I mentioned, not too long ago, my fear of the dentist. Not the movie (which is gross enough) but the dentist dentist. Well, I bit the bullet today and booked an appointment to see the dentist this Friday. I think going around biting bullets is probably one of the reasons my teeth are so shitty. That, and all the Crunk.
To say that I'm fucking terrified would be an understatement. I've not been in over ten years, and during those ten years I turned eighteen and was granted access to all the horrible horror movies what my eyes could watch. Already not a fan of the dentist, I've compounded the problem by (a) putting it off for so long and (b) watching a lot of movies in which people get their teeth pulled. But I'll doubtless continue watching such horrible things, in the same way as I watched Final Destination the night before I got on an airplane for the first time.
One of the first Horrible Dentist sequences I can remember seeing is Final Destination 2 (which I saw three times at the cinema). If my dentist has a fish mobile hanging above the chair, well, he can jog on if he thinks I'm sitting down. Never in the history of ever have I seen a movie which presents going to the dentist in a favourable light. Final Destination 2 was the first horrible dentist scene I can really remember, but far from the last. Hello The Dentist (perhaps the zenith of tooth torture cinema, although I've not seen the sequel), Marathon Man, Little Shop Of Horrors and Oldboy, amongst others. I even cringed at The Hangover. See, when I think of going to the dentist, I picture myself coming out looking like this:
So as I know what to expect on Friday, I decided to do a little light research. In the same way that googling your cold symptoms will leave you thinking that you have cancer, AIDS or some other degenerative bit of Death, merely typing 'teeth' into an image search will lead you to some of the most terrifying images this side of a Blue Waffle.
Similarly, if Wikipedia is to be believed, most dental procedures will end up with tooth extraction and things called a "root canal" and "planing". Well, I ask myself, if you're going to extract the bastards anyway, why don't I just keep eating sweets and drinking Crunk until they fall out of their own doing? The Internet; good for more than just pornography and facebook; great for scaring hypochondriacs shitless.
I'm probably going to die on Friday. If that happens, at least let's hope I'm murdered by a psychopath dentist and don't just choke on a stupid rubber fish. Or die chasing pigeons. If I do survive somehow, hey, I'll have conquered a fear. Or be left scarred, stoned and toothless. Either way, bastards better give me a lollipop.
Wish me luck.