Goddammit. I’m worn out.
I oughtta work on writing a book.
I barely have time to write a blog once every 2 or 3 weeks though, so I
dunno how I think I’m gonna write a book.
Plus, my book idea is depressing and potentially psychologically damaging
for me to write. I dunno why that’s a
problem, but it seems like it could be.
Christ, I’ve done plenty of psychological damage to myself, not to
mention what I’ve inflicted upon others.
Might as well write a goddam book.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Speaking
of worst that could happen, when I’m driving with my phone in my hand I always
feel like chucking it out the goddam window.
Same with my wallet. I’ve had
false teeth since I was 18 and I can’t tell you how many times I’d be riding in
the back of a pickup truck and wind up being kinda half-ass ready to chuck em
out onto the fuckin highway. Now, none
of these things is the WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN, but they’d certainly be
regrettable. And not necessarily in the order in which I mentioned them,
either. In fact, I’d say teeth would
suck the worst, then wallet, then phone.
But yeah, this cumpulsion is similar to the one that you might feel when
you’re standing at the mouth of a canyon, admiring nature, and get a weird itch
to jump. That would be closer to the
worst thing that could happen. Still,
there are worse things that I won’t endeavor to explore right this second. Burning alive, being drawn and quartered,
sticking pencils in your nose and doing a swan dive down a staircase. Etcetera, etcetera.
This is
reminding me of fake teeth situations.
Like once when I pulled them out for the hell of it in front of my
friends’ 4 year old daughter. Her jaw
dropped. Then she frowned and started
tugging at her teeth, to no avail.
Or the
time when my buddy who was a genius at fucking with passed out people took my
teeth while I was in a stupor. This was
back when I had first gotten the things.
I woke up and realized that I had lost my goddam teeth and went into a
panic. Especially at that age, cos not
only would I be missing the function of having front teeth, but I’d be the only
guy around who didn’t have any fuckin teeth.
Anyway, that was funny and haha now don’t fuckin do it anymore. Except that there was another buddy of ours
around who was wasn't exactly the sharpest bulb in the turnip patch who’d try to take my goddam
teeth out all the time after that. You
know what it’s like to wake up with some filthy moron sticking his fingers in
your fuckin mouth? It makes you punch
that person.
Oh
yeah, and back then we were 19 or so and I was the designated alcohol
buyer. I’d take out my fake teeth and
make sure that the person working behind the counter saw that I didn’t have any
goddam teeth. I hated doing it cos it
was embarrassing but it worked better than a fake I.D.
Then
there was the time that I was staying with some friends at their farmhouse in
Eastern Tennessee. They didn’t have
indoor plumbing. No big deal. I mean, plumbing sure is nice but we didn’t
have too many problems hauling in drinking water and using an outhouse and
showering elsewhere. Anyway, my friend
who I was staying with was a total fuckin stoner. Me? I’ve
always been a lightweight with that stuff.
So the whole time I was visiting I was baked outta my goddam mind.
One day
I did a few bong hits and decided to brush my teeth out by my pickup
truck. To this day I’m a bit
self-concious about removing my teeth in front of people. Back then I was a bit moreso. So I took my fake teeth out and set them on
the tailgate, planning to brush them when I was done brushing my real
teeth. So I’m pacing around like a
zombie, listening to the birds and looking at the sky and all that other stoner
hippy shit and when I’m done brushing my teeth, I rinse my mouth out with a
bottle of water and rinse off my toothbrush.
Then I go back to my truck and shut the tailgate, even though we’re out
in the middle of fuckin nowhere and there’s no reason to shut the tailgate.
I start
walking back to the house and realize
that I’m not wearing my denture. My
stoned brain quickly realizes what probably happened. I go into a medium panic. JESUS FUCKIN CHRIST NO FUCKIN WAY! I think to
myself. I jog back to my truck and open
the tailgate. Yep. There they were. My fake teeth, all smashed to smithereens. They looked brutal and gory like, well, like
a bunch of smashed teeth in the back of a beat up Toyota. I didn’t have to feel like the odd man out
this time though. For one thing, I was
30 and enough of my peers were missing a few teeth at that point. Plus, I was in Cocke County, Tennessee. Being toothless, I fit right in out
there. So I made an appointment with the
dentist and drank some moonshine.
When in
Rome…
