I have crooked teeth. People like to point this out all the time in what, I presume, is an attempt to destroy me and make me finally commit to a path of ultimate evil. I suppose, if I had a normal life, I would have had braces when I was a kid. But I didn’t have loving, normal parents who raised me. I was raised, instead, by a goat-headed man that only I could see who lived in my bedroom closet and didn’t care about things like my teeth. He only wanted me to paint those funny symbols on the wall of the boiler room of Holy Redeemer in Kensington, MD using the blood of the homeless people that he would have me lure into back alleys of old Silver Spring by dressing me up in a schoolgirl outfit.
When I finally rebelled against the goat man (he gets weak when you’re happy), I went to college in the mountains of West Virginia where nobody had teeth. Ha, ha. West Virginia joke.
But, seriously, nobody had teeth.
Then, after school, as I took my first step on the journey of adulthood, I was struck down by a vicious nerve disorder that sent me through a cycle of excruciating face pain for 12 years. Braces were impossible. Blinking, breathing, and drinking water was hard enough.
By the time a miracle cure came along and returned my life to me, I was 34. I felt like I was too old to care about my teeth and fuck anyone else who did. Where once I shied away from comments about them, I now grin like a scary jack-o-lantern and wave my filthy cock at my tormentors. It’s really fun to be in your 30’s. You start to look forward to bullies after a while. Bring it on. You cowed me when I was young but, now, if you bully me, I’ll press you down on the ground and sodomize you while tearing at your eyelids with my sharp, sharp, crooked teeth. You’ll be forced to stare, unblinking, as I shit on your face after a particularly satisfying rape session.
Sorry. I really don’t like bullies.
Where was I? Oh, yes. This place on my lip. I have very sharp canines. They’re proper fangs, really. I use them to bring down sick and wounded gazelles that wander too far from the herd. For about 20 years now, I’ve managed, on a fairly regular basis, to catch the inside of my lip between two of these hideous fangs. I bleed profusely for a while, then I go into that bacteria-ridden mouth-wound phase we all know well. For two weeks, my fangs will reopen the wound again and again every time I eat. I’ll become bitterly annoyed till the wound heals and, then, I know it’s just a matter of a few weeks before I open up my lip again.
You know…I thought I’d be able to get this article up to 1000 words, but that’s just not possible. I’m unofficially trying to do another writing experiment. That’s what Greatsociety is supposed to be all about, and the front page is littered with ten years’ worth of failed daily writing experiments. I used to have a goal – like do the Kindle Single thing, or put together a book, or whatever. At some point, a couple years ago, I realized that I just needed to write every day in order to exorcise my internal demons. It relaxes me, it drives the bad thoughts out, and it sort of gets me through the day. Whenever I slow down on the writing front, I begin to quietly lose my mind and start to scare my friends.
It used to be that I’d feel like I wasn’t accomplishing anything. Not writing every day would make me feel guilty. Like I was throwing away…something. That has dissolved as I’ve made peace with the fact that my writing sucks and I have no real desire to bring it to the next level and, in fact, all of these words I’ve written over the last 25 years or so are symptoms of some terrible mental illness
So writing became therapy, and Greatsociety became my therapist. And I hope it gets me laid from time to time. Also… Have I mentioned my Amazon Wishlist lately?
Whew! And that’s how you write a filler article!