I sure do wish that my teeth were all mashed-up. For, then, I’d look like I’m from the tough part of town, and the other bad guys would respect me. As it is, my teeth look straight and orderly, so the delinquents remain unintimidated. It’s not fair that they feel no fear when they see me, yet I feel fear when I see them.
I wish I could get that type of dental jewelry known as “fronts”, which are made of gold and fit over one’s natural teeth; and you can get them inlaid with precious stones or engraved. I think it would be cool to have the Mercedes-Benz emblem stamped on them. But I can’t afford this.
At least I have some tobacco stains from smoking, plus tartar and tooth decay. All this will help me blend in with the clique I’m trying to join. Maybe if I just completely stop brushing my teeth, then the bad guys will like me.
Wait a moment, dear reader, I just got a bright idea: Punch me in the face! Do it, I’m begging you. — Ow! Thanks . . . now I’ll check out the damage, in this pocket mirror that I keep in my purse: Oh, hooray! Look: my teeth are all out of place! And, as a bonus, they’re bloody! Yeah . . . cool.
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