My first waking thought yesterday was, “and THAT is why I’ll never do meth.” Must have been a hell of a dream.
I padded down the stairs and blearily poured myself a bucket of coffee. I was out of Redbull, so I made it with water. No wings for me, I thought sadly, as I started to try and piece together something to be offended by. Motrin Moms was so last year. Groupon was too easy. We are PRANKSTERS. We needed something like John C. Mayer, but better, I thought as I rubbed my tongue across my teeth.
Furious George had merit. Furious George Takes Over The Internet. Furious George Cuts Bob Ross. Furious George...wait…what the hell?
My tongue encountered something unexpected. Sharp, even. A popcorn kernel? That wily bastard!
I stumbled to the bathroom to floss (not remembering, of course, that it had been awhile since I’d had popcorn) and looked in the mirror.
My tooth was missing.
Or, I should say, a big chunk of it.
I had somehow managed to crack a tooth while sleeping.
I’m notorious for ridiculous injuries. I broke a toe making a sandwich (it wasn’t even FOR ME). I broke a door carrying a diet Coke (24 ounces of swinging death, baby). I jammed up my ankle walking down the stairs (not even saving a basket of cuddly puppies from a house fire). I cut my eyeball at a wedding on my birthday (I can’t begin to explain this one). I don’t know how Lassie makes this shit look glamorous because I sure as hell don’t.
But my tooth. Broken. While sleeping. This takes fucked-up to a whole new level of awesomely dumb.
I got it fixed, of course. I can’t be a toothless blogger. Lord knows someone might actually see me someday.
So if anyone asks, I broke my tooth chewing the bones of my sworn enemies. Like John C. Mayer. And Mark Zuckerberg.
This will be our little secret, Pranksters. Just you and me and the Internet.
Also, uh, don’t do meth.
What’s the stupidest injury you’ve ever gotten, Pranksters?
Blah-blah-bloggies. I’ll do something humiliating for you guys if I win. YOUR CHOICE.