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Yeah, It’s Bathroom Humor… But It’s Not That Kind of Bathroom Humor

So, I’ve been having some toothbrush-related problems lately.

And no, ya dildos, it’s not because I miss my mouth with it, and end up with pasty bristles up my nose.

(Well, okay, I might have ‘pasty bristles’ up my nose, but they’re not from the toothbrush. So that’s not it.)

Nor have I forgotten which end of the thing is which, and been scraping my gums with the ass-end of the thing. And speaking of ‘ass-end’ and ‘toothbrush’, I also — emphatically — didn’t have the problem that most of you are probably thinking about right now. Pervs.

(And if you’re not thinking about it…well, read this, and then you’ll be all caught up. Welcome to my twisted little world, folks. Grab a chair; stay a while.)

Anyway, none of those things are the problem. They’re problems, to be sure. Anytime the business end of a toothbrush is glommed up your nostril, or jammed into your palm, or rammed up your… um, well, ‘business end‘, then that’s pretty clearly a problem. But they’re not my problems. At least, not today. Tomorrow, who knows? There’s a weekend coming up; stranger things have happened.

But my problem — my right-now problem — goes something like this:

I use an electric toothbrush. My wife bought a his ‘n’ hers set a year or two ago, and we’ve used them ever since. And, despite my initial reservations, I have to admit that they seem to work pretty well. Certainly, no teeth have fallen out, or disintegrated, or turned green and skanky in the time that we’ve been using the new equipment. So that’s a good sign. I’m still a bit wary of any procedure that involves the words ‘electric‘ and ‘my mouth‘, but the mishaps in that area have been few and far between. I just have to remember not to lick the recharger.

(And I’ve written myself several reminder notes on the subject, let me tell you. Apparently, I’m not what the ADA would call a ‘quick study’ when it comes to oral electrocutions. In my defense, I can only say that the excruciatingly high voltage that sizzles through my teeth and gums when I forget is probably frying the neurons involved in long-term memory. So it’s sort of a vicious cycle, you see. A vicious, painful, pubic-hair-straightening cycle.)

Anyway, here’s the thing — in the past week or so, the toothbrush has died completely. I don’t know whether the recharger is shot, or the, um, ‘rechargee’ is blown, or the outlet is dead, or what. Seriously, I’ve licked all the appliances that I thought might be involved (plus a few that clearly weren’t…. mmmmm, curling iron…), and I’ve gotten nothing but a sandpapery tongue and the taste of week-old toothpaste crust in my mouth. Somewhere, the system’s failing — there’s simply no juice getting through to the thing. It’s cooked.

Now, for those of you who don’t use electric toothbrushes yourself, this may not seem like such a horrible thing. After all, it’s still a toothbrush, right? Well… yes and no. But mostly no, with a side order of ‘yeah, not so much‘. And I’ll tell you why.

First off, the little circular cluster of bristles on an electric toothbrush are approximately the size of… oh, I don’t know. What’s a really small circular thingy? A nail head? A thumb tack? An oversized booger? Dunno. Anyway, let’s just say it’s small. S. M. All. Which is fine, when the things are zinging around all over your mouth, swooshing to and fro, and delivering toothpaste all around your piehole. But when they just sit there, doing nothing and being useless — like Tom Arnold in a buddy movie — it’s really not the same. They’re just not big enough to get the job done. It’s like drying off after a shower with a square of toilet paper, or trying to use a Barbie like a blow-up doll. There’s just not enough material to work with.

And if that’s not bad enough, then consider the bristles themselves. (That’s in the Bible, right? ‘Consider the bristles…‘ Jesus or somebody said that, I think. Really, look it up.) See, the bristles on the thing are extra-ultra-uber-soft. Which, again, makes sense when the motor’s doing it’s job. With all that rotatoration going on (that’s a technical term, by the way; no time to stop and explain it now) when things are working right, you wouldn’t want firm bristles on the thing. They’re flying around in all directions, spinning at high speed — you don’t want to feel like you’re brushing with a Brillo pad, so the soft bristles are the way to go. It’s the motion that gets the pearly whites all squeaky clean.

But — but — when there’s no motion, you’re pretty much cooked. That little tuft of soft-ass bristles isn’t gonna do anyone any good. Seriously, they’re just too wimpy — it’s like brushing your teeth with pubic hairs. Short, white, straight pubic hairs, of course — but pubic hairs, nonetheless. Or at least it’s what I’d imagine brushing with pubes would be like. And trust me, I’ve given this a lot of thought. It’s… yeah, it’s probably best that you don’t ask. Better that way.

So, the toofers haven’t been getting the proper treatment for the past few days, I’m sorry to say. Sure, I try to use the stupid thing, but I can tell it’s not really happening. Why, right now, I’m tasting leftover pasta from Wednesday, and crumbs from last night’s dessert.

(Which, incidentally, gives me a hell of an idea — pineapple upside-down lasagna. I think it’s an idea who’s time has come. Back me up, here, Hawaiian-Italians. You know you’re with me on this one.)

Anyway, it looks like I’ll have to get out there this weekend and buy a whole new contraption to foam my mouth with.

(Um, that’s probably a sentence you shouldn’t take out of context, ‘kay? I say enough other embarrassing shit as it is, all right? Just leave that one alone.)

This time, I think I’ll buy a good, old-fashioned, non-electric backup, just in case the newfangled machine craps out on me again. Maybe I’ll even go ‘old school’, and only buy the ‘traditional’ brush. I mean, that’s what I’ve got the most experience and practice with. And if I ever did miss, and stick my toothbrush up my nose, I think I’d greatly prefer for it to not be gyrating at a thousand miles an hour at the time. Plus, there are nearly no ‘licking hazards’ associated with the old brushes. You can tongue the thing to your heart’s content, with little fear of injury.

(Um, yeah… the thing I said before about taking things out of context — ditto that for the last sentence. I think I’ll just quit while I’m behind. Man, I never knew talking about toothbrushes was so damned hard!)