Brush your teeth, or else Michael Bolton will kill you
May 26, 2005
When a maaaaaaaaaan, loves a woman ... Fluorescent lights
glare down and constrict my pupils, although it feels like they
Michael Bolton is killing me and there's nothing
I can do about it. He's screaming ... Can't keep his mind
on nothin' ellllllllllse ... This must be the longest song
I've ever heard in my life. He should
have named it "The Long Song". (Now that you mentioned it...
when does a man love a woman, Michael?)
I take comfort in this music that is so unapologetically
bad. I know my turn will come. If and when I become
a doctor, in my office I'll be free
to play music from whatever decade I choose, and you can bet
I'll play some shit that would make little kids cry, even
harder than when I walk into the room with a massive needle full
My eyes hurt. My mouth is dry. And there are
two heads looking down the gaping hole in my mouth, staring with
intent, yet familiar
and calm concentration, picking at me with intimacy.
I can't help feeling that these two, who are whiter and friendlier
than me, are my parents. Who on Earth could handle a close personal
situation as hilarious as this with a straight face?
I keep praying... Please God, don't make me laugh.
If I did I'd probably get impaled by one of these devices currently
operating in my mouth.
Hey, the top part is soft, and I'm pretty sure it leads straight
to the brain. Relax, dude. The corners of my mouth keep turning
up, and I have to think of horrible things like drive-by shootings,
the Bush Administration, and Michael Jackson's face to bring
them back down. How did I get here?
I think of all the late night chicken finger sandwiches and six-packs
of beer, the taste of smoke, booze, salt, and grease on my tongue.
There was a battle raging inside my mouth: cells
armed with knives, pitchforks, and thick leather belts being
overwhelmed by broken-down sugars doing reconnaissance across my
Apache gunships and Chinook helicopters, while pieces of hot
wing (stuck between my teeth) bombed the foundations of my teeth
and lobbed bad-breath grenades around. Madness.
I took that mouth and fell
my bed, with an annoying ten-year-old kid's sense of pride
about not brushing my teeth. Why? Cuz I didn't have to. What an
idiot. Well, those days are over. If I don't start taking care
of my teeth, Michael Bolton will come and kick my ass all