Clydesdales and toothbrushes

I loaded up a toothbrush with a big 'ole gob of toothpaste and shoved it in my mouth.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

I immediately whirled around to face T and pointed an accusatory toothbrush at his (somewhat startled) face.


How dare you! My toothbrush was perfectly happy and healthy until you got your... your... your dirty teeth all over it! I can tell you've been using it because I have never met another person who is so violent with toothbrushes that the bristles fan out like some kind of fucking ... horse foot.

You know those horses with the tassels on their feet. Not tassels, but their hair kind of flounces out about their ankles. Flared jeans remind me of them. Fancy, prancy-face horses.


I have never met someone who can destroy a toothbrush so viscously and so quickly. For a scrawny boy with no muscle, he manages to summon unreal amounts of power for the sole purpose of grinding toothbrush bristles against his teeth.

I have a new toothbrush, by the way. It's green.

"I want the one with more bristles," he says when we're in the toothbrush aisle at WalMart.
"More bristles for YOU TO BREAK!?" I glare at him.

*glare glare*

That boy will never touch my toothbrush again.

Or else.

3 things about

Clydesdales and toothbrushes
  1. Seeing as though I rather like your blog I was wondering if you would like to write a guest post for my blog. This is an invitation to do so. It would be fantastic if you did. Details on the link below.

  2. Haha, nothing is sacred in my home. My toothbrush, my razor...hell, even my deodorant is subject to violation. Thankfully, they don't get destroyed after two uses.


Copyright 2012 Phile not Found. See About
Powered by Blogger

"Whenever you find that you are on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect."