My dentist is Satan. No seriously. I think between patients she locks herself in her office, cranks up the Marilyn Manson, and just sketches pentagrams on the wall. Half the time, I expect my appointments to end with her head rotating 360 degrees and her spitting out a little green slime. I carry my crucifix to the dentist’s just in case…

Anyway, to hide the fact that she’s Satan, my dentist tries to claim she’s from some small eastern European country. Apparently, this country doesn’t recognize the concept of pain. I’m guessing it’s one of those countries where a teenager’s entrance into adulthood involves him or her completing some type of physical challenge that involves a 30% chance of survival. So yeah, this is my dentist. And well, at present, I’m lying in the chair and she’s jabbing this sharp object (which could potentially be mistaken for a small pick ax) into my lower lip, and of course it hurts like hell, so I keep saying “Ow” (which some would interpret as a subtle indication that I am hurting) and she keeps saying “Sorry”.

Jab. Ow. Sorry.

Jab. Ow. Sorry.

Jab.

So after like ten minutes of this, I’m not feeling so god damn subtle, and I just want to grab her by the hair and scream “Holy shit woman, that hurts.” But then, you know, if I was a dentist and some prissy little patient bitched to me that I was hurting her prissy little gums, well, hell, I’d go for blood. And if I happened to also be Satan, I think this would be especially true. So that said, I stay as quiet as a mouse, a mouse in serious pain, and when the picking part is done, I end up spitting out 7/8ths of my gum, which is kind of a shame.

Next up: the brushing portion of my dental appointment. Right away, I’m thinking there’s going to be trouble, cause that’s no “pea sized” quantity of toothpaste she’s putting on the brush. It’s more like a “beach ball” sized quantity, and as she comes at me with the whirling toothbrush in hand, my innate sense of survival detects potential danger. Run. For the love of God, run. She hits the front teeth, and a fountain of toothpaste and spittle rises from my jaws in a display akin to Niagara Falls. It rises up up up and splatters my dentist’s face before coming to a resounding thud on my paper bibb. Now, most people would be completely disgusted to have some stranger’s biological juice cover their face. My dentist just keeps on working, which of course, proves my theory that she is in fact the devil.

Well at long last, the appointment comes to an end. I let my dentist know that I’ve decided not to book another appointment- six months doesn’t sound like a long enough healing period, and well I hear Freddy Kreuger might be opening up a dental office in the neighborhood. My dentist shrugs, gives me my free toothbrush coupon, and heads back to her office for a little more Marilyn Manson/ Pentagram action…