Today. Not For the Faint of Heart.

And definitely not for the housebloggers. Here's the rundown:

1. Three hours in the dentist's chair.

2. Verdict = yes, on the hoped-to-be-avoided "gentle shaving away" of the jawbone (and if anybody out there says "of an ass," I'll killya).

3. Plus I also need a little something new called "pocket elimination." Translation? Well, let's say you've decided you no longer want the back pocket on your jeans -- how would you "eliminate" it? Yeah. Exactly. Except this pocket is in my gums.

4. A whole new cavity has been discovered, which has to be dealt with pronto, before above two surgeries can occur.

5. And I need two more appointments that I didn't know about, both of which come after surgery but before I'm done.

6. Plus of course there's still the four I knew of.

By then it will have been five months since this whole ordeal began. Do you think they'll give me permission to skip my six-month checkup?

I don't care if they do, I'm skipping it anyway. So there. Poo on them.

No. No, I'm not. That's how this whole thing started in the first place. Dammit.

I swear to god, my teeth are healthy. I know you all are picturing some English Yuckmouth or something, but I swear that they're my proudest body part -- or, the part I'm proudest of, I mean. I have no idea how proud they are of themselves. Why don't you ask them?

Look!



Oh, whoops. I forgot. Taking picture of me, have to point camera other way. Hi, toilet paper!

Okay, now look for real this time:

Michael Rennie was ill the day the earth stood still...

It's not the greatest picture because my camera's (say it with me) ass -- plus there was the whole couldn't-see-the-shot thing -- but those are me, I swear to god. Mine. My never-spent-a-day-in-braces pearly-whites. Real pearly, too, not bleached and capped and polished. Beautiful, like Doctor German said. And virgin.

Well, not all of them. Not anymore.

But if anybody out there says they're sluts, I'll killya.