It's not Steve Harvey's innate fault that people, complete strangers to him, want to smash his teeth in with a baseball bat as soon as he swaggers into view. If it's anyone's fault it's his teeth's fault! He can't help having them in his face. He can't help the way they grow -- inordinately -- exponentially. They just did.
It is his fault on inasmuch as he hasn't had them removed by an orthodontist, or paid for painful surgery to plane them to a more manageable size that won't enrage strangers and inspire them to madness.
Even in this "blame game" society, who among us can say what actual energies govern such grotesque feats of mammoth growth?
That said, many people enjoy, on "Cinqo de Maio," to craft a papier-mache head to the distinct likeness of STEVE HARVEY and to secrete candy and small gifts inside it and then hang it up and smash the fucking shit out of it.
They make a piñata in the shape of STEVE HARVEY's head.
They stove in his big teeth and take childlike delight in the collapse of those teeth and the commensurate outpouring of lovely sweetmeats and tinkertoys!
I'm not just talking about children, I'm also speaking about adults.
Childhood, boyhood, youth, right up to old age.
It's rather like the Sphinx's riddle to Oedipus.
The only shame is that such an obvious pleasure should be confined to only one occurrence per "calendar year."
Of course there is no law on earth that says you can't do it all the year round.
Every day if you like.
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