My dentist unleashes the mammoth snowflake ooh.
A hot metallic smell of distilled blackout and demisted cube.
We chat about Miami Vice since we both long for shows that
can dislodge the appalling milkshake from any tomb,
a longing which, despite the many fingers in my mouth,
causes me, but also him, to impulsively sigh. Impulsive wind.
“May I tell you about my alter ego's unclean diaper's wallet chain?”
This catches him a little off guard. Quickly, to reenforce the boast:
“And about the impending glitter I tend to hallucinate whenever I
spank said unclean diaper?” He loses concentration, trails off with
gruesome, but pretty loose, comparisons between my alter-ego and
burglar-furries taser-spliced thick-lined into a heartbreaking matrix of
Dalek belly lint normalized in one blanketing pile of leatherface Bible screensavers –
an example of which (i.e. an example of such a furry) he offers to show me,
on his phone. Including some holiday pics introducing me to a Danish
“dragon-butcher's” horse-drawn shorts derping dream-addled in time-lapse
on his (i.e. on my dentist's) last vacation there (in Denmark), “ahhh.”
I become impatient, a little bit grossed out. He goes: “Ahhh, annoying
gum-herpes are such a major wank-deterrent.” And, darkly, invoking a random
metaphor, “I've seen many a proverbial orthodontic cum-extractor fall off the
proverbial retractable locust.”
I am close to tears, saying, “I am unable to see toothpaste in the dark.”
I'm trying to keep face but admit to finding, like a fucking tourist,
suicide hotlines so enthralling. My dentist can't stop boasting:
“I hold the Guinness World Record for having the most bumholes.”“Like any tourist,” I mumble.