“Another thanks, Sam,” she said to the bartender. Seated upon an upturned shot glass, on top of the wooden bar. “It’s not worth it anymore, ” addressing the huddled regulars, “the market’s a crumbled cavity and I’m over the hierarchy’s tooth-ache-paperwork. This is my retirement peoples. As of now – I quit.” She held up her tiny hand to stop them speaking.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I have an abundant reserve and deliveries to my favourite long-distant customers will keep my wings in shape. Such as this vegetarian Witchdoctor from this Cannibal tribe in the highlands. He wears his collection innovatively to conceal his dietary preferences from his village. Now there’s a man who knows the value of a good tooth.

There’s my stall at the ‘Wicked Witches Black-market’ for milk-teeth’s calcium properties. They all suffer with rotten teeth and poor posture. Osteoporosis, It’s a side effect from dark magic. Poor things…

But my health insurance went up, again, from the hazards of the job such as entering a child’s bedroom. I’ve broken my nose and twisted my ankles so many times from littered floors, I’ve lost count. The worst time’s Easter and Halloween. We wear hazmat suits to combat candy-plaque-collections…No wonder my premiums are skyrocketing.

There’ll be no more ball gowns making my ass look gi-normous. They’re freezing in winter, a soaking-sponge in rain, and a sweatsuit in summer. Don’t get me started on irritating places glitter goes…

But my tooth-spitting finale – no more dental plan! You’d expect they’d supply dental cover, considering what we collect? Not anymore.

So that’s it. I’m done. Good luck to future generations – they’re gonna need it.”

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