January 21, 2004

My People are obsessed with my teeth. Perhaps because the lovely PK lost a few of hers, or perhaps because they merely like to torture me, but in the end, it’s an obsession, and it involves my mouth.

Look, I don’t care for having things shoved in my mouth. Not even the good things, like shrimp or sharp cheddar cheese. If it’s something I want, I’m perfectly capable of getting it from wherever it is into my own mouth, thank you very much. So I don’t understand why they feel compelled to hold me down and force that stick on me just about every night now.

I get the grasp of it, finally. It’s the “brushing of the teeth.” Supposedly, it’s to keep them healthy and useful until the day I drop dead from the plaque clogging my arteries—plaque that will be there, we can be sure, from the miscellaneous treats they give me, especially the meaty ones I manage to guilt them into every once in a while.

So yeah, when I keel over at age 15 from massive heart disease, my teeth will be blindingly white, and I’ll still be really pissed off that every freaking night they do that to me.

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