April 26, 2008

Letter to God

Dear God,
Today Pinky saw that you had plans for him. In fact, he saw a sign that literally said you had plans for him. It was a bumper sticker on a dark blue Chevrolet Cavalier with a cloth top repaired with several yards of duct tape. The bumper sticker said: God has plans for you. Pinky was sure it was meant for him because of the duct tape (and the fact that God was talking about himself in the third person just like Pinky does). So, anyway, Pinky is waiting for the next sign. He is STOKED about this new plan! He hopes it still includes the zoo (hint hint). Maybe it's a total makeover! (A new trim Pinky with good hair would make a striking zoo keeper.) Awaiting your plans, Big Guy.

April 16, 2008

Zoo Keeper Pinky Moonlights as an Interior Decorator

He often borrows the animals to add impact to an otherwise bland room. In this case, the elephant was fed hay colored with pink food color so the poop would match the rug.

People Want to Know

When is Pinky Diablo's Drive-Through Possum Rehab and Sanctuary with Play Possum Park opening?

Guess Who Tastes Like Chicken?

April 9, 2008

What are People Saying About Pinky Diablo?

It’s correct to think of light as his subject, but when he was most ambitious light was a protagonist in an epic narrative of creation and destruction—an Anglo-Zoroastrian burnout.

The Diablo Ancestral Home

The pink window marks the spot of the unspeakable family tragedy of 1892.

Your Body is Like a Popsicle

Your flesh will melt one day from the bone.

April 8, 2008

So, What Exactly Does Pinky Do at the Zoo?

Pinky's Pink Promise

Complaints have been pouring in to Pinky's off-shore feline call center that Pinky has forgotten his pink heritage. To try to get his ratings back in the double digits, Pinky is promising to only use pink on his blog for at least one week. Enjoy the pinkness, complainers.

April 7, 2008

The Last Paragraph in Pinky's Latest Short Story

Suddenly the rain and thunder stopped. Dora tiptoed to the stove, which was now covered in grease and filth and stench, and looked into the pot. The grease was gone. Most of the okra was gone. But at the very bottom, against the side, was one perfectly fried piece of okra—delicately browned, crisp, but with a jeweled green shining through the cornmeal. Dora knew that soon her husband would return, followed by the Sumners with the citizens of the county in tow. Angry.Pock-marked. Maimed. Destroyed. In that one final moment of private regret, she popped into her mouth the most delicious fried morsel of okra she had ever tasted or tasted since.

What the Snail Said to the Slug

Space Monkey Pants