Today I called an endodontist.  An endodontist is a dentist who specializes in root canals.  My regular dentist told me to call an endodontist after getting halfway through a root canal he was performing.  Seems halfway through, he realized he was in over his head.  So, I called an endodontist.
     If you think it's hard to talk with all those standard dental instruments in your mouth, you ought to try it sometime with a dentist in there over his head.

     Anyway... The endodontist told me he wants $700 upfront to complete my root canal by removing the pulp and nerves my dentist couldn't reach.  I told him that I knew hitmen who charge less to remove a whole person.  He said he'd be willing to remove me for free if I didn't get off the line immediately.  I told him that that comment really hurt and that he should have injected my ears with Novocain before saying it.
     At which point my dentist reminded me that he expected $800 upfront for the gold crown he wants to put on my tooth after it's been scraped clean of its nerves, pulp, and those back issues of National Geographics I've been storing in the cavity that's developed between the two.
     That's when I decided that the time had time to issue a plea to you, my readers.  I've never asked you for much, have I?  No.  But this time, I really need your help.
     Are you handy with your hands?  Do you have a son or daughter skilled in the use of common household power tools?  Are you or your child interested in making five, ten, even twenty-five dollars for just a few minutes of actual work?
     Well, drop me a note.  
     We both just might be happy if you did.
     Otherwise, the big molar gets it.  Buys the farm.  Is going to that big abscessed mouth in the sky.
     Get me?  Dig it?  Comprendre?
     Keep your conscience clean.  
     Drop that note today!
 

     It occurred to me last night that what I really need is a screen door on that hole I use to get from my living room to my bedroom.  The solid door that's there now is just no fun at all.
     Why do I need a door at all?  To keep my cat out (that's oot for you Canadians) of the bedroom.
     Alas, that door also keeps light and air from circulating, too.
     And if it's one thing my living room could use, it's more light circulation.
     So: I want a screen door between two interior rooms.
     Even though I've never, ever heard of this being done before.
     And even though my landlord has a thermonuclear fit when I so much as use a type of nail not pre-approved in our lease for picture hanging.
     Oh, well.
     My first thought was to put in a Dutch door.  You know, one with bottom and top halves which open and close separately.
     Like the one I put on the bathroom to better accommodate modest and semi-modest states of mind.
     Seems like there's always something you need to add when you have a house instead of an apartment, doesn't it??
 

     I had just finished cutting the neighbor's lawn and was headed back home when I spotted a small,  mouse-like animal in the grass.  A vole.  Maybe a shrew.  Less likely, a baby mole or Scary Spice.
     Anyway, instead of running it over  with the mower as my sexually repressed kindergarten teacher taught me to do, I paused and gently touched it with the tip of my boot in an attempt  get it to head for the bushes instead of the nearby road.
     That's when the ungrateful little creature reared back and hissed at me.
     Or maybe squeaked out a protest.
     In any event, I don't believe it screamed, "HEY! I'M SITTING HERE!  DO YOU MIND?!" but it might have.  
     I was a bit flummoxed, you see.
     And I remained flummoxed as I left it alone after that and headed home.
     Turns out, I really like to be flummoxed.
     Santa, are you listening??
 

     I now have it on very good authority that there is no ice in Western Europe.
     If you twist your ankle there, if you wrench your knee, expect to have to settle for a semi-cold wet rag.
     And if you want a cube or two for your water glass or your Coke-laden bidet, you had damn well better have had the foresight to bring some with you from home.

     Just a small sample of the sort of useful information I might be inclined to pass on to you after you've successfully reamed the guts out of my poor tooth....
 

     I am NOT a sooty mangabey!  I am a human being.  
     A sooty mangabey is a type of African monkey now suspected of being the original source of the HIV2 bug.  
     I am NOT the original source of the HIV2 bug.  
     I merely have a bad head cold.
     If you simply MUST have me as an outlet for your compulsive grooming habits or obsessive nit-picking, please send a recent photo to monkeyboy@kinky.com and we'll see what we might be able to arrange....