My Face Is Literally Falling Apart

A piece of my tooth randomly fell out of my mouth the other night. This was obviously distressing news. As I chewed my gum and suddenly felt something come unstuck, I thought that I had heroically outed some stale piece of popcorn or porcelain. But no! It was a part of my mouth.

What keeps playing in my head is that scene from It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia where Charlie keeps pulling teeth out of his mouth. And, let me tell you something, that guy most certainly does not have his shit together.

If part of your mouth is actually falling off your face, then that's probably a solid argument against having your shit together. When something like that happens, you'd think I had spent a month eating sour patch kids in a bowl of Pepsi like it were cereal for every meal and just abandoned brushing my teeth altogether. But that's not the case! I brush my teeth two or three times a day! And, sure, I haven't had a stunning diet recently, but I was regularly eating all kinds of fruits and vegetables the first three months of this year.

Damn, maybe it was Anything Goes April, which turned into May I Have Everything May. I don't know. I'm not a scientist. If I were, I'd cure all teeth problems forever. And everyone would throw me a parade where all we served were things that destroy your gums but now don't.

"Yes, I'll have that jellybean sandwich! In fact, make that two!" all the kids would say.

The only trouble they'd be in is when they have to go to the face doctor for smiling too much. And they wouldn't even be bummed.

"So..." the doctor would start.

"Fucking worth it," the magnificent kids would tell him, cutting him off.

"Jake Kilroy the scientist is the greatest person to ever live for any reason in any country on any planet," the youngest, most adorable youngster would announce adorably.

But, no, I'm not a scientist and instead of being praised in the history books as "the man who solved everything," I have to go down in the diary I don't really have as "one big decaying mess." Maybe if I'm nice, I'll list myself "peaked," so that peers assume that I was once a man with full teeth.

I drank cold water two nights ago and nearly threw the cup across the room. That's how bad it stings. Now my goddamn nerves are exposed. People will see my feelings. You know what that means? I have to eat my feelings. All billion of them. That's right! I have a billion feelings. Happy? No! That's not even one of my billion feelings right now! Right now, I feel "unpruniaxed," which you didn't even know was possible until now! Why can't I go down in history as "the awesome hero would had a billion feelings?" Nope. Instead, I have to go to sleep knowing I'm "the guy who whose bones collapsed on him in a spectacular disappointment."

You know what? I was too good to myself this last month. That's what happened. Everything I wanted, I gave myself. I was having cheesecake for breakfast and beer for lunch. Dinner? Who gives a shit about dinner when all you've had to eat that afternoon is a few Pez candies and a couple swigs of bourbon?

Fuck this.

Oh, and last night, while at Taco Bell, I pulled up to the window and the guy said, "Yeah, I remember this order. You're the only one who orders rice instead of meat."

I nod and mumble something that sounds vaguely like a reply. When he comes back with my food, he adds, "After you left last night, I tried it with rice and it was pretty good."

YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT. I WENT TO TACO BELL TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. Same fucking Taco Bell, same fucking guy giving me Taco Bell. But have I learned my lesson? Hell no! I might get Taco Bell tonight! I might eat that shit in my sleep! I might dream about Taco Bell!

All I have to do is make sure I chew all that Taco Bell with the right side of my face, so that those nacho chips I've ordered on this lifelong binge of destroying my body don't stab the goddamn exposed nerves in my mouth.

Ugh. I'm so hungry.