The Curmudgeon


Sunday, October 24, 2021

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: II Bicuspid xvii-xxiii

There was once, said the Father of Teeth, a screenwriter, showrunner or victim of involuntary celibacy (I forget which), who proposed to conclude a long, dark and tragic sequence of fictitious events by invoking the multiverse; which is to say, in essence, that the tragedy of a particular character is tragic only in a limited sense, given that infinite analogues of that same character exist in an infinite array of alternate universes, at least some of which must, by the law of averages, be more benign than this one. And so, said the Father of Teeth, I appeared before this showrunner or screenwriter or whatever, and amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth (we divided those particular labours along the expectable lines), I informed him that, in case he hadn't yet worked it out, he himself existed in one of those less fortunate universes. Specifically, by the grace of his Creator he inhabited a universe in which arrays of alternate universes arranged along more comfortable lines were conceivable without being attainable. And so, said the Father of Teeth, this involuntary celibate or screenwriter or showrunner (perhaps he was all three) took another look at the long, dark and tragic sequence of fictitious events which he was preparing to inflict upon a sentimental public, and proclaimed himself a god of sorts and his opus a universe in itself. Of course, said the Father of Teeth, baring his seventeenth least worst gnashers in a grinful of multifarious hazards; of course, one of the more fortunate aspects of the present universe - or unfortunate, depending on your point of view - is that it happens to be one of those in which many gods are edible.


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