So I was just about to get my wisdom teeth removed when the dentist asks me, "Why did your dentist send you to get your wisdom teeth removed? Do they hurt?"

To which I should have replied, "I don't know. I guess he just wanted to hook you up with another gig while causing me excruciating pain. I mean, that's what this is all about, isn't it? Money!!! Who cares how much pain I'm in as long as you bastards get paid, right??? You make me sick! All of you!!!! What ever happened to the Hippocratic oath??.."

But make no mistake; you don?t want to piss off an orthodontist with smartass comments. From the moment you sit in that chair, you are effectively his bitch, to do with as he pleases. After injecting me with the anesthetic, I needed to ask a question, but there were two large prongs in my mouth. He said, "One moment," then removed the prongs. When I tried to ask my question, I could not for my mouth was already frozen. My words came out as an appalling slurry of saliva and other unspeakable foams and ... yuck...

He knew that would happen. He didn't want to hear a word from me. That would make me too human and make his task of butchering me more difficult. When he saw me trying to speak, his cold gaze said, "You're in my house now... Bitch!!" He nodded to the nurse so they could begin their grim task.

"See this?" he asks showing me a scalpel, "I can cut your jaw and you won't feel a thing." And so he did, to my utter shock and dismay. I mean, was the demonstration really necessary? Do heart surgeons have their anesthesiologists pull the still beating heart out of a patient just to show them?

Have you ever heard expressions like, "He worked with the precision of a surgeon?" Well, my orthodontist certainly didn't. As he and his partner in crime unsheathed their implements of destruction I got the impression that they were more of a demolition crew than surgeons. From my compromising position in the chair, I could see flashes of hooks and jagged edges and the infamous electric drill. As the wicked looking tools dove in and out of my mouth so did parts of the teeth that they were destroying. All of it was done without pain, but the image of it was still so graphic that it is unsettling to think about. These people are in there mashing, yanking, drilling, cutting and generally mutilating everything even adjacent to my wisdom teeth and I didn't see a thing except their grizzly instruments.

When it was finally over, they shoved gauze in my mouth, just in case I regained the ability to speak and sent me on my way to the local drug peddlers; in this case, Pharmaprix. The people there watch me as I hold an icepack on my face without saying a word. I waited...I waited... Had I been able to speak I might have yelled out, "Can't a brotha buy some goddamn drugs???" But alas, to even attempt to speak would have covered the counters with my tooth guts.

Finally I was served by a cute pharmacist. So I try to do my thing, you know... Mack her with some sensual miming. I got a slap in the face for my troubles. I tried to explain that she misunderstood. But she was having trouble discerning my mimes. So I finally broke down and tried to speak. "Bwyantsomebrugs!!!!! [I want some drugs]" And I threw my prescription on the table along with my Medicare card and finally they hooked me up. I tried to ask, "Bwanwuwungginesinapipeagggatguy??? [Can I get my medicine in a pipe like that guy?]", but they just hurried me out faster.

So now I'm here with big orange pills, counting the minutes before my next dose. I'm planning on releasing an album, reminiscent of Dr. Dre's Chronic 2000. It will feature lyrics about the glamorous lifestyle of a drug addict like all good rap albums. I will call it, Ibupropene 2000 in honor of my large painkillers. God bless these orange jewels.