Well, hello, how NICE of you to join us. And when I say, "us," I mean myself and my twenty charming and highly intelligent readers. Anyway, have you ever looked forward to going to the dentist? Have you ever heard that inner-voice of yours whisper in your inner-ear, saying weird stuff? You have? Was it as weird as, say, Psssssst Today is the day, right? Today is when that sweet little drill is going to do some serious damage to your favorite molar, the one way back in your pretty mouth.
Was it, now?
Psssst. Hey. Hey you. Yes, you. This is your inner-voice speaking. Your very personal invisible stalker. Today is the day when you gotta pay a shockingly hefty bill (through the nose, too!) because you bought and ate cheap rye bread with little stones in it. Rye bread... that wonder of wondrous miracles. How to define it? Well, let's call it bread that is made either entirely or partly from rye flour, often with caraway seeds. Or little stones, or so you discovered. Yeah, you.
Your inner-voice. I'm sure you have one, too. If not, count yourself lucky.
So, one fine day not long ago I bought some cheap-a... um very cheap rye bread (I'm on a diet) allegedly with caraway seeds in it, and then I broke one of my frigging molars on a frigging son of a stone. My outer-voice yelped something my inner-voice won't repeat, and guess who ended up yelping a bit more in some posh leather seat with a relentless Nazi spotlight shining brightly on his nose, meanwhile revealing the imminent retreat of the army of hairs that used to be stationed on his big blue scalp? "Wilma!" Never mind the ensuing yabadabadooooooooo-wooo-ooo-ooo-ooouch-ouch-ouch! (drilling drilling)
Fast forward a couple of weeks when all things were good again. My molar had been fully restored. My confidence in both dentists and rye bread successfully rebooted. To celebrate, I opened the fridge, where my eyes feasted upon a pound of cheese that had been laughing at me for weeks on end because it knew I was on a diet. Screw that diet! I'm gonna have me some cheese! Sweet delicious cheese. I grabbed a plate, grabbed some cheese, put it on a slice of rye bread and in the biggest bowl I could find displayed the most beautiful blue grapes you have ever seen. A cup of ginger tea to complete an already picture perfect picture and bon appétit! Good for me, I know. And when I heard that second molar break in half, I knew I was in for another round of leather chair meets spotlight meets Doc Needle and Drill. Whyyyy?
Because I'm stupid, is why. Anyone who says college-educated folks are smart needs to be sent to me and my two broken molars. I could tell you the same thing happened a third time, which it did, but I won't tell you. I'm not that stupid.
Other than that, it's all good. I'm slimline like both my wallet and a 1991 T-1000 (down 31 pounds, to be exact), 100% non-molar-breaking-rye-bread-munching, and the sun is shining. What more could a hungry blue guy ask for? Isn't being over the top rolling down hill nice? (smile)
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|Do terminators need to go to the dentist? Do they like the word nice?|