I always kind of envisioned the tooth fairy as this babely femme that I had weird feelings about as a child. Like…do I like-like the tooth fairy? I fixated a lot on her as a child. Like…a lot.
I used to write her super intense letters, one time writing to her about how I wanted a cake topper of Cat-Woman (as portrayed by Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns – her portraying Cat-Woman that is, not portraying a cake topper). The whole thing must have been super weird for my parents to read.
My belief in the tooth fairy was kind of destroyed by an episode of Dennis the Menace (the old school live action one, not the cartoon) where they talked about her not being real. I don’t remember being pissed or ashamed, but since those two things kind of typified my childhood (…and adulthood), I’m sure I was.
However, maybe Dennis got it wrong. Maybe the tooth fairy IS real. And maybe she is hanging out in and around West Philadelphia. Because when I walked out of my apartment the other morning, I was greeted with this:
As in, it was in front of my door. Having known a little bit about dentures (whatever, don’t judge my interests), I could immediately tell that this was a pretty expensive piece and therefore the owner – or the tooth fairy – would be very bummed about its disappearance. I snapped the above shot to see if I could zoom-in and see if there was a serial number on that jawn-er so I could contact someone (toothhhhhhhh fairy?).
Went to 7-11. Got some coffee and some shitty pizza. Walked back.
THE TEETH WERE FUCKING GONE.
Dude, if I hadn’t taken the photo I would be doubting their actuality. The trip to 7z couldn’t have taken more than 10 minutes, including the walk to and fro. Where did the teeth go? I didn’t even get my shining moment of saviorhood in an attempt to contact the tooth fairy (or owner) regarding their missing chompers.
But, if the coming and going of this pair of teethies means that the tooth fairy IS real AND visiting West Philadelphia…what’s up, pup? Youuuuuu wanna get a drink some time? Maybe discuss cake toppers?
What I’m saying is that I want to date the tooth fairy.
What’s the point of a tomorrow when John Hammond can’t be here today?
Jurassic Snark will never be the same. Rest in Peace, Richard Attenborough, and like you said in your infinite wisdom: All major theme parks have delays
What a great way to start August – with a fan fiction of failure. This one truly speaks to the dickish nature of a smug Fred Jones. For your listening pleasure:
One is the Deadliest Number
VO by Joanna
story by You Life
art by the Law Offices of Van Noss²
Daphne’s hand tightened around the handle, the blade hidden behind her back.
“Jinkies!…you feeling alright?” Velma’s hesitant voice echoed down the hall.
She cleared her throat trying to sound calm, “Totally Velm. Just…just looking for that over-sized magnifying glass.”
“Oh okay. Shaggy and I are going to take Scoobs out for a walk. That might make you feel better.”
Damn that Fred! Everyone knew.
“Thanks, maybe later.”
She waited till Velma walked away. That cravat wearing mother fucker must have told everyone about them before she got up.
“I like you Daphne. It’s just that I need someone smarter than you.”
No one uses Daphne Danger and gets away with it. Who needs brains when you have a blade?
The poster of Tesla outside Fred’s door infuriated Daphne. She knocked her fist against the scientist’s judge-y face. Fred opened the door and Daphne greeted him with the business end of her knife.
Meaning she killed him.
Joanna is a vocal goddess
Van Noss is a grumpy mantalope
Office vending machines are the prime area to communicate with the future robot leaders of this world (see: this, this, this, this – honestly this blog is basically pizza, cats, and my fear of the robot apocalypse coupled with leaving notes on vending machines).
And on that note, here is a hilarious update on that front:
That’s what happens when you screw with the robots, duder.
My GPS is confused about where I live, but in between work and home I’ve ended up in Middle Earth
In a way it sort of makes sense because I’ve always coveted those underground homes. And I am quite short.
And my feet DO look like this.
Join me in my new home in the Shire. I’ll be engaging in my three favorite hobbies: eating, smoking, and kissing up on Frodo.
It’s a hostile world when the vending machines stop upholding their side of the bargain. I heard somewhere from something online that crazy scientists are creating smarter robots. But I’d venture to say that they’re already smart enough and that this is a rise of the proletariat sort of situation that we have on our hands.
Beware of the vending machine
I’d consider raising the vending machine’s salary and giving it benefits before it responds with greater prejudice.
Here is the newest installment of Fan Fiction of Failure. This one is written by your very own You Life. The ridiculously talented This Guy, Jim C, once again lends his talents for the illustrations. And, again, the amazing Anthony donates his lovely vocal cords for the voice over.
Harry pushed up the sleeves of his tattered cloak. The previous several years having been a dream, Harry was back to the grind – trying to destroy Voldemort, but more importantly trying to hide the true emotions slowing building inside him like a camp fire.
“Harry?” Snape emerged like a wounded panther. Sleek and dangerous. Harry’s heart quickened at the approaching visage, wise and grave. His voice was barely a squeak when it came out, a warmth was spreading throughout his belly, “Yes, Professor Snape?”
The professor closed the space between them. With trembling fingers he reached out and brushed a lock of Harry’s dark hair out his eyes. Harry quaked with the tension, as Snape’s body, only a breath away grazed his own. “You fought magnificently today,” he whispered lustily.
Harry tilted his chin up…
Our boss is less than pleased about Corey’s snide remarks. We’ve been telling her it’s out of our hands – Corey has a mind of his own. And it’s filled with bitchy retorts
After an intellectually stimulating conversation with my dear friend we decided that you can only be one of the following: nice, hot, or talented. You can’t be all three, it’s not fair. Good qualities are too rare, and it’s unjust to hog all of them. PICK ONE.
Which is why this guy gets greeted with daily abuse by the writers’ room. Here are a few of the things that he gets to see about himself recently:
to add insult to injury the hilarious illustration under the middle picture was drawn by “this guy.” Because he’s a talented writer and an incredible artist. Bastard.
For more ha’s go visit the author of those missives here
Just like this guy, we have a new addition to the writers’ room at work. You might remember him from here.
He’s taken a significant left-hand turn away from well-wishing and Valentine’s Day celebrating.
Wise cracks with our dinosaur, Corey Albertson
Welcome to Jurassic Snark