An Apple A Day...

...sends the dentist my way.

Friday, a nice crisp apple separated one of my front teeth from its home of half a century.

 Shit...

I've never liked my teeth. My teeth have never liked me.  I'd rather go into battle in Afghanistan, armed with nothing more than a BB gun, than visit a dentist.  The only way I'll go is if a) the dentist hands over a double dose of Ativan, a tiny little pill which knocks me cleanly on my ass for 18 hours, and b) provides me a heavy mixture of Nitrous, which I will huff like a twelve year old trying to get high on airplane glue.

Once sedated, I will resist the temptation to kick and scream like a little girl, and instead surrender to the mind-expanding power of the chemicals swirling about in my brain.  Hours pass quickly, and I will find myself outside trying to remember the brilliant insights I'd had under the spell of the drugs. I do suspect, however, the last dentist I visited has not yet been able to remove the claw marks from the arms of his chair while I waited for the good stuff to kick in.

Once home, I will sleep like the dead for a solid 12 hours, and remember nothing at all from the experience, or the entire previous day, for that matter.  This can be something of a problem at work if you're required to, say, know what you did before you headed for the exam.

Perhaps I'll just look for work in Hollywood as a character actor.  It is, after all, about time for a remake of Deliverance, and what with my missing tooth, I can play hillbilly #3. Cue the banjos, please....