So, yeah, when I was a little kid I had an overbite like a Simpsons character. Today my jaw looks like a Bruce Timm designed Superman or Batman. (Don’t get that reference? Good for you. I meant "big". Basically.) How could such an extreme change have taken place? The wonders and miracles of modern medicine! Hurrah for progress!
So, what up? My orthodontist, whom I met when I was a lad of 10ish because my dentist told my mom I needed braces, decided my mouth was too small for all my crooked ass teeth. The prevailing thought on remedying that in days of yore was to pull some teeth out, make room that way. But my ortho was hip to the new styles. He decided to try out this groovy technique: In addition to the flattering metal braces, he put a device on the roof of my mouth that my mom or dad had to stick a small key into and turn every night to slowly widen it—surprisingly not comfortable! I also had the aforementioned Groeningesque overbite that was to be remedied by a plastic and metal contraption that I had to wear at night to bring my weak, little jaw forward to make room for all them teeth, maybe even get that lil’, teeny jaw ta’ grow!
And it worked! Holy crap did it work! Tons of room in my damn mouth. Near the end of junior high, my overbite was a major under bite! Over corrected like a mofo. So I had to wear some totally awesome headgear to push my jaw back! So cool! Replace a problem with a problem, then start over! Brilliant, you dumb bastard orthodontist, BRILLIANT!
 So as the years flew by, this cool other side effect started… One time at my first shitty job in a so far pretty long line of shitty jobs, I yawned while bagging groceries. And after the well-deserved yawn, my mouth wouldn’t close! Manly jaw totally locked up! And this happens once in a while even now. I have to watch how far I open my mouth lest lockjaw occur. Eating Qdoba burritos can be dangerous in this condition. The ortho gave me a little retainer and some lip service, basically taking no responsibility for messing up my jaw.
It’s cool, though. Sure, other dentists have told me I need surgery or whatever. But why would I do that? I can fucking bite through rock! Not that I’ve tried it or would ever want to… I mean, my jaw might be strong enough, but it’d probably mess up my teeth. Though that’s happening anyway… Yeah, with my messed up under bite I get to grind my front teeth away at night and break my "permanent" retainer that’s supposed to keep my teeth straight, even whilst wearing that awesome extra retainer made of plastic, my jaw’s sore most of the time, and it gives me exactly ONE thing in common with Jay Leno! But that’s it. At my least funny, I’m still ten times funnier than that unfunny bastard. Even if millions of people laugh at his tired, bland shtick every night and he’s a millionaire while I write stuff read by three of four people for free and work a shitass temp job—I’m still funnier! And this is not just my raging ego as I have none—EVERYONE I know or have ever met is funnier than that twitchy, fellow-lantern jawed freak.
Jay Leno sucks. And, kids, in the end, that’s what this story and, indeed, EVERY story is about. Jay Leno is not funny.
Word is bond. |
