Theatrical hopes abandoned

I bit down too hard on an ill-popped kernel last week and crunched a canine, increasing my tattoo:tooth ratio. It had been questionable for a long time. The break and its aftermath were painless. I can still chew a three-dollar steak.

So I decided that since it's about time for a "Deliverance" remake, I should just call up a Hollywood agent and announce my availability to be one of the guys sittin' and whittlin' and spittin' while the banjo answers the guitar.

Then I decided naawww. Smilin' is too much fun. I see my dentist in an hour.

How regrettably bourgeois of me.