“I have little-to-no training in dentistry, Wendigo.”
“Wynonna. Jus’ look at the bottom molars. There’s a plot shapin’ up back there.”
“It can get treacherous.”
“Bobby, my teeth is turnin’ hostile and communistic. An’ I think one of my crowns is an outside agitator.”
“Uh-huh. Did, uh, you use my Fret-Eeze?’
“Oh, yeah. Whole mess of it.”
“Ah. That’s aerosolized ayahuesca.”
“You don’t say.”
“I did. Just now.”
“I had no idea you could put that in a spray can.”
“I got a guy.”
You evoke one of the greatest and most memorable poems from my ill-managed and inappropriate childhood library . . . .
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wendigo !