The other day, I experimented with a new kind of toothpaste, a gel. The Crest/Listerine Whitening Gel claims to be utopia in a bottle, the perfect balance between toothpaste and mouth wash. And that it may be but as far as I'm concerned, toothpaste and mouth wash are two separate and distinct entities never to be souped up into one. I was left with a rather dystopian feeling in my mouth and an unreasonable amount of residual plaque that I can only imagine plagued Harrison Ford's character in Blade Runner as he had to deal with while fighting probable androids and possible nonandroids. That's some hard shit to do with an organic glue stick in your mouth. Its tarter and gingivitis controlling abilities notwithstanding, those boys over at that Crest/Listerine outfit make a pretty tasty paste.
Believe it or not, toothpaste has only recently surfaced as an acceptable condiment/late night snack. For years, toothpaste was considered very plebeian. The bourgeois looked down its collective nose at peasants as they squeezed all possible dollops of sweet fluoride nourishment out of their collective tube, not unlike the way middle class Americans now sneer at lower-middle class fatties as they wait in line at Taco Bell, languorously waiting for their supreme burritos to squeezed out of tubes and for their sour cream to be ejaculated from caulk guns. No, it was not until the 80's that the stigma started to fade away. Enter Seth Rogan.
Seth is a pioneer, albeit an unknowing pioneer-- and not in the movie industry, of course. He turned the non-toothpaste-eating world on end at sleep away camp on Lake George back in 1985. One fateful night, the 9-year-old Rogan, was lying awake in his bunk unable to drift into sweet sweet repose. Before curfew and prior to the campfire where he consumed only 4 s'mores (doublestuffed), Seth had only eaten a meagre 12 chicken nuggets (4 of which he procured from a small Jewish boy for his fruit cup) flanked by a side of mashed potatoes covered in what can only generously be described as a dollop of gravy. Needless to say, as he laid in bed, young Seth's belly was not satiated. Subsequently, he did something rather extraordinary that would shake the very foundation of the culinary world. He gingerly climbed out of his bunk and carefully opened up his trunk and removed his tube of Bubblegum Crest with sparkles, which his mother was kind enough to purchase for him after just a slight tantrum in the Walmart toiletries isle. He then worked way back into his bunk, under the cover of his lime-green Coleman sleeping bag and started to consume. Consume he did. All of it. It was so fucking good that the next day he shared his innovation with a friend of his with a similar build whose own mother often and kindly would call Rubenesque. He told a couple of other fat camp buddies who told some of their fat camp buddies, and you know how it goes. None of them ever got a cavity again and toothpaste took off.
Now, thanks to Seth and his little fat camp friends, we have hundreds of flavors of toothpastes lining the shelves of our Wallgreens. Lemon lime, chocolate, vanilla, orange, purple, strawberry, anything you want at the squeeze of a tube. And what are we to make of this Ethan Allanesque toothpaste liberty? How do you choose the proper one? Which ones are fucking atrocious?
Last year Cornell University researchers came up with a scale to measure the tastiness of these fluoride treats, the Arm & Hammer/Colgate All Purpose Whitening scale. Arm & Hammer is a 1 and Colgate All Purpose Whitening is a perfect 10. Classic and delicate. Delicious. The following are some highlights and lowlights from the study:
Lows:
Mentadent (2)-- Not enough mint and too much fluoride. Also, it comes in a container with a pump.
That shit you get at the dentist (3)-- Terrible texture and overwhelming flavor. Flavor crystals stick around in your mouth way too long.
Highs
Crest Cheesecake Whitening (8)-- Very smooth and creamy. It just slides down the back of your throat. There are hints of lemon and little crust crumbs throughout. Wonderfully done.
Aquafresh Chili Cheese Dog Tarter Control (9)-- Meaty and a little spicy. It's everything you could ask for in a toothpaste. Tip: Add a little strip of Heinz Spicy Brown Cavity Protection, for a truly cum-in-your-pants-good brushing experience.
Enjoy and brush responsibly.
Believe it or not, toothpaste has only recently surfaced as an acceptable condiment/late night snack. For years, toothpaste was considered very plebeian. The bourgeois looked down its collective nose at peasants as they squeezed all possible dollops of sweet fluoride nourishment out of their collective tube, not unlike the way middle class Americans now sneer at lower-middle class fatties as they wait in line at Taco Bell, languorously waiting for their supreme burritos to squeezed out of tubes and for their sour cream to be ejaculated from caulk guns. No, it was not until the 80's that the stigma started to fade away. Enter Seth Rogan.
Seth is a pioneer, albeit an unknowing pioneer-- and not in the movie industry, of course. He turned the non-toothpaste-eating world on end at sleep away camp on Lake George back in 1985. One fateful night, the 9-year-old Rogan, was lying awake in his bunk unable to drift into sweet sweet repose. Before curfew and prior to the campfire where he consumed only 4 s'mores (doublestuffed), Seth had only eaten a meagre 12 chicken nuggets (4 of which he procured from a small Jewish boy for his fruit cup) flanked by a side of mashed potatoes covered in what can only generously be described as a dollop of gravy. Needless to say, as he laid in bed, young Seth's belly was not satiated. Subsequently, he did something rather extraordinary that would shake the very foundation of the culinary world. He gingerly climbed out of his bunk and carefully opened up his trunk and removed his tube of Bubblegum Crest with sparkles, which his mother was kind enough to purchase for him after just a slight tantrum in the Walmart toiletries isle. He then worked way back into his bunk, under the cover of his lime-green Coleman sleeping bag and started to consume. Consume he did. All of it. It was so fucking good that the next day he shared his innovation with a friend of his with a similar build whose own mother often and kindly would call Rubenesque. He told a couple of other fat camp buddies who told some of their fat camp buddies, and you know how it goes. None of them ever got a cavity again and toothpaste took off.
Now, thanks to Seth and his little fat camp friends, we have hundreds of flavors of toothpastes lining the shelves of our Wallgreens. Lemon lime, chocolate, vanilla, orange, purple, strawberry, anything you want at the squeeze of a tube. And what are we to make of this Ethan Allanesque toothpaste liberty? How do you choose the proper one? Which ones are fucking atrocious?
Last year Cornell University researchers came up with a scale to measure the tastiness of these fluoride treats, the Arm & Hammer/Colgate All Purpose Whitening scale. Arm & Hammer is a 1 and Colgate All Purpose Whitening is a perfect 10. Classic and delicate. Delicious. The following are some highlights and lowlights from the study:
Lows:
Mentadent (2)-- Not enough mint and too much fluoride. Also, it comes in a container with a pump.
That shit you get at the dentist (3)-- Terrible texture and overwhelming flavor. Flavor crystals stick around in your mouth way too long.
Highs
Crest Cheesecake Whitening (8)-- Very smooth and creamy. It just slides down the back of your throat. There are hints of lemon and little crust crumbs throughout. Wonderfully done.
Aquafresh Chili Cheese Dog Tarter Control (9)-- Meaty and a little spicy. It's everything you could ask for in a toothpaste. Tip: Add a little strip of Heinz Spicy Brown Cavity Protection, for a truly cum-in-your-pants-good brushing experience.
Enjoy and brush responsibly.
