I'm not brushing my teeth...

Famous last words to an evening. You see, in some worlds, sleeping is a right. Its justice is quick.

The drinking of chocolate milk (the only acceptable brand here pictured in its true proportion to the landscape) is a rite.

And brushing your teeth is a privledge, one in this case mocked by the Marx-brotherish mustache left from the high tide of Toddy as it chugged down her throat at a speed and urgency usually associated only with baby animals. And followed indeed by a baby animalish sleep.