Bite Me, No, Really, Bite Me

Current mood: jubilant

Feeling like a million bucks. No, feeling like six million bucks. I’ve been Lee Major’ed, Steve Austin’ed… A man, barely alive. I am being rebuilt. Listen, I’ve always been a fan of body modification, nose jobs, liposuction, face lifts, tummy tucks, you know if that’s what you want, well go raise the dough a git ‘er done. We have the technology. Be all that you can be.

Feeling like a million last night as for the first time in, well almost a year. Finally I could talk to folks without feeling self conscious about the crap they’d be seeing if they glanced into my mouth. Now, I’m not getting ahead of myself. I still have a mouthful of trouble, but I no longer have to feel like some washed up third string American Industrial League hockey failure. I got me teef!

Self esteem is funny business. Especially when it comes a crashin’ on the shores of vanity. I mean, I was always taught not to fuss and bother ‘bout such things. How I look; not to worry about what picture I’ve posted on my front page at myspace. I mean, that’s girly girl stuff. Let’s go cut up that lumber son.

Maybe it IS vanity, but man it feels nice that, at least at first glance, I can talk to people I do not know and know that they’re not calculating the big black gap in my lower jaw in their immediate impression, often an important impressions. How many meetings over the last months have started with “…sorry, had an accident, getting some work done…”, some little self deprecating jab; some little bloob to make us all feel at ease 'cause one of the men in the room was, incomplete.

Now here’s the vanity… I have always applauded body modification, I’ve been modifying mine for over 41 years now. Last night I sat at Plodzky’s down on N 6th. I sat at the shiny brass taps, reading my new book. Every once in a while, I’d take a look up and glance at the choppers in the reflection of the tap rig. Came to a very simple conclusion. Fuck spending thousands on fixing these rotting useless god givens! They’re all coming out, I’m gonna be a “Fixidenter”, bitches.

I’m going to have my young man Vincent at NYU, forcep these little brown beans into the hopper, into the un-documented history book of Uncle GoGo’s sorded history of bad habits, poor diet and various abuses of substances not offially recognized by the FDA. I'm going for the Brad Pitt chompers, HOLLYWOOD brights... maybe I'll have 'em all made of golden.

Straight as pins, white as the snow before it hits the street of Brooklyn. "No, YOU had wooden teeth". I am so excited, I am so frikin' relieved... I've adapted to a prostetic. I've had no rejection issues, I'm ready to get myself under that knife, start carving up all these things that have been bugging me for years and years and years... Time to make the make over ladies. Watch out, here comes the super GoGo!

Hey, what's this? An email... 'bout whats it... penis extension... oh ya baby, watch out for super GoGo, watch it!