Fundamentals of Apocalypse Dentistry by Lauren Kardos

Root (in the) Canal
Try the old bait and tackle shops first, I tell all my patients and I’m telling you. Find waterproof overalls then muck about the banks, hunting for glimmers of pearl. Alligator fangs make for perfect canines. Beaver teeth for incisors.

Next batch of canned-peach hooch won’t be ready for a week or more. You sure you want to do this now? Lean back over that boulder. It takes but a moment to sanitize pliers over the cookstove between appointments.

Don’t you wonder how the flash ruined brick, stone, and steel, but copper’s not worse for wear? I’m clean out of pens for your John Hancock, but I require payment in equipment, mainly the wires that’ll hold your Frankenstein yapper in place. Across the river those heaps haven’t been touched yet, I expect. 

Curl your lips away from the super glue and try to imagine swallowing your tongue. If not, you’ll either sear those tastebuds off or talk forevermore like a horse with peanut butter gums, but super glue is all I’ve got. 

Lean over a puddle. Grab some charcoal from your preferred former establishment — avoid those Pompeii-prone shapes — and scrub in a circular motion. Rinse with the cleanest liquid you can find. When you squint, a smile will look close enough to the original. Enjoy.


Lauren Kardos (she/her) writes from Washington, DC, but she’s still breaking up with her hometown in Western Pennsylvania. You can find her on Twitter @lkardos.