Dr Death

I call my dentist Dr. Death. He is a great guy. He looks just like Kramer on Seinfeld. His assistant, Candi, is an Exotic Dancer down at Fantasy Fox. While he has my mouth wide open he will say things like "Candi, bring me the big black hook" and I just crack up. There is no big black hook, not that I've ever seen. He’s just messing with me. Sometimes I crack up so bad in there that we have to stop all the dental stuff till I stop laughing. I wish there was more to tell you about Candi. We’ve never really gotten past the rinse and spit stage of our relationship. One day Dr Death was going to do a little work on a tooth without numbing me. He needed to remove a little "interference", which is a technical term I know all about because Doctor Death tells me everything about what he's doing while he is doing it. This has earned my undying respect and unflinching trust. I know enough about dentistry to do my own root canal. Certainly I know enough to do yours. “I’ll just lightly buff out that little bit of interference” he said “Let me know if you feel any pain”. The instant the drill touched down was like lightning had struck that tooth, and my left leg shot out as I gripped the chair. My survival instinct took over and I jammed my tongue onto the drill which embedded the drill into my tongue, but also prompted Doctor Death to stop the drill. Even with a drill lodged in my tongue, I couldnt help but laugh. He looked down into my face and grinned. “”You felt that?” “”Ike a ‘ofoker, ‘og” I said "’og, whudda ella oowie oo ow?" which means "Doc, what the hell do we do now" and he said "Hang on while I put it in reverse". "Brrrrreeee" went the drill! It worked like a son of a bitch Man, I just cracked up. Thats how you get a drill out of a tongue. I really wish there was more to say about Candi.