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Wednesday, 20 September
In The Mouth Of Madness

Yesterday was yet another dental visit. I go three times a year because . . . apparently, because that's how many times my insane insurance company will pay for me to go without charging me anything. Naturally, Jessica, my hygienist, immediately stuck a car jack in my mouth and started energetically cranking away.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" I screamed as my jawbone snapped like a dry branch. It would have hung loosely, bouncing off my throat but for the incredible tension still being exerted by the car jack. "You're such a wuss," said Jessica, and she punched me playfully in the testicles. Tears streamed down my face as Jessica produced a jar of angry, writhing black larvae. "Uvula leeches," she murmured. "Just what Daddy needs." I sat helplessly, pinioned to the chair in a complicated arrangement of electrified cables as she rechecked the car jack, and judiciously ratcheted it another notch. I saw my reflection in her small glasses as she leaned over me; I looked like Munch's The Scream, and I desperately looked around for art thieves who might, however briefly, steal me away from this horrible tableau, but alas. Fuck you, Interpol.

Jessica, unfazed by my weak thrashings, set about hammering cedar planks into my gums, further incapacitating me. "The leeches like the smell of cedar," she explained, and dumped the jar of invertebrates into my maw. They promptly attached themselves to my palate and the back of my throat and began a frenzy of blood-feeding; this anemone-like feeling activated my gag reflex, and I vomited explosively all over my lap, earning me a stern look from Jessica. "That's not cricket," she said disapprovingly, and promptly stuck crickets in my ears. Where the fuck does she find this stuff? Jessica has a way with symbolic gestures.

Jessica finally had a look inside my mouth, prodding here and there with rusty hooks that she retrieved as needed from a nearby toilet. "Did you burn your mouth recently?" she asked. "YAAHH!" I screamed. "YEEE-YAAA!" I was trying to say, "Yes, pizza!" but the car jack and the blood loss from the feasting parasites mangled my diction. It was as if Jessica hadn't heard me anyway. "I see flaps of flesh. Here and here and here." Each "here" was punctuated by a rough jab to the hard palate with an unbent coat hanger.

I gave myself over to misery with a throat full of bilious bloodworms and fragments of iron. As if reading my thoughts, Jessica calmly remarked, "Amazon is having a sale," and then, startlingly, she pulled up her skirt and defecated into my mouth.

"We're in the home stretch now!" she trilled, and clouted me over the head with a length of re-bar; I fell limply to the floor. "We're almost done." She pulled out a silver coach's whistle and put it in her mouth and produced a shrill, quavering tone. I heard a sound like distant thunder, and then, still lying on the floor, trying to clear my befouled mouth, six hundred Kenyan runners stampeded over my head, trampling my skull with their Nike sneakers.

"IT'S THE NEWEST THING!" I heard Jessica call to me over the din and head trauma. "KENYAN MARATHON RUNNERS HAVE COMPLETELY REVOLUTIONIZED THE DENTAL INDUSTRY!" The Kenyans were very polite, and many of them muttered apologies to me as they stepped on my face. N'Degemendo in particular was kind and threw a mint at my head. It bounced off my brow and landed before my right eye; it smelled like Christmas and freedom. Jessica swiftly picked it up and threw it into the garbage. "That's bad for your teeth," she explained.

Finally, I was all done. Jessica undid the complicated arrangement of now-depowered cables that had been binding me, and then ushered me out of the office. "See you in January!" she sang.

"All right, " I replied glumly. It's a good thing none of this is out of my pocket, I thought blackly. As long as insurance is paying.

"Do you need parking validation?" asked the receptionist politely as I made for the door. "Naw," I said. "I walked."

"All righty, then!" she replied mildly. "Don't forget to get fucked, stupid!"

"Thanks," I said. "See you in a few months."


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Comments


AHAHHAAAHAAAHHAHHAHOOOHAA!
So, it's not just us poor sappy commenters who get suckered into multiple postings. This is like watching a driving instructor crash his car, seeing a dermatologist with a rash or catching a feminist ironing her boyfriend’s shirt. It was only a question of time.

Comment number: 008397   Posted by: Lung the Younger on September 21, 2006 01:06 AM from IP: 213.97.42.225

So - tell us how you really feel.

Comment number: 008399   Posted by: Jeff on September 21, 2006 07:35 AM from IP: 209.32.109.28

OMG. You are too much. Hubby's mad now, because he's in there fixing my computer and I'm on his computer, laughing my ass off. (Mixed with groans, especially around the defecation portion of the festivities.)

Thanks.

Comment number: 008400   Posted by: Robin on September 21, 2006 08:25 AM from IP: 24.11.249.7

I'm a feminist. I iron my boyfriend's shirt. It's part of the game, just before he hits me with the cord of the iron. Gently.

Comment number: 008401   Posted by: Kate on September 21, 2006 08:31 AM from IP: 70.231.254.103

I take a horse tranquilizer if I'm going to be driving near my dentist's office. If you say Mark Svore, I will begin reaching for my purse.

From now on, I am pronouncing pizza "yee-ya".

Comment number: 008404   Posted by: Tina on September 21, 2006 12:28 PM from IP: 24.18.181.198

Good thing you've got insurance, because you have to pay out the ass for that kind of treatment. My dom charges an extra $5 for the testicle punching alone, and forget about the freakin' invertebrate upcharge.

Comment number: 008405   Posted by: JJ on September 21, 2006 01:42 PM from IP: 67.168.63.153

which reminds me, I need a referral for a dentist...

Comment number: 008406   Posted by: beige on September 21, 2006 04:16 PM from IP: 128.95.169.36

Tee-hee... And i thought "I" had some overdramatic patients...

Comment number: 008409   Posted by: Dr. Frantal on September 22, 2006 02:46 PM from IP: 72.128.119.216

Pretty bold going the scatalogical route. I've only known one person in my life who could talk about his movements and people would listen.

It's a gift.

Comment number: 008425   Posted by: Johnny on September 27, 2006 08:12 AM from IP: 199.244.171.158

I once had my gums lasered away, on the advice of my sadidtic dentist. He said it would improve the alignment of the top of my teeth! The smell of burning flesh still haunts me.

Comment number: 008427   Posted by: carolyn on September 28, 2006 01:04 AM from IP: 202.12.233.21

I once had my gums lasered away, on the advice of my sadistic dentist. He said it would improve the alignment of the top of my teeth!

The smell of burning flesh still haunts me.

Comment number: 008428   Posted by: Carolyn on September 28, 2006 01:08 AM from IP: 202.12.233.21

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