GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #115: A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE DENTIST'S

Some of you may recall that I had a bout with gingivitis a few years back, and while I've defeated it, my gums have receded a bit too much. I wound up losing a tooth to it. I got an implant, as described in my old multi-part "Tales of Dentistry." The dentist I'm about to talk about is referred to as Dentist Two in the second part of that series.


I recently went to my dentist for a cleaning, and the hygienist said that my gums on tooth 26 had receded too far, to the point where if I did nothing about it, I would lose that tooth. Dentist one referred me to dentist two again for a skin graft.


I just got back from my Vegas vacation, so I had the day off to recover. Because it sounded urgent, I decided to go in for my gum graft today and get that over with. It went very well. There were no issues. However, after, when I was setting up my appointment to get the stitches taken out, the receptionist suddenly remembered me. Dentist two remembered fairly well, but the receptionist suddenly had total recall.


She asked me if I used to come in with my grandfather. I did. She asked me if I was a writer. I was (and still am, in case all of you have forgotten). She asked me if I liked horror, and I said yes.


Then, she said something very odd to me. She said that she remembered thinking about this nice young man who used to come in with his grandfather, who needed a tooth implant. Immediately, I thought, "Oh shit." Because I was on my best behavior due to the fact I was going to see a dentist whom I didn't know. (I don't act like myself if I'm in such a situation.) Also, my grandfather was with me because I was on trial for DUI at the time. If he didn't drive me, I couldn't make it to the dentist.


But then she said that she wanted to set me up with her daughter, who really likes horror books, whose husband she hated. I wanted to tell her about the way I really am, but I knew it would just be more awkward, so I stayed silent.


And then she asked about how my writing career was going, so I talked vaguely about my first book, STRIP, from MUSA, and my second book, TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE, from StrangeHouse. Also, I told her my third book was coming out soon, although I didn't mention the title. It's pretty vulgar, and it might change by the time it comes out. But still.


The next thing I know, she's telling everyone else in the office that I'm a writer of horror and crime. All of a sudden, everyone, including Dentist Two, wants to read my books. They said they were going to look me up on Amazon.


I didn't dare tell them that my second book features a space giant fucking the sun, as provided by the awesome Jesse Wheeler.


Only one of them strikes me as someone who might enjoy my work. The others? Let's just say that my next visit to the office should be . . . interesting.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #81: A BLOODY MONEYSHOT (AND YES, I MEAN A CUMSHOT ON MY FACE)

I was notified a few years ago that I had the 'Beetus. I've probably had it longer than that, but let's operate on the fact that I've had the 'Beetus for, say, three years. Now, I hate needles. Always have and always will. But my testing supplies include super-thin needles. It's not painless, but I barely feel it. I'm used to physical pain, so I can cope with these things, no problem.

But sometimes it's hard to get enough blood to test my sugars. I have calluses on my fingers because I'm a writer. I'm right-handed, which should mean that my left hand is OK to use for testing. However, I've been typing for a loooooooooong time. There are plenty of calluses on the fingers of my left hand, too. Jabbing those fingers only makes the calluses worse.

As a result, if I jab the fingers of my left hand for a blood test--and I have to, since my left hand is so weak I can't get a reliable test out of the fingers of my right hand--I have to squeeze the motherfucker to get blood out of it. Usually, I have to squeeze at the base of the finger and slowly bring the pressure up to the tip, where the hole should be. This usually results in a tiny dot of blood, which is just enough to test the sugars.

Yesterday, I jabbed myself and squeezed, thinking I'd get two millimeters of blood out of my finger. Instead, blood exploded out of that tiny hole. It was so bad that I wound up with blood in my eyes. I grr'ed and argh'ed, and I rubbed the blood out. I got my reading, which was a bit high (but then again, it was the weekend, which is when I cheat, so it was still acceptable at 140). It wouldn't stop oozing for about a half an hour. Then, I figured I was OK.

And then I saw my glasses. The lenses were dotted with blood, which I quickly cleaned off.

And then I went to the bathroom, where I saw the rest of my face. There was a LOT of blood on me, like someone had jerked off on my face, except instead of semen, there was blood. It took me a few minutes to clean it all off, because by then it had dried and cemented a little.

Still. All of that from just a teensy, tiny hole? That's fucking crazy.