Short reviews of pretty much whatever. Finally, you can discover if Frosted Flakes Gold has more social worth than Illmatic or Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare.
Thanks to H1N1 and the Norwalk virus, they no longer have magazines in my dentist's waiting room. Now sure, those magazines were horribly out of date at best, but they were better than nothing. I'd rather risk my health thumbing through a five year old issue of Maclean's or Reader's Digest than engage in idle chit chat with strangers. Thanks a lot horribly infectious viruses, you've gone and turned my dentist's waiting room into the bus.
If there's one bi-annual event I hate the most it's going to the dentist. Today I got the metaphorical dental gang bang, which totally sucked. I had the hygienist on my right using the Cavitron (I'm not making this shit up), and some other chick, with 3 hours of training that apparently qualified her to take x-rays of my face on the left. They worked me real bad, tag team style, and that's what I get for going to the dentist who advertises on TV. Lesson learned. The thing is the dentist as a medical practitioner isn't necessarily that bad. They never do more than use their fingers and that metal stick with the mirror on the end to prod around (unless you're getting a root canal). But judging by the equipment they have in those little rooms I'm pretty sure they've got the proper equipment to perform a lobotomy on a patient while they're knocked out. That is if they aren't already giving you the literal gang bang while you're knocked out.
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