I hate the dentist. Not the actual person, mind you, though I have hated a few. Like Dr. Marquis de Sade. A second cousin to Freddie Kruegger. I think he got his dental license from K-Mart. And went to Macy's University. I went to him for an emergency root canal. The tooth was infected so the novocaine didn't take that well. Horrible. Normally when they do a root canal like that they have you come back to make sure the infection is gone and to make sure the root is clean. He took some x-rays. He shook his head. "Oh goodness, your nerve has regenerated." Huh? He then insisted that I still had nerve in there and that he thought he'd gotten it all and the only way he could be sure would be ... if I was OK to NOT have novocaine. So I could tell him if I felt anything. I could. And I did. And that is why I did not like Dr. Marquis de Sade, the dentist from Baltimore. I wanted to do a root canal on his tooth.
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You're sitting in the dentist's office and you hear a grumbling in your stomach. You look down toward your belly button to see ... Finish the story. [Photo Credit: Neil Williamson, Creative Commons]