Note to Jesus

Dear Jesus--Lesson learned! Thanks for bringing the red back to Pinky. (Can you please stop sending Pinky dreams like the one above?)

Last Night Pinky Dreamed He was Touched by the Left Hand of God

The 7th Gate of Hell

(or inside Birdie's mouth)

A Forest Nightmare

Pinky Can't Get the Zoo Out of His Dreams

Pinky as Pancake

Today Pinky had a hard time waking up. In his half-sleeping state he imagined he was a pancake. No bones--just soft, hot, and flat. He imagined he was the batter spreading out into the sizzling pan. He felt good and wholesome on the plate until other pancakes were put on top of him. He tried to feel like he was the entire stack of cakes, but that didn't fly. He was definitely the bottom pancake on the pile choking under the weight of the others--sticky from the butter put between him and the pancake above. Pinky realized his lifelong conception that pancakes must like to be together was flawed.

Pinky has a Repressed Memory of a Monkey in a Canoe

Pinky had a Funny Dream about Enchiladas

Pinky Often Dreams He has to Rescue Miss Love from Perilous Situations

Miss Love often dreams Pinky interupts her adventures in the most ridiculous and dramatic ways.

More One-Armed Zoo Keeper Nightmares

Zoo Nightmares are the Worst

Last Night Pinky Dreamed he Flew to Africa to Save the Savanna Creatures

It was a happy dream until he landed.

Pinky's Giraffe Nightmares are Getting More Disturbing

For Real, Dude.

Pinky's been having giraffe nightmares, lately.

Italian Nightmares Hound Pinky D

Pinky has been having crazy nightmares since returning from his Italian tour. Last night he dreamed that the Academy (which houses Michelangelo's David) was filled with pink mud. Pinky walked through it leaving pink mud footprints. As he walked by the huge David, the sculpture farted.

Excerpt from Pinky's Latest Short Story

excerpted from

Death Becomes Her

Seven Very Short Cautionary Tales to Bring Children Closer to the Buddha

Or

The Secret and Horrible Fears of Divorced, Spinstered, or Widowed Women of a Certain Entitled Stature Contemplating Death

Every action, every thought she now made led her down an evil rabbit hole of fear. She thought about the horror of putting on her peignoir—then, putting it on, it clung and burned her flesh like flaming napalm. She feared even lifting her padded house shoe. The first step toward the grapefruit half was on frozen shards of glass, the next step found her sinking in piles of red-hot ball bearings. The next was worse. She sliced the grapefruit with her eyes closed, knowing what it was becoming--a beating heart pumping her apartment full of tepid black blood. She closed her eyes and saw her father, resplendent with twisting horns embalming her mother alive. Eyes opened and writhing snakes and giant cockroaches with the saints’ faces rained down in her garden outside the breakfast nook window. She would hold her breath and try to keep the fear away for a fleeting moment. Then gasping for air, thousands of dry, cottony moths would fly down her throat. Eyes closed, she would try no to move, only to know without looking that there was a wave of fear cresting over her head, inches from her scalp ready to break as soon as she moved even a hair--a wave of liquid fear chock full of bloody teeth with their roots still pulsating--a wave with the sound of millions of feeble, aged hips snapping in unison--a wave of bloody lingerie filled with the pulpy remains every miscarriage ever suffered in Earth’s short tenure.
Now, children, use you imagination for a few minutes and think about what else could be in that soup of hideousness washing over Shermanora…Every disgusting, unfathomable fear found its way into this abominable recipe. What could any of us do against the unstoppable force of such terror? It is absolutely unimaginable. This hurricane of revulsion powered by the winds of Shermanora’s Fear washed away all time and place. Whether she actually died (which we can only assume she did) was irrelevant for her. She was swept away, pulled under, spit out, tied down, dismembered, and confronted with every unspeakable ghastly deed and apparition her Fear could possibly conjure up. We imagine a vast putrid ocean of gristle and slime with Shermanora, infinitesimally small, sometimes floating, sometimes pulled under into the dark, wet awfulness. Endlessly deep. Endlessly cruel. With ever increasing horrors spiraling up from the coagulated depths to nibble on Shermanora’s peignoir hem for eternity.

Ouch

Pinky D Prays for Every Dead Bird Around the World

BAGHDAD (Reuters) - A bomb hidden in a box of birds killed 13 people and wounded 57 at a popular pet market in central Baghdad on Friday, police and witnesses said, describing the deadliest attack in the Iraqi capital in two months. Body parts were strewn among bird carcasses as bystanders piled victims into carts and rushed them to ambulances after the blast at the Ghazil pet market, which was crowded at the time. The pet market, a popular weekend spectacle, sells a colorful range of creatures from guard dogs and monkeys to parrots, pigeons and tropical fish. Bystanders and stallholders covered their noses with masks because of the stench after the bombing.

The Subconscious and St. Francis

Now that Pinky works at the zoo, his dreams are becoming more like his art, and both his dreams and art are more like his daily reality. Pinky enjoys this integration .

Pinky's Zoo Dream

Pinky dreamed he created a new exhibit at the zoo. It consisted of giant dining room furniture (three times normal size). The huge walls had a flowery patterned wallpaper. Every ten minutes a little monkey wearing a dress would be let out of a trap door in the wall. The monkey knew what what coming and would start running. Then a lumbering rhino would be let out of another door and tear after the frightened little monkey. Pinky was the zoo keeper in charge of changing the monkey's dress after every chase. the monkey liked the lavender polka-dotted dress with the matching rumba panties.