclaimed “OMG I’m blushing!!” But her life partner Lacie had a different view and instructed Ms. Greenspan to “”Print it! We’re framing that!!!” Despite the affront to her maiden-like modesty, she dutifully followed Lacie’s instruction and now the picture of her as a buck naked emerald-colored zombie greets her as she enters her living room. It’s not easy being green.

The entire Professor Morlock saga including posters, scenes from the movies and merchandise can be found at (Yes, I bought the web domain Don’t judge me; I’ve lived a sad and lonely life).

Click to enlarge

Enemies List favorite Mara Marini. Wednesday was Fresh Spinach Day in the United States and so I made one of my typically delightful illustrations of myself as Popeye holding the cruciferous vegetable of the day. This prompted one of my hangers-on to challenge me to find a beloved cartoon character associated with parsnips. A trip to my archives produced nothing but I don’t like to come back empty-handed since the followers of this blog all have large hand gun collections. I therefore created a cartoon character superhero called Fabulous Girl whose arch enemy is an super genius named The Evil Bastard Parsnip, and since I am always looking for new ways to suck up to Ms. Marini, I cast her in the role of the root-battling heroine. To make it easy, I made myself the parsnip and simply had the storyline of the comic follow our real-life relationship. Fabulous Girl’s super powers are a magnetic personality and stellar beauty which the parsnip will do anything to possess, so he pulls countless moronic stunts to try and get her attention all of which are repelled by her throwing an enchanted emoticon at him which stops him in his tracks because he realizes instantly that he’ll never get any farther than that. At the end of every story, the parsnip crawls off to dies of a broken heart while Fabulous Girl regenerates her powers by curling up with a piece of beefsteak. It’s is a timeless narrative that anyone who has ever crossed the threshold of a comic book store can relate to.

Click to enlarge

Erica Scott. Wednesday was officially Fresh Spinach Day so to comemorate it I cranked out an illustration that was kind of cute, with me as Popeye and my beloved pug Winston as Popeye’s dog getting ready to chow down on some colon-healthy greenery. Ms. Scott is a proofreader by profession, which means that she gets paid to condescendingly point out other people’s mistakes. So it was a matter of professional ethics that she felt compelled to respond “So if it’s fresh spinach day, what’s with the canned spinach?” There’s nothing more enjoyable for me than doing something artistically creative simply for the fun of anyone who wants to take a peek at it and be immediately slapped down for making a minor miscue in my labors. But Ms. Scott made a fair point; the holiday is explicitly celebrates “fresh” spinach whereas the raspy-voiced mariner with the deformed forearms favors the preserved variety. To make it up to her, I’m going to propose that her birthday of September 22 be recognized as National Hemorrhoid Day. It seems the perfect time to recognize a throbbing pain in the ass.

Ms. LaRue's improved rack
Click to see the complete image

My nemesis Misty LaRue. It was David Hasselhoff’s birthday yesterday and to celebrate I made a delightful image of Mr. Hasselhoff, myself, and my friends Amy Ball, Mara Marini and Ms. LaRue standing out a beach together decked out in full Baywatch garb. Everyone was delighted with the illustration save Ms. LaRue, who yentaed “I’m very conflicted with this one… you’ve given me a thigh gap – something I have never had or could have (short, Slavic peasant legs)- on the other hand, I have no breasts…I think I’ll opt to skip the gap and keep my breasts thankyouverymuch…” While I have always admired Ms. LaRue’s rack from afar (it’s one of her few positive qualities) I didn’t give it much thought while I was making the picture; I just plopped her head on top of Alexandra Paul’s admittedly lean frame for a giggle. But the rule is that anyone who is Photoshopped into a Jonny illustration gets a body they’re happy with, so I’ve redone the image to give Ms. LaRue both the thigh gap she’s always wanted and the massive boobs that allowed her to support herself through college by selling tittie fucks in the alley behind Seven-11. What God could have accomplished if only he had Photoshop.



The Return of Professor Morlock

by Jon Mullich on July 11, 2014

The Professor Morlock lunchbox

I continued my obsession with the fictional Professor Morlock series of horror films by creating a catalogue of Morlock merchandising products, including trading cards, lunchboxes, and even a Professor Morlock board game. What annoys me about the merchandise is that that there are four principal characters in the Morlock series: the unspeakably evil professor (depicted by Jesse Merlin); ace investigative reporter Janet Lawton (as embodied by Enemies List favorite Mara Marini), a woman with a penchant for getting tied up in only her underwear; Amanda Globe (Amy Ball), a former nurse at the insane asylum that Morlock was confined to who was later enslaved by him and went on to develop super powers after living on an alien planet; and Jack Mannix (portrayed by myself), a no-nonsense cop who is Miss Lawton’s love interest who serves as a dues ex machina by busting in on Morlock’s nefarious schemes at the last minute and blows him back to hell.

The Professor Morlock bobblehead vs. the Jack Mannix bobblehead:
you decide

What annoys me about all this is that while the Morlock crap depicting the professor, Janet Lawton, and Amanda Globe are all met with responses of “I wish that was real so I could get one,” the Jack Mannix memorabilia bearing my classic features is met with a resounding yawn. Even a Morlock set of trading cards that featured all the characters got more reaction from a Winston the Wonder Pug card that was included than the one of me as Mannix. But I am nobody’s fool and I’m well aware of what you cretins are hungry for, so the next Morlock item that is being rolled out is a series of Morlock bobbleheads. Sex sells so while the other characters will be depicted in their iconic costumes, the Mannix bobblehead will be buck naked. It might put me at an unfair advantage, but when you’re competing against a thousand year-old mad scientist who rises from hell on a regular basis, you need all the help you can get.

The complete catalogue of Professor Morlock merchandising product can be seen here.

The Professor Morlock model kit from Aurora

The Professor Morlock model kit from Aurora

[click to continue…]

Professor Morlock

by Jon Mullich on July 4, 2014

A publicity still from “The House of Professor Morlock”

Professor Morlock. I wasted my entire weekend creating a collection of movie posters depicting the rise and fall of a series of horror flicks that told the story of a thousand year old insane scientist who had a penchant for transplanting the brains of gorillas into sexy young women and who ended every film being killed and sent back to hell. Depending on the entry’s budget, he was pursued by ace investigative reporter Janet Lawton (played by superstar Mara Marini, whose monumental salary and costly entourage meant that she only appeared in the most expensive movies), who was always suffering being tied up while wearing lingerie and for a couple of the movies was the victim of a nymphomaniac curse that forced her to perform unimaginable sexual perversions on her love interest, no-nonsense cop Jack Mannix (portrayed by myself, thank God). Morlock’s perpetual victim was former insane asylum nurse Amanda Globe (played by Amy Ball), who turned the table on the professor during the course of the movies when she traveled to a foreign planet and acquired super powers which allowed her to return to earth and do battle with her tormentor. The other recurring character was Morlock’s evil henchman Ruprecht , who was usually played by Tom Ashworth (who, because of a scandal over his addiction to reefer that derailed his career, was willing to work for a boxed lunch and deferred pay), although as the budget were raised in later entries they got better people than Ashworth like veteran character actors Steve Peterson and Robert DeNiro, or most desirably (in the case of Professor Morlock’s Daughter) nobody at all.

Jesse Merlin as
Professor Morlock

Holding it all together was Jesse Merlin as the villainous and supernatural Professor Morlock, the only actor to appear in all eight films (although his appearance in Professor Morlock’s Ghost was edited together from archival footage and outtakes from past entries after he refused to be in any more) who loathed the role because he considered it hack work and he couldn’t stand the other actors, especially me. Much like the victims of Morlock’s paranormal spells, I became obsessed with making these idiotic posters and for a few days could focus on nothing else. I created intricate back stories for each film and actor because I found their realities much more compelling than the one I am living in. I’m not sure why, because all of the characters biographies are based in fact: Ms. Marini really is an erotically white hot megastar, Ms. Ball really does have super powers, Mr. Merlin really can’t stand me, and Mr. Ashworth usually does work for a boxed lunch and deferred pay when he can get it. In fact, the only major difference I can find between the world of Professor Morlock and mine is that Ms. Marini has never performed a single unimaginable sexual perversion on me. But I go to the movies to get away from reality.

The entire Professor Morlock saga can be seen here. [click to continue…]

Pulp Fiction

by Jon Mullich on June 27, 2014

The rare “kerching” cover of
“What the Heart Wants...”

Enemies List favorite Mara Marini. I became obsessed with one of my delightful Photoshopping projects on Tuesday, this time creating cover artwork for faux pulp fiction dime novels depicting annoying hot chicks of my acquaintance like Amy Ball (Reefer Girl and Poker Night), Stephanie Fredricks (Devil Woman), Jeebus Burbano (Adam and Evil) and Harmony Sanchez (The Cougar) in steamy, film noir scenarios. Not surprisingly, Ms.Marini’s stunning visage showed up on the most covers, with titles like Crime of Passion (my personal favorite, in which her temptress offers to satisfy my vile lust for her on the condition that I bump off my beloved Pug Winston), Love Triangle (a perfectly plausible tale in which she and the equally gorgeous Paige Simon plot against each other to have me to herself) and for a change of pace, What the Heart Wants…, a romance novel in which I must choose between my pristine love for Ms. Marini and my savage lust for the gardener of my palatial estate (portrayed by Jonny Award winner Jesse Merlin). Ms. Marini was her typically giddy and encouraging self when I unveiled all the covers, until the last one when she pointed out an unfortunately-placed scarf around my neck and mocked “am I sucking on your ascot or trying to kiss you?” At first I was furious at my mistake in positioning the ascot so it looked like Ms. Marini was Hoovering it down her perfect esophagus, but then I realized that the plot made it totally logical. Here was a woman so deeply sexually frustrated by her lover’s distracted attention to another that she’s willing to try any perversion to win him back, including 18th century Kerchief Porn (the act of sucking on your partner’s kerchief, or “kerching” as it was known in the day, until he would pass out from asphyxiation in mid-climax). After all, when she has a rival as hot as Mr. Merlin to compete against, a girl’s got to be willing to go that extra mile to keep her man.

To see all of the Jonny Pulp fiction covers (including the one for What the Heart Wants… in which I fixed the ascot so that I don’t have to maintain that lame “kerching” gimmick), click here. [click to continue…]

The Mara Marini Action Playset

by Jon Mullich on June 20, 2014

What my coarser readers consider to be the real-life Mara Marini play toy

Enemies List favorite Mara Marini. I followed a proud tradition of Jonny’s Enemies List by creating the Mara Marini Action Playset, a children’s toy collection that includes a Mara Marini doll and such accessories as her little Chihuahua Monroe, a cell phone to take selfies with and a stack of restraining orders that force the Jonny Action Figure to stay at least 500 yards away from her at all times. The playset met with universal enthusiasm although the coarser males who make up my readership pointed out that the real-life Ms. Marini already is a kind of playset, assuming that one of them could fill her up with enough Cosmopolitans so that she couldn’t take in his Neanderthal appearance. What the unsightly troglodytes fall to grasp is that one of the accessories that makes up the Mara Marini Action Playset is an action figure of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, an example of just one of the muscular, square-jawed A-listers who vie to escort Ms. Marini to an ice cream social or Bible study class on any given Saturday night. I’ve already come to terms with the idea that I’ll never be able to compete for Ms. Marini’s affections on a real-life level, but I still have hopes that the Mara Marini doll may someday hook up with the Jonny Action Figure, whose tragically misshapen genitalia doesn’t look so bad next to The Rock Action Figure’s “not anatomically correct” silhouette. I just have to figure out some legal way of getting them closer than 500 yards from each other.

The Mara Marini Action Playset.
The Jonny Action Figure gazing longingly from the outside sold separately, to the relief of everyone.

[click to continue…]

A New Deputy in Town

by Jon Mullich on June 13, 2014


The Eclectic Company Theater, which is producing Eclect-a-Fest in August, an evening of one-act plays in which I am appearing. A requirement of engaging members of the Actors Equity Association (the professional stage actors’ union of which I am a member) to appear for you is that union members of the cast have to select an Equity Deputy who monitors the production for shenanigans not sanctioned by the AEA contract. The Eclectic Company Theater is a top-flight organization so it’s unlikely that the Deputy will be asked to intervene in any complaints against them, which means that the union’s duly-appointed representative will only have to concern himself with the occasional trouble-maker in the cast who loiters around the women’s dressing room with his iPhone camera or harasses the men in the company with tall tales of his sexual exploits with hotties like Scarlett Johansson and Anjelyne. The problem is that through some horrible administrative mistake, I was elected the Equity Deputy. And since all of the complaints submitted to the Equity Deputy on every production I’ve ever appeared in are about me, there might be just a hint of conflict of interest going on. Nonetheless, I vow to be fair-minded about any complaint about me that the cast comes to me with, and I promise to respond to it in swift fashion. They can find me camped out in the women’s dressing room with my iPhone camera. [click to continue…]

Sexual Activity

by Jon Mullich on June 6, 2014

Alan Keyes

Former Republication presidential hopeful and longtime loudmouthed buffoon Alan Keyes. My number 1 enemy of 2013 Jesse Merlin sent me an online article in which Mr. Keyes is quoted as writing that gay sex does not qualify as “sexual activity” because it is not between a man and a woman. He wrote “We call it sexual activity because it involves bodily organs and feelings associated with the activity for which the different sexes appear to exist. Yet, in the strict sense of the term, it is not sexual activity at all.” I was intrigued by Mr. Keyes’ statement and did my best to prove it in the context of one of my favorite erotic scenarios where I am enjoying a three-way with two hot chicks (preferably Mara Marini and either Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman or any of the three original Charlie’s Angels). According to Mr. Keyes, this can only be added as a notch to the cosmic Sexual Activity bedpost while the chicks are servicing me or I am servicing them. If the two women decide to break away from me (which they inevitably would) and concentrate on each other, what they are doing becomes an entirely different kind of activity altogether (Mr. Keyes didn’t specify what, but I guess it would be something akin to practicing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation where one of the young lady’s vaginas is standing in for a water-logged swimmer). What makes the scenario even more confusing is that (unless hell has frozen over or I’ve won the lottery) the three way is taking place in my head so that the only sexual contact is happening between my penis and my hand and/or plastic sex toy purchased specifically for the ritual, which apparently Mr. Keyes says doesn’t count either. It’s all too complicated for my feeble mind but it does seem clear that Mr. Keyes (whose only real purpose in making the statement is to classify gay people as second class citizens without actually having to come out and say it) has mandated that anyone who fucks an asshole can’t be counted as having enjoyed sexual activity. And that makes me sad, because it applies to every woman who’s ever had sex with Alan Keyes. [click to continue…]

Baby Momma

by Jon Mullich on May 30, 2014


Myself. A website called LA Bitter Lemons published an online article last week which describes a highly unpleasant dispute I had a few years back with a couple of fellows who I allowed to produce a piece of my writing which they later claimed that they owned the copyright to because … well, I never really did understand why they felt that way which is why it became an unpleasant dispute. I had no desire to unearth this long-forgotten nightmare were it not that I been contacted by a fellow writer with whom I share mutual acquaintances and who is currently going through his own battle with the same group in a situation that has some disturbingly similar buzz words, and he asked me to go public with my story. What I remember the most about the ordeal was how my mind snapped during the thick of it and how it was the only thing I wanted to talk about to anyone who came within half a mile of me. Everyone who encountered this insane version of me shared the same bemusement over why I was transforming into Captain Ahab over the fate of a script for a fun little 99-seat theatre production which would likely never see the light of day again. I guess, like most creative folks, I think of my work as my babies and I’m just as protective of the savagely deformed ones (anyone who has read my play The Lipstick Lesbian will have no wonder why it was never produced by anybody) as the ones people actually want to see. So when I felt like the county orphanage was trying to tear my babe from my nurturing tete, part of my brain exploded. I realize that because when working with the correspondent who wrote the article, I suddenly transformed into the same obsessive lunatic who was impossible for anyone to be around in that terrible Autumn of 2010. After the story went live, I wrote the writer “I have been carrying the bitterness of that experience for four years and maybe it’s time to get it out in the open so it can finally fly away.” And I suppose that ultimately letting your babies go is the whole point of creation in the first place. Everybody tells me that the lesson of my story is to always get a written contract before you start any work, but to me the biggest lesson was learning who I could rely on even when I was agonizing over something seemingly trivial that made me an impossible pain in the neck. Anyone who put up with me while I went through that excruciating tribulation – and they know who they are – has my undying gratitude for helping me through one of the most distressing periods of my life. And now that I’ve released my baby to fly free on her own, I’m going to try and be a sane man from now on. After all, this is going to save me a fortune in breast pumps. [click to continue…]

Doggy Diarrhea

by Jon Mullich on May 23, 2014

My nemesis Misty LaRue, who left town last weekend on a Goddess retreat; a strange ritual where she and a bunch of other desperate yentas gather in the woods near the 405 Freeway to don white chiffon robes and dance around a tree chanting while the head yenta tells them all how empowered they are as she processes their credit card payments. Any weekend Ms. LaRue spends outside of my realm of consciousness is a good one, but on this occasion I was asked to look after her manic hellhound Violet (a mixed breed that is a cross between a cocker spaniel, a three-toed sloth and a Tasmanian Devil). It’s always an adventure to have Violet spend a visit, especially on this occasion because when Ms. LaRue dropped the dog off, she informed me that Violet had a mild case of the runs. Unfortunately, what Ms. LaRue refers to as “the runs,” most competent medical professionals call “violent projectile diarrhea.” And (since the closest Violet comes to being housebroken is running madly through my rooms until in one way or another she breaks my house) by the time Violet’s Mommy came to pick her up, my formerly pristine shag carpeting looked like a swamp situated on the outskirts of Mordor. Far from apologizing, Ms. LaRue was still in full Goddess mode when she came to collect Violet and claimed that Violet’s Hershey Squirts contained the aura of Zeus’ wife Hera. I thought that was ironic because according to all the Greek myths I’ve read, she used to shit all over him too. [click to continue…]

The Meaning of Life

by Jon Mullich on May 15, 2014

The last picture ever taken of Jeanne Ellen Greene with her youngest son

Jeanne Ellen Greene, who passed away this morning at the age of 86. Jeanne’s death won’t be a blip on the radar to most of you; indeed it might not mean that much to me save for the fact that she was married for a time to a man named George Leonard Mullich and had three sons with him, one of whom was me. She was my Mom. You only get one of those in your life and she was mine, and everything that I’ve accomplished on this planet – for good and for bad – is due in large part to her. Jeanne faced more adversity than most (she was briefly placed in an orphanage when she was a child simply because her mother found the responsibility of being a parent too overwhelming, and when she was an adult she would sometimes waken the house by crying out the name of her favorite sister who had committed suicide years before) and she lived her life by a complicated set of rules that often seemed to cast the world as an arena in which to do battle and the people in it as her opponents. She developed a fearless independence as a result and intrepidly traveled the world by herself, continuing her journeys well into her eighties. Like many mothers and sons, our relationship was a complex and frequently contentious one. Yet despite the tension that grew between us, the debt I owe her cannot be adequately set down in words. She gave me the gift of life, put food in my mouth and paid for my education. And even more than that, she gave me a master class about human interaction from her one-of-a-kind perspective; a few lessons of which I continue to hold dear to this day and many that I have spent my life in an earnest attempt to unlearn. When she finally departed this world, she did so without leaving a friend in it – which is exactly how she wanted it. That is an aspect of the education she gave me that I reject with all my heart yet it seemed to be the cornerstone of her personal philosophy. Being independent meant going it alone.

Perhaps the greatest lesson that she taught me came over the course of the past year, as her formerly granite-like body began to finally betray her and her unpredictable mind eagerly followed. Our interactions became infrequent as the dementia which bored through her brain became too painful for me to witness. But as her decline weighed on my mind, it occurred to me that she was teaching me one final thing, and it was nothing short of the Meaning of Life itself. It sounds simplistic – almost asinine – when set in black and white, but it is something that doesn’t become a reality for most of us until it has sneaked up on us from behind and forced us into a corner that we can’t escape from.

The Meaning of Life is simply this: that it ends. And it ends far more quickly than we are ever prepared for.

I didn’t believe in God before Jeanne’s death and I don’t believe in Him now. But I’ll let you in on a little secret: I hope that I’m wrong about that and as you’re reading this, Jehovah is opening the gates of heaven to her with trumpets blaring. I know that she’ll just cock a suspicious eye in His direction and wonder exactly what kind of con He’s trying to pull on her when He does. But it wouldn’t be Jeanne if she didn’t.

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. [click to continue…]