“What do think you’re doing with that?” I demanded of my dentist, Dr. Goebbels.
“Oh, this?” he asked, glancing at the Black and Decker power drill in his right hand. “I’m not sure yet. Might come in handy though.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious, Herr Carver,” he said, then giggled as he placed the drill down on his cast-iron surgery cart. “So. Any problems since your last visit?”
“No. And speaking of last visits, this will certainly be mine if that drill comes anywhere near my mouth, you pervert.”
“Tut tut. There’s no need for name-calling. Let’s get some anesthesia in you, hmm?”
“I don’t think so. I’m just here for a cleaning.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that. Now then, where is that nurse? Fraulein Grobebrüste?”
As if on cue, his assistant slinked into the room in an outfit that can only be described as pornographic. In other words, right up my alley.
“Zounds, man! Now that’s more–” I started, only to feel the sharp jab of Goebbels’ anesthesia needle sinking deep into my neck. Consciousness was fading fast. “Bastard… I’ll… have… your… license…”
I knew nothing but nightmares for the next two hours. Everything seemed normal once I awoke, but you can never be sure with Goebbels. At any rate, it’s time to find a new dentist. Preferably one who’s not German. Or who at least doesn’t share a name with one of the Third Reich’s most infamous scoundrels. Let me know if you have any recommendations.