Thursday, 29 October 2015

Getting Drilled

I was accosted by two women.
I used to think I would love the sensation of opening my gaping maw while simultaneously getting drilled. Let's face it... there’'s nothing like lying on my back and having the undivided attention of two woman sticking their fingers in my mouth. Add the yanking and prodding and my life becomes electric intoxication... sort of.

I was visiting my dentist. 
I like the idea of laying back in a lounge type chair with two good looking masked women paying undivided attention... without me having to beg and other groveling shit. Let's be honest... cleavage didn't hurt.
An extraction? Dandy.
The freezing was slow to take effect. When dentist lady tested the freezing with her six foot stainless steel cattle prod, she realized the freezing wasn't working quite the way she hoped. I realised it too. I suspect her first indicator was the Apollo-like missile launch of fecal matter straight out the leg of my Wrangler relax-fit pant leg onto the opposite wall. Umm, yeah Doc. I can still feel it.
The freezing only took four harpoon sized, orca-numbing needles.
The wiggling of the harpoon tip perforating my jaw bone inducing an involuntary butt clench was exquisite. Digging into the bone was my fault, really. I shouldn'’t have had that uncontrollable body spasm. You know, the spasm caused when the needle goes into the cheek, the dentist wiggles the cattle prod around trying to find the vein she missed on the five previous failures and you're back arches like you're getting your hair pulled by Andre the Giant and a Brahma bull is riding your ass? Yeah... that spasm.
Mental note... DO NOT share Brahma bull story.
It was all good once they told me that should be the last needle and the two of them managed to persuade me to calm down, decompress and slowly unravel myself from the overhead light thingy.
Who says white men can't jump?
The extraction was a blast. It was an improperly installed wisdom tooth cap that had broken off near the gum line. The one at the very back where invading hands make the gag reflex uncomfortably high and the breathing index non-existent. Naturally, the dentist thinks this is a good time to find out what you think about hydro-dynamics and it's effect on the quantum flu.
I'bd wen ayakink a ikink. Really? Now is a good time for conversation?
It was likely a bit difficult for the cute dentist and her just-as-cute assistant to finish up; the room now filled with the wonderful ambiance from the recently flushed brown emission due to an unadvertised, rocket-launched, involuntary barium enema blast.
The tooth extracted, I spit voluminous amounts of DNA evidence into the porcelain, gnome mini-toilet beside the hospital green lounge chair. They packed the dental equivalent of six fits-all, self expanding rolled arm slings into my mouth and pleaded with me to get the hell out. As I left, I could hear aerosol cans and a fire hose.
What I don’'t understand is how dentist's can let you loose on the world looking for all the world like a Picasso print when three quarters of your face is sliding off and everything you say sounds like an overly-indulged bacchanalian sailor at the local pub trying to pick up an equally overly-indulged college sorority sweatheart. I think they should have an unfreezing room somewhere so, like the querulous preschool sniveller that I am, I can lie down until I have enough control to speak some version of any Earth language and my arse has stopped surreptitiously draining poop.
I think they should provide a washer and dryer too.
Instead, they cut bait and run. On the way home, I had the inane idea of ordering a coffee to go (take out). It was an undertaking in drool laden, mental pause heaven “I’bid woulbd libik a largeb cobbee wibbit creabm abnd sugber.” Of course, that didn'’t fly as half my face was still hanging at my navel. I thought holding my lip with my index finger might help since it had long since refused to stop floundering where it doesn't belong. As if it would help them understand better, I start talking more loudly, “I’BID WOULBD LIBIK A LARGEB COBBEE WIBBIT CREABM ABND SUGBER!” People turned away and sniggered. The pretty woman in the next line stared wide-eyed and giggled. Why is it always the case that a pretty woman is around when your face is falling off and you smell like rottweiler turd?
I did made six bucks in pity donations and got a number for a decent shrink.
Finally, I gave up speaking and pointed at a pen and paper. Next time engage brain and use the drive-through with written instructions, Dude.
Eventually, I made it home despite my drooping, perma-wink, eye lid and left brain gelatinous mental incapacitation. The dentist warned me there would likely be a little bit of pain. When the freezing started coming out, I scrambled for my Pez dispenser loaded with 4000 mg tablets of Tylenol, a few muscle relaxers mixed in for good measure and started firing away like a inebriated, run amok Laura Croft.
I’m doing fine, though it's a bit difficult typing with only one eye sort of functioning, half my face laying on the keyboard and the extra treat of hallucinogenic induced crawling things. It's a bit distracting. Probably the 'ludes.
Did I mention the 'ludes?
I wonder if I learned anything from this experience. Nah. Probably not. I am male, after all. And they were pretty ladies. What is it with pretty ladies and guys doing stupid, he-man shit?
I think it's nap time. This is Spaceman Spiff signing out from the outermost edges of the rings of Saturn... or the middle of Sherwood Forest... I'm really not sure.

Are those fairies? I like fairies.