I'm experiencing some discomfort right now. Every night I grind my teeth in my sleep, which is interesting given that Fibromyalgics don't really sleep well. Or at all, really; but with the right chemicals in one's bloodstream- the perfect, balanced dose of newer and gentler little pills that help you get to sleep, like a little butler of the brain escorting sleep in with a gentle cough and an announcement, along with the really old antidepressant that weighs as much as the nighty-night anvil to the crown that it represents- one can get to the level of sleep where one grinds one's teeth to fangs. I have them. Originally I only had them in the front, but now I have them where my flat and useful molars used to be.
Making your teeth into fangs is a long-term project, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with them. I have some ideas: I can see the immediate usefulness of a mouth full of pointies, because I have long been able to see myself as the heroine of a dark, softly absurdist suspense-comedy, where I am the lucky wereperson responsible for bringing all kinds of vigilante justice to those who are too vain or too stupid to stay out of the public's consciousness.
SCENE: The steps of the House of Representatives. Broad daylight.
Jenn, sharp-toothed and cranky, lurks behind a column. Her prey walks out into the unflinching sunlight of DC, striding with great confidence toward a podium at the bottom step. Reporter 1 steps forward just as the smiling and sharkish politician gets to the microphone.
Reporter 1: Sir, can you tell us- Sir, over here- I'm Jim Gosholot from Some Fictitious Legitimate Newsource, and we need to know why you're such an asshat?
Politician: Ha ha, that was a good shot there, Jim. What I'm here to talk about isn't personal, though. It's about the freedom of the American people to demand anti-tyrannical infrastructure nine-eleven, which was in response to a woman named Maria. When Maria first came to America, immigration bylaws dictated that she be given a briefcase full of Fort Knox gold and one puppy of her choice. The unsupportableness of the situation-
Reporter 2: Jayita Calamarala of Only Other Legitimate Newsource- Sir, can we get back to the central question? I believe Jim asked why you're such an asshat, and also can you tell us why we should listen to a word you say?
Politician: Again, I think the personal has really no place in this conversa-
Jen steps from behind the column, quickly descends the steps by leaping three steps at a time until she comes just behind the podium with the Politician.
Jenn: That's where you'd be wrong, Speaker Boehner.
Jenn opens her mouth wide to reveal sharpened wolf-like teeth set in mildly inflamed gums.
Jenn: RAWR!!
Jenn takes a big bite of Speaker Boehner's neck- blood spatters everywhere as the crowd disperses with screams. The Speaker cries like a baby-
QUICK FADE TO BLACK.
...and that's just one of the episodes I fully intend to develop and pitch to whomever will sit still long enough to listen. I might use this one:
SCENE: A dark alley. Midnight or something like it. Ryan Seacrest walks down the alley, jacket slung casually over his shoulder. He gets his car keys out of his pocket and opens the door of his car, which is parked at the end of the alley...
to SCENE: Car interior. Ryan Seacrest sits at the driver's seat- he reaches to put the key in the ignition, but a bony human hand with some serious paper cuts grasps his wrist tightly. PAN UP to face of person in the passenger seat next to him.
Ryan Seacrest: (gasp!)
Jenn: I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm sorry I have to do this. All the hipsters and post-punks and I have watched your plasticine face and robotic delivery on your various television shows, and we've decided that we just can't let it continue. You represent everything lame to us, and it is very, very frightening- it makes us imagine a world where there are nothing but Access Hollywood anchors on TV, and then you making the leap to the big screen where you will annoy the shit out of every audience member, young and old, and everyone will succumb and buy themselves a face exactly like yours and no one will have any genuine emotions to express. It's a dystopia, a terrible future, and you are the acorn of that textureless tree. So, I'm sorry, because I don't know you personally; for all I know you're a nice person and treat all those you come across with care and respect, and you visit your mother weekly and remember what her favorite flower is so that she's never disappointed on Mother's Day. Hell, you could be tutoring quadriplegic crack orphans and cleaning oily seabirds on your weekends-
Ryan Seacrest: Hey, I can see my reflection in your eyes-
Jenn: RAWR!!!
Jenn bites Ryan Seacrest's face. QUICK FADE TO BLACK.
...Ok, I know it's not fair to pick on Mr. Seacrest- shooting fish in a barrel and all that. But seeing as how I'm of a certain age and in possession of a certain level of snarkiness, it's kind of a counter- cultural obligation to hate him, right? In fact, I hate him so randomly and with such manufactured ire- HOW DARE HE TAKE VALUABLE AIR TIME FROM JOSS WHEADON- that I think about it all day, right up until I'm in bed trying to go to sleep. I believe it's making me grind my teeth.
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