I decided my teeth needed a lot of attention last night, because I saw a scary advert about gum disease. So I brushed consistently for a while until my mouth bled, quite profusely. I think I've wounded the inside of my mouth somehow - there's a very sore patch just inside my left cheek and it hurts to have any hot drinks.
*Sips his tea; curses.*
I do this thing every now and then called "The Face." I stretch my mouth as wide as it can go. The picture shown is not actually a demonstration of that; I just took a picture when I yawned and thought, "there, that'll do." I also tilt my head a bit to the right and roll my eyes upwards. My friends seem to like it, and I can't actually recall any gigs in which I haven't ended up doing The Face. Every musical comedian has to have a schtick, and I appear to have abandoned satire and cheekiness in favour of looking like a constipated zombie. Ah well, makes people laugh.
I'm quite proud of my mouth. I can do incredible things with it, like eating, or sipping hot drinks and cursing. There are, of course, other things one can do with one's mouth, but I'm far too innocent to mention those here. Oh, and talking. I do a lot of talking. Mostly to myself.
Plus, I can stretch it wide. When I die and they lay me to rest, I want them to arrange my facial features so it looks like I'm doing The Face. A final testament to a truly busy mouth.
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