I Hate the Dentist
Did I mention that I Hate the Dentist?
With all of the fear and loathing and the insane panic that small animals in critter carriers get when they smell that antiseptic smell of the veterinarians office.
I want to flee. Run away, very fast with heart racing, sweating, rapid breathing.
I'm not an easily frightened person. I just have a phobia of men with sharp objects poking around in my mouth.
The gas is fun but it is but a cruel, cruel lie. The gas makes you just a little high. OK- it makes you a LOT high. Everything is fun and psychedelic cool and then it goes away and you feel the pain and taste the blood and chips of drilled teeth and smell the smoke.
The smoke the drill makes is what really freaks me out.
I have what dentists call English teeth. I was doomed by genetics. It's not socialized dentistry or failing to brush my teeth. They are too close together and when I should have gotten braces, I couldn't. I was too poor and getting punched too much.
They aren't just bad teeth. They are atrocious, rebellious traitors. You can brush them, floss and gargle with virgins blood and they are still suicidally rebellious.
They know that if they keep it up I'll have the dentist drill their brains out and fill them with bondo.
Rotten bastards.
Brush your teeth.
I'll be at the dentist tomorrow.
I will be the one in the tree with his tail puffed.
- 8
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