Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Please Get Medicine To Stop Calling Me

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Yello?”

“Mr. on the Dead? This is Dentistry calling. You are not flossing enough!”

“How do you know that?”

“No human flosses enough! It is impossible, given the duties of family and the demands of capitalism. There simply is not enough time in the day!”

“You got that right.”

“I am calling to schedule your procedure. Oh, I do so enjoy that pacific euphemism! ‘Procedure.’ Sounds so much better than ‘A strange man will be yoinking a slice of bone out of your skull.'”

“It’s more official-sounding.”

“And this is an official office, Mr. on the Dead. You will be so very impressed by the number of proclamations hanging on our walls. Most are in Latin!”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“I cannot read them, but that might be because I do not own a toga.”

“Could be.”

“In reviewing your chart, I see that you are wracked with maladies spanning the spectrum from nigglesome to lethal.”

“Yes.”

“If you were a horse, they would shoot you. And then, depending on if the ‘they’ in that first sentence referred to the French, eat you. Those oily socialists got a taste for Trigger!”

“Irrelevant to the conversation.”

“They hear ‘Hi-yo Silver’ and think they are being called to the dinner table!”

“I don’t wanna talk about the French or horses or anything even vaguely related.”

“My conversations have a cosmopolitan flair, Mr. on the Dead! I will not apologize for my worldliness!”

“I accept your non-apology.”

“If I will be allowed to do so, I will now return to your medical history.”

You still there?

“It is taking me a minute because I am reading it through my fingers. Like watching a horror movie!”

Great.

“Due to the rot in your core, we will need you to take many medications in preparation for the procedure.”

Okay. Like, an antibiotic?

“I do believe I said ‘many!’ Your immune system is merely a rumor at this point, Mr. on the Dead. Even the most minor impingement by the forces of microbial evil could take you out. You are a walking glass jaw! We must lace you strongly with boosterifics, and uppity-pops, and go-get-ems.”

Gotcha.

“As long as I am calling the pharmacy, would you like anything for funsies?”

I’m good.

“The offer is a standing one. Would you like to hear about our volume discounts?”

Volume discounts? I’m getting a tooth pulled.

“That is correct, but you would save money if you had teeth pulled. The savings start immediately, but really ramp up at five!”

No.

“I do not understand why everyone doesn’t take that enormous deal. They’re just teeth. They grow back.”

Teeth do not grow back.

“I got them mixed up with hair again! I am always doing that! They had to let me go from the barbershop after one too many root canals went bad.”

Uh-huh. I just need the one tooth pulled.

“Was it transphobic?”

What?

“Is that why you are cancelling your tooth?”

I’m not cancelling anything.

“Oh, so you approve of hatred?”

I’m begging you to stay on topic.

“This is an office of love, Mr. on the Dead! Official love! We will not be having any Mean Mr. Mustards and Colonel Craphearts enfouling the air.”

Okay.

“Even if they are teeth. Can I extoll the fiduciary virtue of the volume discount one more time?”

No.

“You are thinking with your mouth, and not your wallet!”

Understood.

“Are you allergic to any of the 11 herbs & spices? Because tomorrow is KFC day.”

No allergies.

“If you are good during your procedure, you may receive a non-breast chicken piece of your choosing. That is up to the doctor, though, and he is of a capricious nature!”

We’ll see what happens.

“Once your tooth is removed, may it be used in disgusting art purchased by rich degenerates?”

No.

“What about thrown at llamas?”

What?

“Some people like to throw teeth at llamas. Do not judge them, Mr. on the Dead. It is a hobby which hurts no one.”

What about the llamas?

“It sometimes hurts the llamas. Yes or no?”

No.

“Same question, but with alpacas.”

My teeth may not be thrown at any New World ungulates.

“Voodoo.”

Are you asking me if you can use my teeth for voodoo purposes?

“Yes.”

God, no.

“Same question, santeria.”

I need to get to the end of this conversation. I’ll go to the pharmacy and pick up the scrips. Anything else I need to know?

“Scrub down your mouthal innards! Just this morning, we had a patient who looked like a cole slaw bomb had exploded in their mouth! Leave that nastiness in your bathroom sinkings!”

Done. Oh, I forgot:Do you have the ronus?

“No.”

“Several of us do! See you tomorrow!”

Wait no–

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

5 Comments

  1. JES

    I feel like Medicine is squandering its talents. Isn’t there a House of Representatives seat in Pensacola or Panama City or The Villages or Sanford or somewhere like that it could run for and win? It’s got the crazy-pleasing lunatic patter down firm . . . maybe suggest that, next time Medicine calls . . .

  2. Luther Von Baconson

    We must prevent Tooth Decay
    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5FKYp-F_Mwc

  3. Jim Spies

    Ok, sir, two things. One, no one gives a s$!+ about how we feel. I start radiation tomorrow. I am not really ready, but I’m doing this. Two, your dentist sounds like shi+. Get one that cares about you.

  4. Luther Von Baconson

    Harbour Grace is a very fine place
    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ECcmY41Dskc

    Godspeed!

  5. MJK

    Mr On the Dead, you should definitely have family or friends picking up your scripts for you! The almost unfathomable percentage of assclowns in your state and your exceptionally vulnerable immune system make a simple trip to the pharmacy seem about as safe as going for an evening stroll in the Korengal valley. I understand medicine has called and expects certain things of you but come on, you’re an intelligent guy!

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