. . . three gleaming white teeth are mangled tentacles of torture and disease that must be disemboweled and supplanted with synthetic rods.
. . . the dentist's sympathetic smile is the heart of a coward who won't touch those deceptive shiny white teeth because his patient is running a high fever, trembling uncontrollably and mumbling "find a happy place, find a happy place" and instead of offering this pitiable patient solace, refers the quivering cry-baby to an endodontic specialist.
Thanks, pal. May I please have drugs now?
. . . the calendar of the endodontic specialist is an obscure credo designed to teach new patients a lesson about waiting until the last bearable moment to see a dentist by making them wait until the last survivable moment to give them an appointment.
A week? You expect me to live a week on milkshakes? Do you have ANY inkling how much weight I'll gain by NOT being able to eat?
. . . the introspective blog of a screenwriting wannabe is the stifled scream of a woman in torment who has waited nine days for relief since the loss of a filling that alerted the dentist to what lies beneath -- a creeping destruction slowly eating away at those sparkling white and seemingly normal teeth.
For mercy's sake, please -- if you love me, kill me -- or refill my meds.