The Father of Teeth
Text for today: Carnassials ccclxxix-cccxci
Nevertheless, after several weeks of wandering in the desert the Father of Teeth came upon a great wooden pillar, which stood eye-wateringly upright directly in the path of his rapidly travelling nose. Vengefully he inserted his second-best set of self-renewing gnashers and began to gnaw with serene relish. Soon an assembly of indignant citizens appeared and threw things at him, and when that didn't work they offered to sell him individually-packaged wild locusts in honey; but the Father of Teeth merely spat splinters at them and continued with his gnawing. Eventually the most distinguished citizen of all approached and personally requested that he desist.
"Why should I?" asked the Father of Teeth.
"You may not be aware of it, respected sir," said the most distinguished citizen, "but this pillar supports a platform, which supports a saint, who has made himself holy by his retreat from the world, and has thereby attracted unto himself a gigantic fame and following, Just over that ridge of rocks is the town which has grown up to cater to the pilgrims' needs, with bed and board and all the most ascetic trimmings at prices that require barely more than the faith of a mustard seed to be considered almost reasonable."
"You're right," said the Father of Teeth. "I wasn't aware of it, but now I am; and I still have not heard any reason why I should refrain from devouring this eremitical erection."
"Surely," said the most distinguished citizen, "the combination of market forces and moral imperative must give you pause. Our saint is, as I mentioned, a most holy person, and would undoubtedly be prepared to bestow spiritual riches upon anyone who willingly refrains from sin. Upon the infidel and transgressor, however, there is every possibility that retribution may or may not descend, within a time-frame to be determined by the Almighty, but assuredly shorter than we imagine."
But the Father of Teeth continued to gnaw, because once inserted his second-best set of self-renewing gnashers tended to renew itself at a considerable rate of knots, with rather inconvenient results if he didn't keep chewing. The most distinguished citizen had hardly finished his peroration before the wooden pillar creaked and groaned and then fell with a great crash to the ground, though fortunately nowhere near the town, which had been built at a respectable distance out of consideration for the investors in hired telescopes and disposable binoculars. Even more fortunately, the saint was unaffected by the catastrophe as he had been dead for some years. This of course meant that the town's current prosperity was even more miraculous than anyone had imagined, and it was all the Father of Teeth could do to decline the citizens' offer of an even higher pillar for his exclusive personal use.
Nevertheless, after several weeks of wandering in the desert the Father of Teeth came upon a great wooden pillar, which stood eye-wateringly upright directly in the path of his rapidly travelling nose. Vengefully he inserted his second-best set of self-renewing gnashers and began to gnaw with serene relish. Soon an assembly of indignant citizens appeared and threw things at him, and when that didn't work they offered to sell him individually-packaged wild locusts in honey; but the Father of Teeth merely spat splinters at them and continued with his gnawing. Eventually the most distinguished citizen of all approached and personally requested that he desist.
"Why should I?" asked the Father of Teeth.
"You may not be aware of it, respected sir," said the most distinguished citizen, "but this pillar supports a platform, which supports a saint, who has made himself holy by his retreat from the world, and has thereby attracted unto himself a gigantic fame and following, Just over that ridge of rocks is the town which has grown up to cater to the pilgrims' needs, with bed and board and all the most ascetic trimmings at prices that require barely more than the faith of a mustard seed to be considered almost reasonable."
"You're right," said the Father of Teeth. "I wasn't aware of it, but now I am; and I still have not heard any reason why I should refrain from devouring this eremitical erection."
"Surely," said the most distinguished citizen, "the combination of market forces and moral imperative must give you pause. Our saint is, as I mentioned, a most holy person, and would undoubtedly be prepared to bestow spiritual riches upon anyone who willingly refrains from sin. Upon the infidel and transgressor, however, there is every possibility that retribution may or may not descend, within a time-frame to be determined by the Almighty, but assuredly shorter than we imagine."
But the Father of Teeth continued to gnaw, because once inserted his second-best set of self-renewing gnashers tended to renew itself at a considerable rate of knots, with rather inconvenient results if he didn't keep chewing. The most distinguished citizen had hardly finished his peroration before the wooden pillar creaked and groaned and then fell with a great crash to the ground, though fortunately nowhere near the town, which had been built at a respectable distance out of consideration for the investors in hired telescopes and disposable binoculars. Even more fortunately, the saint was unaffected by the catastrophe as he had been dead for some years. This of course meant that the town's current prosperity was even more miraculous than anyone had imagined, and it was all the Father of Teeth could do to decline the citizens' offer of an even higher pillar for his exclusive personal use.
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