Well, it's official. I have braces. You may be thinking to youself, gee, I wonder why that muscly hunk of literary genius got braces when his teeth seemed okay to me. Well, apparently (thanks for the compliment, by the way), I'm an imperfect being. I've been one my entire life and just recently found out. Now that my braces are yanking my teeth back into a natural position, however, I shall soon be a perfect being.
The process of getting the braces on consisted mainly of strange women sticking little metal things in my mouth and then shining a big heat ray onto them, all the while cramming my gullet with foul-tasting cotton swabs. It took about an hour and a half, and I came out looking as good as new. At least I think I did, my reflection cracked the mirror and I couldn't see it all that well.
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