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As is often the case, i stumble home from the studio with dreams of snow white, charles manson and other contradictions and i realise days have passed me by with little concern for changes of clothing, bills to be payed and most importantly teeth to be brushed. As i rest my head on a happy pillow, dreams
of cherubs and butternut pumpkins begin to fill my dirty mind. my tongue sweeps mindlessly over the teeth and my heart sinks deeply and slowly into my chest - a sticky flotsam and jetsam type resin of the evenings varied ingestions has fastened itself to the chompers like sand to a lifeguards arse.
do i go noddy blinkums at once and strike the cheese like residue from my ever wandering mind? - or do i leap from my cot, eyebrow raised and storm back into the bathroom with nothing but flouride on my mind?
alas the sleepy land of chocolate fairies and dancing sugar pies beckons me - but then i remember and feel the chain about my neck. how they laughed at the club, when they saw my toothbrush dangling there between my nipples - 'here comes dr brush' they said as i sauntered onto the dance floor, my collar open, chest hairs embracing the plastic shaft that beat to a complete different sanitary dental rhythm.
now from the horizontal position i grab my brush and clean my teeth with a lazy, yet better than nothing motion, the cheesy goo mixed with a quick application of bedside toothpaste dribbles down onto my chin and i can forget the universe safe in the knowledge that when i wake up in a day or two my cavity may never need filling.
||And lifeguards should have two brushes on their necklaces?
||Or, of course, the ultimate minimalist survival kit for those house parties you mean to come home from but are just too good to leave ;-)