when you're a tattooer,
you always hear references to dentistry.
and drilling.
and assorted oral hygiene situations.
the thing is,
i love the dentist.
a lot.
mostly because i hate gross teeth.
i mean, a whole faceful of mossy gnarled-up plaque attackers?
that's butt-nastiness behind your lips.
i confess:
i'm a flosser.
i can't hang out with festy choppers,
and i make it a priority to keep 'em nice.
today,
me and the wife are both gettin' our chompers buffed and polished.
that's romance.
the ultrasonic tea and tobacco tannin removal magic?
so sexy.
now,
up here in the mountains,
plenty of folks let their incisors get crusty,
but still drop loot on getting tattooed.
misplaced priorities?
heck yes.
fix your doo-doo buttery cavity-creepin' grill, ninjas.
sh!t's not cool, y'heard?
word up.
up-here life is dope.
up-here teeth are not.
kids,
what's up with tartar?
yo, but on the really real, though, that's so gross.
tartar sauce? nasty.
steak tartare? F*n' nasty.
cream of tartar? good for baking, nasty on it's own.
tooth tartar? C'MON...
heck, even heck used to be called tartarus.
if you've got cottage-cheesy clotted-crap leavin's on your teeth?
you're suspect, son.
questionable.
brush 'em up.
of course,
i'm exempting the tatars.
gobi desert/ural mountain turks are okay with me.
plus,
i have no experience with the quality of their enameled eat-bones....
***********
linoleum blocks.
what do you guys think?
i'm on some Folk Life & Liberty arthur-making.
would you wear a woodsly goodness-reppin' shirt?
i would.
we'll be seeing more of that in the next few days.
i'm excited.
who knows?
maybe i'll even break out the camera over here,
and have some photos to go with these words...
blah blah blah.
c'mon.
you stopped reading so many sentences ago, anyway;
never quiet, never soft.....
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