Enargeia: The Loser

As I sit on the couch wincing, I examine his oral cavity.  Thirty-five jagged cliffs arranged in a zigzagged semi-circle.  Dingy.  Chipped.  Crusted.  One extra tooth juts out from the gum in front of his bottom left canine.  Similar irregularities occur at his top left incisor and top right canine.  So much tartar is caked on his teeth you could scrape it off like old paint from a wall.  On the ridge of his swollen gums, blood glistens like a red straight between two masses.  "Does he ever brush?" I think to myself.  "Floss?  Obviously not." Then I return to the conversation.  He starts to speak causing a rancid smell to singe my nose hairs, blind my sight, and wrench my stomach.  The room starts spinning as I hold back a yelp of repulse.  Without thinking and eyes watering, I throw up a little in my mouth and wrinkle my nose.  Fleeing to the bathroom to escape the deathly lingering fumes, I find refuge in fresh air.  Whew.

Testing testing 123