Why Pinkos Dig Pinks

If there’s one thing Californians are known for, it’s their steadfast dedication to liberalism.

Judging by the state’s laughable budget mess and the barbed wire around interstate overpass signs -- to keep those poor deprived gang members from “tagging” them -- it’s not working out so well.

But no matter. So long as it doesn’t involve any hard work, Californians will simply never give up.

That means they'll probably also continue to lecture all the rest of us about how wonderful liberalism is -- pausing only briefly to ask for a bailout.

Of course, one of the top tenants of California-style liberalism is multiculturalism – the belief that even though we all have different cultures, values, languages and generally can’t understand each other, we should still hold hands, gather around a fire, and sing Kumbaya together -- right before we throw the white people in the fire.

Although grilled white folk is one of the few ingredients you can't get on top of your hot dog, I believe Pinks' adherence to the multiculturalist ideal is exactly why the pinkos in Hollywood just can't get enough.

Just last year, Pinks celebrated its 70th anniversary and is now considered an important Hollywood landmark -- and that's just what the line to order showed.

At about 1:00 PM, the line was about 25 deep and moved at a snail’s pace – not exactly what I was hoping for since I was nursing a category three hangover from the previous night’s fun in Burbank.

Add in the fact the Pinks’ menu is incredibly large and complicated -- and the line to order featured every race and language of person imaginable -- this looked from the outside like a recipe for disaster.

But despite my alcohol-induced physical handicap, I wasn’t going to let all this get me down.

I just waited my turn patiently, and when it was my turn, I joined the fray and ordered something that truly reflected what Pinks’ was all about – a Pastrami Burrito Dog.

This was two hot dogs, wrapped in a flour tortilla with Swiss cheese, chili and Pastrami – my favorite of all the Jewish deli meats.

I thought to myself, if this hot dog was a person, it would be a non-interventionist illegal alien you could hit up for a loan.

In fact, my meal was such a tribute to the multiculturalist ideal, I swear a heard a hippy scream, “Right on, dude!”

Oddly enough, it turned out all the flavors worked out very well together. Could this be liberalism's greatest triumph?

My only complaint was my dog concoction needed some salty flavor. Spicy mustard would have done the trick. Of course, I found out after my last bite there was a condiment table I could have used to fix that.

The onion rings were great too and the portion was huge. In fact, I couldn’t finish all of them.

The price wasn’t too bad either -- $10 for a whopper of a hot dog, onion rings and a root beer.

In famous places like this, it’s easy to expect too much. I could complain about the line or the heat (it was very hot in L.A. today).

But there’s a reason it’s famous. There’s a reason celebrities wait in line with the tourists to get a Pinks hot dog and then take the time to sign a picture for the wall.

The fact is, if I didn’t know anything about Pinks, I’d be raving about its genius.

And that’s exactly what it is.

It’s flat-out genius to serve high-quality hot dogs with guacamole, mushrooms, pastrami, real strips of bacon, chopped tomato, nacho cheese and whatever else you can dream of.

In fact, after scarfing down my hot dog, I think I realized why God created hangovers. It’s not to punish us for having too much fun. It’s not to frighten us into not drinking too much.


It’s so we’ll find the true pleasure of putting a whole bunch of weird stuff on hot dogs.

On the way back to my car, I watched a mid-twenties girl with dreads walk into a medical-pot dispensary nearby that had a big marijuana leaf painted on the window.

Let’s just say as long as that medical pot dispensary is there, I guarantee Pinks will stay in business.

And on second thought, maybe it wasn’t my order that made that hippy so excited.

Rating: Bought the shirt (but they don’t sell them)