My Son, The Gearhead...

Poor Mr. Z's chin. So, the dude's been wearing this headgear at night that, seriously, makes that Hannibal Lecter rawhide face-plate seem like some sort of organic honey/papaya facial mask. Here's a pic:



That's not him in the photo. I'm pretty sure that's a shot of the greasy, bastard child of Patrick Dempsey and Perry Ferrell. Anywhich, Mr. Z's chin has been totally raw from this facial iron-maiden, and we've been at kind of a loss for what to do. I tried swapping in a new pad, but that didn't help -- the pads are all burlappy and stiff. I mean, who designed this fucking thing... Chinny Ripperton?

So then I had this brilliant mind thing... when your mind gets a thing in it... like an... IDEA. Right, idea. Whew, touch of the Oldtimers right there. So, yeah, I had this idea to find some lambswool and just shove it in the ol' chin cup. Brilliant, right? Thank you. But I couldn't find any, of course. Million fucking farms within a five mile radius and a guy can't find any goddamn lambswool. Nothing over at JoAnne's Fabrics or the Hobby Lobby... except, of course, a lot of horsey looking women wearing baggy denim shirts with that quilty looking needle-pointy shit all over them.

I ended up finding a bag of the shit over at "The Meijers," as they say. Pulled out a wad, shoved it into the chin cup and, voyla, let the healing begin. Of course, had I gotten my bright idea about two months ago, the boy wouldn't have had to walk around looking like Johnny Redchin, but what are you gonna do.

So I learned something, today. One, orthodontists are sick fuckers. B, Mr. Z puts up with a lot of bullshit from grownups, like being forced to wear facial torture devices, just because we ask him to, and he doesn't question it for a second, even when it starts rubbing his face off. And third, lambswool is REALLY soft and I think I'd like someone to knit me something made out of it. Perhaps a smart vest, or a pair of jodhpurs.