Paul's Hair and Teeth Are Dead. Right??

Yesterday I was whining about how the ABC version of Paul McCartney's Good Evening New York City was a little bleak. I've always loved the the druggy explorative/Hare Krishna Beatles, but never much of a Fab Four fan. I have infinite respect for Padre Paul, I even like Wings, but just don't really need to hear "I Saw Her Standing There" againnnn in my lifetime, not from one the few living legends left on earth. It made me a little crabby so I started picking things apart, like that faux fox waving at me from the top of his head.

It was driving me crazy, all flappy.

Then out came fellow sextogenarian Billy Joel to help Sir Paul sing about girls being Just 17, and yet I found myself admiring Billy's commitment to growing old gracefully. But then, I guess the silver bullet look is probably easier when you have the same headshape as perennial super mass-appeal-licious badass: Bruce Willis.

Billy

Bruce

And then I started listening. When you work on the phone you're blind to the way people look so you start developing extra senses to compensate. I've discovered as a phone workerbee that one occupational hazard is how I can now identify when people wear dentures. Yuck skill, yes. Useless skill, definitely. Useless...until you're disappointed in a highly promoted production and you find an opportunity to shout "Oh mi-gawd, listen to hiiim, he tawtally has dentures, gro-hoss!"

Wally didn't buy it so today I set out to investigate my denture theory...because Paul McCartney's dental health is totally my business. Just like it was my business to figure out that Joe Jackson castrated young Michael Jackson to keep his voice high. (It all added up, the voice, the animosity towards his father, the kids who don't share his DNA. Oh how I dreamt of the day that his secret would be exposed from his dark lair of Lord Knows What Else [but I never wished it to be so soon---RIP Michael!] and how people would chant "Rachel! You were right! Autopsy reports show that Michael has been spayed! He is the eunuch you told us he was!" Alas, as the freemasons have kept Michael's bones and his absence of genitalia a secret from the mainstream world, so) I now hold a determination to prove that She Whusch Jusht Sheventeen for a prosthetic reason.

First stop: Google.

I get nothin'.

Second stop: Google, but deeper. I discover there is a giant and tight group of people who still insist that Paul Is Dead. I find this photo which is reported to be evidence of a scooter accident that knocked out his front teef (<--genuine British pronunciation, Supernanny says so.)

I'm not sure that's enough, that he has fake buckers. The way he was singing, it was so obvious that entire panels of teeth and gums and plastic were about ready to skip across the stage and into the audience. I had to get more proof....

I liked the idea of old photos, and figured that if I got good dentular shot from old and recent photos, the difference in dental lines would prove my theory. Right?

Ok, so...hm. Snagglepuss appears to have had the same-looking teeth for a long time. Maybe he got really bad British dentures, too? I suppose that's probably...doubtful.

Oh well. Someday one of my theories will come true. Like the one about the H1N1 shot being used to sterilize the country for population control. Laugh if you want, hahaha...but you'll be thinking of this post as you're nagging again for grandchildren. Muuuuughuuuuhhuuaaarraahahahahaaaaaa... (<--that's not my own personal dark sinister laugh, it's the one of Big Pharma and the Gov't, jussclarifyin'.) (And I know, that was Howie Mandel back there.)