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Brusha brusha brusha, keeps your teeth so clean

This morning I woke up and (like most mornings) immediately went to the bathroom to go pee and brush my teeth to rid myself of what I’ve affectionately termed “Stinkmouth” (seriously, what happens in there overnight? I brush my teeth before I go to bed, sleep for 10 7.5 hours and then when I wake up I find that a flatulent skunk has taken up residence betwixt my incisors, thrown a party and trashed the place. It’s a mystery wrapped in a riddle.)

This morning when I went to start brushing, instead of putting the toothbrush in my mouth like a normal human being, I instead clumsily jammed it into my chin, smearing toothpaste everywhere. I then had to use my toothbrush to spoon the toothpaste back into my mouth so I could just BRUSH MY TEETH GOD DAMMIT and then when I did I realized that there was a hair. On my toothbrush. Most likely mine, probably from when I jammed the toothbrush into my face. The toothbrush itself, however, is not mine, because I’m using Adam’s (I KNOW) because I left mine at my sisters house along with my jean jacket and vintage photos of my grandaddy and oh, you know, MY DIGNITY.

(I hate you Lizzie. If you don’t mail that sucker back to me I will post the picture of you wearing it. YOU KNOW THE ONE.)

As for the rest of you, are you still hung up on me using Adam’s toothbrush? I don’t know, I have nothing to say about that one. It’s disgusting. I’m lazy. Here we are.

HAPPY SUNDAY.

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