The Bonjela Slathered Fairy of Delight

Post CLXXIII

Here’s the story of teeth, sores, and bacon.

I might be considered the weird kid who eats Bonjela, but I argue that it hardly matters if I’m enjoying the moment. To which I am. There’s something strangely alluring about the taste of Bonjela. It’s like heaven condensed into a tub of gel. Of course, if you’re not British, you’ll never have heard of our Bonjela, which can be best described as a teething gel. It’s actually used for soothing ulcers. It’s simply delicious. It’s like the bread at church. That’s rather nice. One of my teachers once told me there was a German bread that tasted pretty similar. If we had internet back then, I probably would’ve bought some. You know, there was a crisp manufacturer here in the UK who once asked the general public for new flavours, anything you want. Really regretting not writing in and asking for Bonjela flavour…

It’s like a nice piece of gum, the flavour dances around your mouth and plays your tongue’s taste buds like a grand piano. It’s unfair, because the only time you can ever experience such joy is when you have a mouth ulcer, and they hurt like hell. To get the pleasure you have to go through the pain. All I’m asking for is Bonjela tasting regular things. Toothpaste. I don’t know, erm – milk. Ooh, that’s actually not a bad idea. And while we’re at it, what about Bonjela scented air fresheners? Bonjela scented underwear. Bonjela scented shoes. OH MY GOD! I’VE JUST HAD THE GREATEST IDEA EVER! Bonjela soap!

You know what readers, if I don’t get a free tub of Bonjela out of all this, I’ll be ever so pissed…

It doesn’t have to end there. Think of all the wonderful smells in the world. Freshly cut grass. Imagine how impressed your date would be if you showed up smelling of freshly cut grass. It’s not as far-fetched as it first seems, readers. I have bacon flavoured toothpaste. Seriously. I’m actually not joshing you. I genuinely own that. It was a Christmas gift (that’s the type of Christmas gifts I receive), and I can verify, it does smell of bacon. I’ve never actually used it, though. I have it sitting proudly on my shelf. Right next to my baptism candle. What? Hey, I’m sure Jesus loved bacon. Oh hang on, he was a Jew. Do they eat bacon? Ah, no. Oh, well…

I actually have a really big, bad and ugly ulcer I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to describe in all its yellow gooey glory. The pus ridden black hole of insanity. Okey-dokey, then. I won’t describe it. It’s right on the inside of my lip, but being a northern Englander, I’ve not complained and suffered immense agony in silence. I’ve been continuing with my daily average of two packets of crisps. TWO BLOODY SALT RIDDEN FAT FACTORIES OF POTATOEY GOODNESS! Hell yeah, I aint afraid of no ulcer. It actually makes my eyes water, but I’m determined, I am. I shall not change my diet. If I ate only food I could eat that wouldn’t cause any more pain to add to the immense amounts of pain I’m already in, by the time this ulcer buggers off, I’d be around six stone, and I’m already underweight. I shalt not let an ulcer define me. And I want that on my gravestone.

Have you ever seen a man eating crisps with tears strolling down his face, eyes bright red, and a constant high pitched whimper coming from his mouth, only sporadically broken up with the inevitable munching noises? There’s also a gentle rocking backwards and forwards involved. It looks mental. But I have to eat! What’s the alternative? Salad! Bloody salad! Are you bloody joking! I’m from the north of England, if I’m caught eating a salad, I’d be shot…

I have many bodily woes, not just my super mouth ulcer from hell. The bottoms of my toes are peeling off. Yes. The bottoms of them are simply falling away. It’s like stress causing your hair to fall out, except in this case, it’s skin on the bottoms of my toes. I can’t really explain it. Just strips of skin peeling off the bottoms of my toes, following the grooves in the skin. It’s not really a problem until I catch one on something, whilst I continue moving forward, causing the skin to be pulled right back and torn off, leading to copious amounts of blood loss. All throughout the house there are my bloody footprints. Looks like an incompetent burglar broke a window and climbed through barefoot. But it’s not the only part of me bleeding. I woke up on Friday morning with blood covering my grey night t-shirt. I’m pretty sure I’ll be dead soon.

It was, weirdly, coming from my earlobe. The blood had dribbled on to my shirt. I still don’t know what caused it. I’m hoping it’s not some little insect that nibbled on my ear at night. I’m actually hoping it was the Tooth Fairy fancying a bit of ear foreplay, but she actually got the wrong house. ‘Oh, hello sleeping husband, I’ll just nibble on your earlobe.’ No, sorry darling, you got the wrong house. I wish I was her husband, she is well hot. What? Just me? Ah well, suit yourself.

I’m actually worried about my dear old ulcer being something rather serious. One and a half weeks I’ve had it, they’re supposed to be gone by now. If it lasts longer than a week, you’re supposed to go and see a doctor. At least I have my beloved Bonjela. The tastiest thing in the whole universe. And I promise, readers, that if I still have this ulcer in 100 years time, I will go and see a doctor. I’ll be dead by then, so everyone’s winner. I never go to the doctors. I’m worried they might find something. No, nothing could get me to go and see a doctor.

Unless the doctor was the Tooth Fairy…

Samuel Victor David Evans once said, “Bacon – the source of all happiness.”

Peace Out :|:


I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the archives page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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