I’m Jaws, Henchman to Global Megalomaniacs, and Yes, My Teeth Are an Occupational Necessity

Hello? Yes. I’m calling again.

No. I’m not yelling. This is just how I sound. The titanium in my mouth reverberates.

Let’s get straight to it. They’re not “grills”, Paula. They’re prosthetics. They are functionally vital, occupationally mandated prosthetics. I’m not a SoundCloud rapper. I’m a seven-foot-two contract killer who is running out of dental options and has a long history of chewing through reinforced security measures.

Yes. Yes. I realize they’re shiny. They’re supposed to be shiny. Intimidation is part of my gig. You don’t strike fear in the hearts of MI6 agents with molars that look like they came from a mid-tier Invisalign plan.

No. No. I did not “elect to install them” for “aesthetic purposes”. What kind of sick person chooses to have tungsten bicuspids? I wasn’t looking to flash a smile at Coachella. I was looking to bite through a gondola cable in the Alps while fighting a British secret agent in a tuxedo who smells like gin and imperialism.

Look… I’ve been through this… so many, many times. I submitted the X-rays. I submitted the dental impressions. I even submitted a video of me chewing through a suspension bridge cable with the kind of dedication your underwriter clearly lacks. People screamed, Paula. They screamed.

Sure. Fine. I have a thing about cables. But again, that is work related, and that’s not cosmetic. It is how I get evaluated on my job performance.

Come on! Tee Hee has a gleaming cybernetic claw and gets full coverage. No one there called that cosmetic. But I have reinforced canines and suddenly it’s all, “Sorry, sir… we don’t cover villainous dental modifications unless they are also certified to treat mild-to-moderate sleep apnea”.

Yes. I do chew food with them, too, thank you very much. No. It is not always “conventional” food because I sometimes find myself crunching on metal shavings. No. It’s actually good for you. Do you have any idea how much fiber is in a bank vault hinge?

Paula… Paula… I’m going to say this once more… these teeth are not “bling”. They technically qualify as “hazardous equipment” in three countries and they are a war crime in one.

They are the reason I was able to hold down freelance employment over a 15-year period. SMERSH hired me for three weeks in 2009. SPECTRE gave me a trial run. Even Elon called, though he backed out after I refused to bite through a tunnel for his Boring Company. I chew through steel doors and hope, but never dirt.

What? You think I want to be like this? You think I dreamed of being rejected by Dr. No Health Solutions while hiding inside a shark tank in a volcano lair? I can’t get through TSA without being strip-searched. Children scream when I smile. I haven’t had soup in years. Soup, Paula! Soup!

All I’m asking for is partial reimbursement. Just partial. I’m not even including the molybdenum crown replacements from the submarine incident. I’m only asking for the base titanium after that unfortunate encounter with Mr. Bond’s elbow.

Hold up. What? You’re denying the claim because I’ve allegedly entered the augmented-human biomechanical tier and would have needed cyborg health insurance instead? I still get canker sores, Paula.

I see.

Well.

I’ll be dropping off my next claim resubmittal in person, along with a sample bite radius. You’ll recognize the teeth marks in your office chair.

Click.