General Hygiene

I never brushed my teeth as a kid.

It was a pain in the ass and frankly a waste of my time (which was true, it's sad spending that much time of a childhood cleaning something, let alone myself). Instead I let colonies of bacteria spread across my canines and twist through my gums until they developed into sentient fungi with fully formed governments and religions (all praise the fizzing grace of Soda). This mini ecosystem must have understood its precariousness because it somehow protected my teeth from cavities while still using them, which is an admirable stance on how we should use our environmental resources, I think.

Sadly, the dream couldn't last. I found that brushing my teeth became less of a pain in the ass and more of a defense against stress; after all, no matter how much goes horribly wrong in your life, you can usually brush your teeth. Even a little sense of control can be nice.

I try to brush them twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening (twice if I eat something strange off the floor). Then I strangle my teeth with floss and usually swallow a knuckle in the process. After that I finish with some Listerine which I try to swish around in my mouth as quickly as they do in the commercials. But I can't do it that fast. I bet the actors don't actually have anything in their mouths because they dip their heads down below the camera to spit out (which no amount of advertising can make look appealing) and then reemerge with a smile as white as the pope's police record (all Nazi Youth aside). As you can tell by now, I hold a particular affection for an ungodly amount of parentheseseses.

Well, lately, due to Connor's influence, I started also using this Listerine Whitening Stuff. It's pretty much horrible. The bottle says it's a clean mint flavor, which I suppose is true. Mint certainly would be clean after being dipped in chlorine and bleach. Since I can't stand the taste, I take a deep breath, then a mouthful, and pinch my nostrils. Usually I can hold my breath pretty well (otherwise I would have never survived the Atlantis Buoy Burglary Incident) but for some reason it becomes harder when you're swishing bleach in your mouth with your nose plugged. I can't tell if it's working or not since my teeth will indeed appear extra white afterward, but that might be because they are juxtaposed with my purple face when I pass out on the linoleum.

The damnedest thing is that ever since I started brushing a lot, I have received my first cavities. In severe cases, cavities have led to death, so naturally I wonder if I did the right thing by worrying about my hygiene. Dentists have told me brushing is healthy but I wonder if I did not betray the bacteria in my mouth and traded their sense of safety for my own.

This is their tragic story.

Detective Clarke Flubbles sat down at his desk with a weary sigh. Working class streptococcus mutans get tired too, you know, and he just finished solving a gruesome murder case in an eastern molar. The sadistic bastard had smeared the poor girl's cell membrane all over the walls. He leaned back in his chair, watched the spinning fan chop the room between light and black shadow, and lit a cigarette with deliberate gravity. A cigarette would do for now; after the murder case, he wasn't in the mood for a hearty lunch of refined sugar.

A knock at the door. A dame entered in a red dress entered, helluva filament on her. Already he knew he was in trouble with this one. Dames like this made a fellah reevaluate binary fission. She regarded him for a moment before slapping down a portfolio. "I think my other half's cheating on me. I need proof."

"Fifty clams an hour, sweetheart," Flubbles told her. It would be best to get the information and get her out as soon as possible. "My price is steep but it's fair."

The dame agreed tentatively and said she would be in touch. He slid the portfolio toward him and whistled as he opened it. Inside was a profile of Senator Mibbles, a well-respected Strep Mutan of the community. If a guy like this was having an affair, the media would be all over him like, well, bacteria.

Flubbles got to work. He was a professional so it didn't take him long before he was tailing Mibbles to the local country club. The night went by slowly while Flubbles waited with his overcoat collar pulled high above what could be his neck. As far as he could tell, the senator was just having a night out with the fellahs, smoking a few cigars, throwing a few darts--

The clubroom's back door opened and the senator stepped out. Flubbles nearly cussed seeing a shadowy Strep Mutan step out of some gums to meet him. It wasn't like him to miss such a thing. Flubbles sidled along the building's shadows and listened.

"There'a been rumblin's, boss," the stranger said.

"Nuisance," Mibbles snapped. "I'm busy! If anyone else sees me with a character like you--"

"It's happened again, boss. This time the entire central incisor district got wiped out."

"Damn," Mibbles said, turning away and straightening his tie. "Just spin this off as another terrorist attack."

Which they very well could do, since biological warfare is the worst. Flubbles stepped out of the shadows, a toothpaste-gun in his hand. "Stop right there. I'm sorry, senator, but I can't let you do that. I'm going to blow this case wide open!"

If he had possessed an invertebrate it would have gone stiff. He felt the nozzle of a toothpaste-gun against what could be his back. "I'm sorry, Flubbles," the dame said, "but now I can't let you do that. You see, I planned this all along."

"But why?" Flubbles lowered his gun, knowing he had been beat.

"No particular reason," she said.

"Damn. Without any regard to character development or plot depth--you truly are a villain. It's almost as if you knew this was all a blog post and suspected that dragging it on would just be silly and pretty vain!"

And then a tsunami of mint-chlorine-bleach came and washed away the country club and an entire history and culture with it.

Days later, Flubbles dragged himself onto the bottom lip of a world he had never known. He looked back on the ruined city, now a smooth marble, and lit a cigarette. It was one of the few pleasures he had.

Hurray for awkward transitions. But, really, there's only so much time I can spend impressing myself.

Y'know, I learned something today. A good habit never hurts, but relying too much on it might be a mistake. After all, life throws whatever it likes at you whether it be an underwater burglary or a tidal wave of mouthwash. Brushing teeth can be, after all, only the illusion of control in that respect. But that thought scares me so I'm going to go do what I do best and pass out on the bathroom floor.