Wednesday, February 6, 2013

El Presidentist

I visited the dentist today for a filling. Not in a fun "Carry On" sense where a chubby old man would grope me while I giggled and paved the way for law suits everywhere, no, I got a filling in the tooth. And not in the fun "Carry On" way where someone sticks their dick in your tooth, because that has probably never happened. It would be gross for the tooth holder and not comfortable for the dick purveyor.

I needed a filling in the normal sense when referring to dentists.

I kind of feel like one filling in exchange for 8 years of avoiding the dentist like it was a raggedy ass hole that wanted to live between my eyes, is fair cop. I was pretty OK with needing a filling. I'm not shy about my love of sugar or other edible products that are systematically rinsing my body so I feel like this filling was to be expected.

The only problem is, while I'm not scared of getting the filling, I am pretty petrified of the dentist as a whole. The last time I visited the dentist was when my wisdom teeth started trying to gnaw their way out of my eye sockets using Kerry Katona's voice and a belt full of rusty nails. Unfortunately for me, I got landed with a pretty shitty private dentist who reduced me to tears informing me that he needed to immediately remove 4 of my teeth and I would need to have £500 for him by next week. What with me not having £500 nor wishing to give it to a psychotic lunatic with a sucky straw and a monobrow, I left and rescheduled an appointment with the fellow who today filled me in. Not in a vaginal sense. In case you hadn't picked up on that.

My poor new dentist (whose name is Yogi, like the bear, and answers far too many questions with the word "probably" to make you feel particularly secure in his chair) had barely prised my lips apart before I was weeping into his favourite dental nurse about not wanting to die. He claimed he'd seen it all before so I took that as a green light to use his sleeve as a tissue and tell him that I hadn't really wanted to lose my virginity when I did either.

I'm not sure at what point I got confused as to which medical professionals chair I was sat in, but we shared some hearty truths and Yogi the Dentist managed to scoop out my tooth and fill it with what looks a lot like some gum he had lying around underneath his evil slanty chair of truth bombs and drills.

The moral of the story? Something about a dick in your teeth.

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