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.
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