The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Sunday, September 15, 2019

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: Premolars lxii-lxxvii

Nevertheless, during the Carboniferous Era the Father of Teeth was yet again greatly annoyed by dying vegetation. There were few things he found more depressing than being surrounded by mourning ferns and weeping gymnosperms. He did his best to argue against long-drawn-out funerary rites, and to encourage cremation instead; but the atmosphere was so moist and humid that, even after a couple of million years' closely reasoned advocacy, the fashion never really caught on.

Exasperated, the Father of Teeth chewed his way through several rainforests and scattered upon the remnants a peculiarly mutated species of bacteria which he found breeding ferociously among the blackest of his gums. "Do something useful with that lot," ordered the Father of Teeth, and then forgot about the whole business.

A little later, the Creator of the universe was pottering around in His usual aimless fashion, turning trilobites into other trilobites and so forth, when He was distracted by a meteor in the sky. His finger slipped, and a viviparous perversion of Nature scuttled squeaking into the undergrowth. "Oh well," said the Creator of the universe, "probably no harm done."

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