I hate going to the dentist. He's always very curt with me. He's a dick. He says, "Let me be frank with you, you have a lot of cavities. I don't think you're brushing." Go to hell buddy. When I feel a nick, I know the Novocain is about to swell up my mouth. I wish he'd just slip me a mickey. He sticks that metal hook and moves it around in my cavity as if he's trying to jimmy a lock. Then he starts talking to me. I'm embarrassed enough as I don that stupid green apron thing, plus my mouth is a little occupied at the moment. Sure, let's have a conversation. Why don't we sing a carol and get a cup of joe together while we're at it.
When he turns the drill on you, know you're in for a rocky road. At that point, I just want to run away to the john. That drill drives me crazy; it's like a cat scratching a blackboard. At least when that suction thingy comes, there's a ray of hope, and it’s almost over. From all the cavities I've had filled, I've got so much silver in my mouth I think put it in my will. Then he gives me the bill. I know it'll cost a buck or two. I wonder why I keep going back, why I let him rob me. Maybe I'll call jake on him. I'm the reason why he's rich. I should just jack him off; it'd be cheaper.
Catch all the names?