Grills, Girls and Bel-Nor

If a picture's worth a thousand words, here's hoping 6,000 would flesh this out for you.

- - - - -

It was any other Saturday.

Wake up.
Coffee.
Half a pack, need a carton.

Ride the bike.

Shop.

Foam.
Teeth (glue included).
Paint pen (Crayola, non-toxic, don't fret).
Smokes.

Home.

Make foam suit.
Paint teeth.

Fuck!

Forgot suspenders.

Shop.

Home.

Smoke. Coffee. Shower. Contacts.

Fuck!

Teeth won't stick.
Walgreen's.
Polident. On sale. Yeah!

- - - -

Karen's 50th.

James Bond theme -- costumes encouraged.

Most folks didn't get it.

Curious looks and questions.

Used to that by now.

The Spy Who Loved Me...Moonraker...??!!??

Blank stares.

Nervous chuckles.

Hard to talk.

Gnarled plastic, silver teeth, cannot swallow.

Tongue's coated with pink adhesive.

Fuck it!

Where's the bar?

Arrrghhhhh!

An Aston Martin.

Just for kicks!

Change clothes.

Next party.

House party.

Up north.

You've heard the story.

Hell of a House (RFT).

Linda Blair, but a boy.

Grab a drink.

Find the kid's room.

Get the hell out.

Literally.

Is this The Exorcist or The Matrix?

Needs paint, either way.

One for the road.