My mouth hurts. Bad.
Today was my last visit to Dr. D. Kay where my second wisdom tooth was forcibly extracted from my unwilling skull. When I arrived at the Dr.’s office this afternoon he greeted me at the door himself and bid me inside with a sweeping gesture that looked almost gentlemanly. Silly me, I fell for this little act hook, line and sinker. I actually believed he had decided to be nice and that maybe he wouldn’t hurt me.
Yeah, I know I’m an idiot.
I should have been tipped off by the way he smiled at me when I told him I “forgot” my checkbook at home. He just turned around with a knowing smile on his face and told me to forget about it, I could pay him later or whenever I got the money. At the time, the only thing going through my head was the thought that Dr. Kay had really mellowed out. That maybe I had been too hard on him in the past.
That perhaps he hadn’t deserved having his balls squeezed so hard that he’d needed reconstructive surgery.
When we got into the office I noticed that all the furniture had been removed. He didn’t even seem to have any dentist tools or anything. Even his usual dentist chair, the one with the leather straps and spiked seat, wasn’t there. In fact, there was no chair at all. The only thing I saw was a set of golf clubs in the corner of the room.
“Hey, doc. Where am I supposed to sit?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”
“No? Why not?”
“Well, if I were you I’d be much more concerned with the floor.”
“The floor?”
“Yes. The floor.”
“Hey! You’re right, doc. That is pretty strange. Why’s the floor covered with plastic?”
That’s when he hit me in the face with a nine iron.
When I came to, I was lying in a pool of my own blood on the plastic covered floor of his office. The nurse was trying to wake me up by gently kicking me in the temple with her steel-tipped boots and muttering soothing words of comfort like, “Get up, you stupid bastard.” under her breath.
I would have told her off, but I was too busy spitting out pieces of my lower jaw.
Somehow, I made it to my knees and with the ever attentive help of the nurses foot in my anus I managed to crawl to the front desk. The nurse then informed me that I owed my first born or my immortal soul in payment for the privilege of having my tooth knocked from my head with the doctors titanium golf club. Dizzy from loss of blood and massive head trauma, I quickly signed away my first born and went home.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go gargle with some salt water and fall asleep crying for my mommy.
Youre lucky. Sometimes they use hockey sticks or baseball bats.
Your dentist is a pro. Golf clubs are smaller. They require better skill to whack that tooth out.
I would keep an eye on the nurses. They dont get paid well and are known to roll dentist victims for extra cash.
Dank ew berry munch. Bastahd.
I do believe that my dentist used the dull end of a stick. He didn’t hit me with it, he just strapped me down and continually poked and prodded at my wisdom teeth until he finally dislodged them. It was one of the best experiences of my life.