Pink Death

Pink Death

My pal, Penn Jillette, once owned a vehicle named Pink Death.  It was a Ford Bronco painted a color Penn invented called “Stripper Inner Labia Pink.”  So candy-colored pink was this car, that the guy at the body shop made Penn  stand there and watch as they gave his formerly butch truck something like a hundred coats to get it the right blush of “Inner Labia Pink,” which is, “Stripper.”

I spent a week zipping around Vegas with Penn on assignment from Playboy and it was a holy hoot watching people’s reactions to Pink Death.  It were as if the goddamn thing were radioactive.

For years, Penn and Teller have had a bit where a rabbit winds up in a chipper and for years, Penn convinced me that they actually just threw the fucking rabbit into the chipper.  “Rabbits are CHEAP,” Penn would explain, and I believed him.  That’s a bad habit of mine; believing Penn when he’s pulling my joint.  He once staged an elaborate subterfuge to get me to believe that everyone got a discount from Federal Express, except me.  He surreptitiously e-mailed all of my friends to get them to go along with the gag and I believed them.  I called Fed-Ex and asked them if they thought I was a fucking mark.  I told them that I used Fed Ex almost everyday and that I should get the discount that my friends enjoy.

They asked me what I was referring to.  That while they valued my business, their rates were their rates and everyone paid the same.

I told them I wasn’t some douche-bag or a mark; that I knew how this game was played and I wanted in to the discount, and to quit working my stick.

The woman, Nora, assured me that there was no secret discount and that I was mistaken, which just infuriated me.  I started yelling, “I’m not a sucker, lady.  I’m not some fucking hick you can jerk-off like Dickie-Dope.  I’m not a mark.”

She asked me who told me this and I said all of my friends had told me, in fact, Penn. . .

Then I got it.  I swear I could hear him laughing his Newfie ass off all the way in Vegas.

The “Tony Called Fed-Ex” story was born and all of my friends know it.

I used to draw rabbits for my mother. As a kid, my sisters had them as pets and they got huge.  They were also not as gentle as you might think.  I saw one of our bunnies kick the holy dogshit out of a wild rabbit that had come into the yard and attempted to eat some of his food.  They’re nasty little fuckers and territorial as hell.  Whenever I felt the need to get out of the doghouse with my mom, I’d draw her a rabbit or a bird and she would then become convinced of my better side long enough to get me out of the house and back on the street with my friends.  I was good at charming my mother.  I once sold her a baggie full of Cheerios by telling her they were “donut seeds.”  She gave me a buck.

In the city where I live, you mostly see squirrels, though lately I’ve noticed a lot more rabbits.  I like them.  I love drawing their odd shape and when I spot one, the stillness of them is almost eerie.  Often they freeze right in the middle of the road and get creamed, which is kind of a dumbfuck way to get killed.  At least squirrels run away.

This piece is called Pink Death.  He is a radioactive rabbit.  His power is when he pisses on something in your garden. . . it dies.

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