The Portable Henry Rollins

by Henry Rollins

  Bun Bun the Rabbit

  I worked at this pet shop. Sometimes I would work in the fish department scooping out so many dead fish. That place had more dead animals than it did live ones. I would go in there on Saturday and clean the shit and everything, and half the store’s population would be dead and dried out. All the rodents, they dry up, they don’t have much moisture, they don’t really rot. They just kind of dry up, and they always die with the most horrific facial expressions. Like every mummy you see. When they dig up some mummy, “Oh my god, look, it’s a man with a bunch of bandages around him, he must be a mummy.” Maybe they bury those guys while they’re still alive because they look so mad, their lips are all pulled back. I wonder if they were in midscream or something. “I’m the fucking king you bastards! You can’t leave me in here! I’ll come back in another life and fuck you up!”

  Animals were dying left and right because I could only come in a little bit during the week, and on the weekends I would come in and do the best I could. I was the only real staffer there except my friend Ian. So on Saturdays we would go in there, and man, there’d be all these animals dead, and this is after my old boss, Skip, had bailed on the shop and sold it to this man who didn’t really care about the place I guess. We had to invent all kinds of lies because we couldn’t clean all the cages before all the customers came in. That’s how we invented the Australian Sleeping Rat. A woman comes in and there are two dead rats in one of the rat cages. And the other rats are eating off them and stuff. “Hey, it’s a big free lunch in the corner there.” This woman comes up and says, “Excuse me, gentlemen, um, I think two of the rats are dead.”

  And I was trying to cook up some excuse like, “Well, I…” And Ian smiles and says, “Those are Australian Sleeping Rats. They’re very lethargic.” And he picks up this dead rat and says, “See, it’s alive.”

  And the woman says, “Oh, well, it looked dead to me.”

  “I know, a lot of people are fooled. They’re not very good pets, but we have them anyway. And all the rats running around the cage, those are just normal rats, but these, these two kind of odiferous ones, they have a strange smell about them. They smell of rotting animal. Yeah, they’re good old Australian Sleeping Rats.” And the lady went away. Ian was brilliant.

  We faked people out all the time. “Excuse me sir, there’s, young man, there are four dead angelfish in that tank over there. Maybe you should clean them out?”

  “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Those aren’t dead. They’re just at the top waiting to get fed. You know, they’re floating like that because they want to be close to the food. They do that. They’re very healthy and voracious fish.”

  Around Easter we’ll get in thirty-five bunnies, sell thirty-five bunnies, by Monday twenty bunnies come back because they are all dying. And why are they dying? Because the people who buy the rabbits don’t listen to the young guy at the pet shop who says please feed them these Purina rabbit-chow pellets, do not feed them carrots, do not feed them lettuce. This is not Bugs Bunny. Domestic rabbits cannot eat carrots because they can’t digest them, so the poor bastards eat the carrots, swallow, they don’t digest, and they shit big chunks of carrot, which rips them up from inside. It’s like passing shrapnel out of your ass. You would look like Nancy Reagan after that.

  One of the rabbits came back, and it was all messed up. It had the carrots coming through it, and this crazy mom had bought the rabbit for her kid. This woman was nuts, she named it “Bun Bun.” But this woman talked like this: “This is Bun Bun the rabbit. We can no longer keep Bun Bun. Bun Bun is sick.” And Bun Bun was actually hanging in pretty well. When rabbits are ailing they will sit in the corner of their cage and pant—they’re really bummed. You can see the pain on their faces.

  So anyway, they bring in Bun Bun and me and Ian are trying not to laugh in this lady’s face. She’s got the cage with Bun Bun and the cedar shavings are falling all over the place, and she’s got these two kids who are holding on to her legs, and asking, “Do we really have to give away Bun Bun?”

  “Honey, we can’t keep Bun Bun. Please take Bun Bun back.” And I say, “Well, you know, the boss says there’s no refunds.”

  “I don’t want any money. I just want you to take good care of Bun Bun. We love Bun Bun.”

  And the kids say, “We love Bun Bun.”

  So, I say, “Okay, we’ll take Bun Bun. See you later.” And then the two kids and the crazy woman leave. And so we’re contemplating Bun Bun and I say, “Ian,” and he says, “Yes.”

  I say, “Upstairs, you know what’s in the big python tank.”

  He says, “A big python?”

  I say, “Yeah. I think the big python is hungry.”

  And he says, “Let’s feed Bun Bun to the python.” Pythons have to eat too. So I took Bun Bun out of the cage, put a ruler behind Bun Bun’s neck, put Bun Bun’s chin and head on the countertop, and pulled very hard. Bun Bun didn’t know what hit him. It’s called a cervical snap. I killed Bun Bun’s little rodent ass.

  Here’s the reason why I offed Bun Bun. What would be better if you were Bun Bun: if I just kill your ass that fast, or if I take you up live and kickin’ and throw you into a cage with a huge snake that’s going to chase your scared ass around the cage for a good five minutes, bite you with teeth that to your size ratio are going to be huge, grab you, squeeze you until your shit comes out and your eyes bulge, until you die? It takes a good five minutes. Would you rather that happen or me just turn your lights out?

  So, I killed Bun Bun and I’m about to take Bun Bun upstairs to feed him to Mr. Python. The door of the pet shop opens. It’s the crazy lady and her two kids. Bun Bun goes behind my back. “We’ve changed our minds. We want Bun Bun.”

  What do you say? “Ah, you know, you’re not a rabbit person. Ian, she’s a goldfish person. Don’t ya think? Madam, we will give you a bowl, three goldfish, free water. Everything you need to have a goldfish. A rabbit person you are not. You are into aquarium fish, and we’re going to start you right away on it. Ian, why don’t you take her upstairs and show her our wide array of goldfish?”

  “I want Bun Bun. Where’s Bun Bun?” She was not going to leave. So, this is where a nine-to-five, horribly paying job turns into art. I hold out Bun Bun. Bun Bun is really dead. “Oh my God! Bun Bun. Bun Bun!” And the old “it’s an Australian Sleeping Belgium Rabbit” trick would not work because Bun Bun’s neck is really broken and there’s blood coming out of Bun Bun’s nose. Bun Bun’s really dead.

  I say, “Here’s Bun Bun. You can just put him in the cage and take him out of here.” This woman was horrified. She hated my guts. And I just explained, “Well, you bailed, and I figured the python could—” And she called me all kinds of names, and left. We never saw her again.

  Go Fish

  We had these big fish tanks with goldfish that we’d get for a nickel each. They were for feeding other fish. We had a big tank of goldfish, and on Saturday people would come in for up to fifty at a time. We would give them a big water bag full of goldfish. Goldfish were great for kids because they would come in and for twenty-five cents they had a fish. They’d put it in a big mixing bowl, and they’d have a pet fish. Goldfish are amazingly hardy. They will survive an eight-year-old somehow.

  This kid comes into the pet shop. “I want a goldfish.”

  And Ian says, “Take this young man right up to the goldfish department.” And there’s this huge tank with ninety million goldfish in it, and there’s this one white one.

  The kid sees it and says, “I want that white one.”

  And I say, “I don’t see it. Ian, do you see it?”

  “No, I don’t see it. I just see a bunch of orange fish. Kid, we’ll just give you an orange fish.”

  “No. I want that white one.”

  “You mean the one over there with the gash in its head?”

  “No. The white one. See?” We’re stringing this kid along.

  After five minutes the kid’s almost in tears. “I want that one!”


  “The white one right there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Ian fills the cup half-full of water and I take the net and make this big display of trying to catch this fish which I could easily catch. The kid’s on the edge of his seat in suspense. And I get the fish and put it in the cup. I ask him if this is the one he wanted. He says, “That’s it. That’s the goldfish I want.”

  And I say, “Ian, that is probably the coolest goldfish I’ve ever seen.”

  And Ian says, “I heartily agree. That is a goldfish to be reckoned with most certainly.” And we went on and on about how bitchin’ it was, and then Ian said, “Henry, it’s time.”

  I said, “Okay.” And I pick the goldfish out of the little cup, and I’m holding it by the tail. I ask the kid, “Is this really the one you want? Are you sure?” He nods yes. I say, “This is a great fish,” and the kid says, “Put it back in the water.” I ate it. The kid goes running out of the place screaming like someone lit his ass on fire. It was great.

  The mom called later that day. “I don’t know what you have going on in that place, but you should tell your two employees to grow up.” Even at that young age we knew we were bound for greatness. You could not convince us otherwise.

  The Shit Is on Fire Show

  I was home just in time to watch the great TV show that engulfed Los Angeles for three days. No matter what channel you turned on, it was the “Shit Is on Fire Show.” On every channel another anonymous strip mall is on fire. It’s nighttime, and you see men with garden hoses: “I’ll get it.” No. Huge Niagara Falls hoses dumping into massive, volcanic walls of flame didn’t stop it. It was depressing to watch. They cart out that pig Daryl Gates, and he’s saying what amounts to “Well, I don’t really have … I have no control whatsoever of this situation.” And when he said that, he made it almost sound cool. “The situation.” He made it sound like he was right about something, you know. It was so disgusting to sit at home and get insulted like that.

  One of the days during the riots I was over at a friend’s house. She turns on the television, the “Shit Is on Fire Show” was on. And there it is, another big flameout. And then they flash the intersection that is burning like hell. It was like three blocks away from where we were. And we look out the window, and there are dark clouds in the sky, and ash is coming in through the screen. It’s like we’re in Pompeii when Vesuvius erupted. We’re going to be covered in volcanic shit, and National Geographic will do a documentary. Five hundred years later we’ll be totally preserved. The fillings will be intact, everything. We hear the police helicopters. They’re coming so close the building is vibrating. It’s chaos. So, what happens when shit is burning, police are in the sky, the National Guard is in the 213 area code, there are guys in cars driving around looking for stuff to fuck up? What should you do? Probably lock your door and cool it. What did we do? “Let’s go check it out!” We ran down to the corner.

  Here’s the scenario: We’re looking down the road, and sure enough, fire engines, flames, smoke, helicopters, the sun is setting … kind of beautiful in a way. And on the other hand it was horrible. So we’re standing there and people from the neighborhood are gathered on the corners checking it out. Across the street is a Sam Goody’s record store. All glass, big corner store, glass everywhere with big posters of all the bands behind them. There are two rent-a-cop guys in tan uniforms, no guns. Those guys are a little overweight and they always have a look of slight unease on their face. This time it was a little out of hand. They weren’t guarding a parking lot this time. “All right you cement, don’t move.” They do that for eight hours. “Okay, all the cars are still here. Here’s the stick back. Bye.” This time there are looters coming up the street. There were five guys standing across the street looking at the record store. If you’re a looter, imagine a store full of CD’s and stereo accessories and all that glass. If you’re a looter and you got a rock and there’s no law, you want to put the rock through the window. They’re looking at the glass, they’re salivating. The two rent-a-cops are trying to maintain what the Los Angeles Police Department calls “command presence.” CP is when they pull you over for an illegal left turn and act like it’s the invasion of Poland. “Pull your car over to the side. Get out. You have thirty seconds to comply.”

  “Okay.” It’s broad daylight. It’s just a left turn. “Excuse me, officer?”

  “Do not speak.” They’re in control of the entire situation, everything in the world is in their grasp. “You will do nothing. You will say nothing. You will hand over your ID, registration, and insurance, or you will go to the Pokee.” That’s command presence. And when one of these pigs pigs you, you are in the grip of command presence.

  So, these two rent-a-cop guys are standing in front of Sam Goody’s really trying to look heavy to a bunch of guys who fuck shit up for a living. They know it’s not working too well. The rent-a-cops come over to us bystanders, and they say, “Hey, we will deputize all of you if you come across the street and stand in front of Sam Goody’s. This is your neighborhood, you must protect it.” It sounded pretty good. Me being a little bit more cynical than the average person, in fact I’m more cynical than the average stadium full of people, I said, “Man, this guy has about as much legal clout as anybody here. He can’t deputize shit.” So, let’s think about that: Come here and protect your community. Come across the street and stand in front of Sam Goody’s. Let me get this straight. What you’re saying is you want me to take a rock in the face for Paula Abdul? I’m supposed to take a two-by-four across my chest for Bono? I’m supposed to stand in front of a huge piece of plate glass and try to defend it from fire, gnarly youths who want to go right over my head for Morrissey? Fuckyoufuckyou-fuckyou! None of us moved.

  So, they go back to their post—hating it. Across the street some young man picks up a wire-rim trash can and starts going in circles with it, like he’s picking up speed, and starts moving toward the liquor-store window. He’s going to try and put that trash can right through. At that time a few guys behind me with sticks go running after this guy. They were running as fast as they could. Do you think they’re going to run over to the guy and say, “Stop that! What’s the matter with you? Are you an animal? Go home!” They’re going to try and put this guy’s brain through his ears. I see the guy about to break the window, and I say to myself, Man, fuck you. The guy who owns that liquor store is cool, he doesn’t need his windows broken. If he’s lucky his place is just going to get looted, if he’s lucky he’ll be able to replace all the liquor, sure, he’ll get a new window, fine. But what if those guys torch the place? You’ve got to realize that the people who own stores work for a living. They have families. They have kids they’re trying to put through college. Some of these store owners, goodness gracious, they might even be good folks who don’t deserve this shit.

  So, these guys go taking after this guy, and I think to myself, Fuck you guys too ’cause they’re running after him as fast as they can. People behind me are yelling, “Get him! Get him! Go! He’s getting away! Kill that motherfucker!” All of a sudden I realize that I’m standing next to guys who are just as fucked up as the guy with the trash can and the guys with the sticks. I look up on the roof of my building right above my head. There’s a man with a rifle. I was out of there. Back to the apartment. I did not surface for two days. The day I surfaced was the day I got to go to Los Angeles International Airport and go to the Midwest and speak at some universities.

  The cab driver asks me how do I want to go to LAX. I tell him to take me down La Cienega Boulevard. We’ll take the surface streets all the way. I figure I’ll get to see some carnage and I’ll see what’s happened. It’s not as if you can really go walking around, “Excuse me, are you going to loot that? Can I watch?” In Hollywood there’s a Silo appliance store. Apparently it got cleaned out to the point where there was only a washing machine left. Can you imagine people pulling up with a pickup truck? One guy gets out, has a bad back, four gang members help him get th
at washing machine on the truck. “Hey, hold on man, you’re going to hurt your back. Let us help. Fellows, let’s pick it up for him. No, no you stand back man, just relax. You’re going to hurt yourself. You got that truss on. Come on, we’ll do it for ya. Here, take these extra speakers we ripped off too. Have a nice drive home. Do you have enough gas in your tank? Look, here’s a five. Fill it up. You’ve got a long drive back to Chino. Have a good trip buddy.”