Huh, you floss every day? Your plaque levels tell me otherwise. Don’t worry, I’m happy to demonstrate the proper method.
I’ll begin by pulling 90% of the floss out of the case and winding it around my fingers. I know I’ve done it correctly when my fingertips go numb.
Now that I’ve got maximum hold of the floss, I will dig it into your gums so hard that your teeth feel loose. Loose teeth are good because when they rattle around, they dislodge hard-to-reach morsels of food.
Bleeding is also good. You see, when your gums split open, they reveal portals into your body, which is where your soul is located.
My patients often wonder how deep they should dig their floss. It’s simple. When your eyes water, like yours are now, you’ve found the savory spot (I don’t use the term, “sweet spot,” for obvious reasons). The savory spot is also where your soul hides. And your soul belongs to me.
Please don’t speak. It makes it awfully hard to floss you. Besides, I’m very good at reading people’s eyes. Right now, your eyes are showing fear, which is the exact emotion you want to feel when you floss. Fear triggers the butterflies in your stomach, which carry your soul up your esophagus and out through your gums.
After this, your pearly whites will shine like beacons in the endless darkness that is now your life.
You may be wondering how you could ever achieve this advanced level of flossing at home. The answer is you can’t. This is the cycle of life, buddy. I floss out a bit of your sweet—sorry, savory—soul, you go home emptied of hopes and dreams, gain a false sense of confidence in your gum health, then return to have your soul sucked from your gum holes once more.
Would it help if I told you that even famous people struggle to floss properly? One of my favorite patients, Ronald Reagan, screamed the first time I flossed him. Yet he scheduled five cleanings a year! It was almost as if he liked the feeling of being soulless.
Anyway, by the end of his first term in office, I had to inform him that there was no more soul to suck.
From your eyes I can tell you’re asking, “How could you be old Ronny’s dentist? You don’t look a day over 39.” That’s because I’ve been feeding off the souls of patients for millennia. Like most dentists, I don’t eat actual food. If I ever get a bit nippy, I tide myself over with a watery rib of romaine, then schedule one of my more annoying patients for a deep cleaning.
Sure, you can cry in here. I mean, usually patients wait to cry in their cars, but this is a safe space.
Look, if you just took a bit more care with your flossing, I wouldn’t have to reprimand you.
Hahaha, that was a joke. You can try to improve, but I will always floss you with the aggression of a desperate kangaroo at the beginning of mating season. It really is the best way to retrieve your soul and reach immortality.
See you in six months!
