Remember that oath we took at graduation? I remember that oath. I swore, along with my classmates, that I would carry out the very best dental care to any and all patients who sat in my operatory chair; regardless of gender, race, or socioeconomic status, I promised to give everyone the best treatment I could.

I also remember wanting to hurl myself into the bathroom. The speech I had to give moments before gave me nervous diarrhea really bad.

We have our clinical side. Then we have our human side. The clinical side is a given: do what we were trained to do. My human side? A bit more personal. I tend to muse about extra-special people that I would give anything to have in my chair. Anything. Just once. And it’s because of their gender, race, SES, political ideology, etc., that I must perform my titillating hygiene duties on them.

We all have our idiosyncrasies. My OCD compels me to share mine. Hee-heeee!

Dream Patient of the Week: Steven Colbert

Mr. Colbert, if there’s any chance you accidentally enter this site while surfing the internets for plaque-disrupting inspiration, I would like you to know that I love you. Every American-y, flag-waving inch of you. I adore you. Are you tall? I like tall. You appear taller than John Stewart. I also like suits. You wear a lot of suits. I like that. And I’m not crazy. My husband tolerates me just fine. He’s just playing Skyrim again.

I love your smile. I love the way you single me out and point that finger at me when you’re in my television. I love your ties, your glasses, and your opening-credit eagle that swoops into my face and shrieks hello. That eagle looks like it’s gonna fly right into me. Here it comes–  wheeeee!  I like that eagle.

I will also state the obvious: I love your teeth.

Let me see those patriotic beauties- oh! There they are. I don’t care how much calculus is on them. I love every one of your teeth equally. If you had the blackest, most tenacious chunks of bad boy tartar stuck to every inch of enamel in your mouth, I would still love you. That’s not strange, Mr. Colbert. That’s dedication. All I ask is for the chance to have you lay waaaay back on my USA-made operatory dental chair while I give you such a stone-cold, subgingival scaling it will flip your cyclopean Super PAC, baby.

And, after I gently marinate your inflamed gums with a superfreaky course of chlorhexidine gluconate, I would like to hold your hands and teach you how to floss… properly. That’s right.

In closing, I would appreciate an opportunity to express my respect and admiration of your brain… because it’s silly. You have a silly brain.

by Eva Watson

Bored with Dental Hygiene?

Enter an exciting, new career as an International Companion!

Hello and welcome!  My name is Sophia Arrapato and I am the founder and CEO of ‘Italiano Scortares’, a Trans global company dedicated to servicing the needs of our exclusive clientele.

As a previous dental hygienist, I have treated many patients for over twenty years.  After my 18^th year of removing plaque and calculus, I eagerly wanted to pursue a new career as an entrepreneur, specializing in carnal pleasure. It only took less than twenty-four hours to say to myself, “Ho, scoperto!  Sesso!”

It took intense market research and interviewing countless women, but I officially opened my doors in 2010 and business has been booming!

You will be known as an International Companion for Italiano Scortares, and as such will have the best plastic surgeons at your disposal, an endless array of erotic dancing apparel, and, after completing six weeks of intense training, you will be awarded with your very own Little Black Book. As the CEO of Italiano Scortares, I will screen all prospective clients prior to assignment; I insist on the enduring scruples and respectability I have incorporated into my empire.

As a new employee, you will have the honor of training under Nicole Minetti, an Italian dental hygienist, esteemed lap-dancer, and long-time political advisor to Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. Her experience is vast and hilariously adulterated, so I ask you pay close attention to Ms. Minetti’s teachings and advice. She will guide you through your career and enhance your presence and clientele list here with Italiano Scortares.

I thank you for visiting our website and hope to meet with you soon. Make sure to floss daily!

Questo è amore!

Click on the images and links above to see why dentistry was dragged into this whole sordid saga.

by Eva Watson

I act dumb. Full stop. I’m a grown woman who acts like an immature twit. I’m constantly making fun of everything. When I noticed crunchy, dried-up boogers sticking to the wall next to my three-year-old’s bed, I said, “Syd? Santa thinks that’s disgusting. Now you’re on his disgusting list. Great.” So cruel. I can’t even write maturely. I once wrote an article on

recommendations for thwarting raccoon thievery of my summer garden strawberries; the segment was titled, ‘Raccoon Smasher Garden Patrol’… (snort) See? Tasteless. I can’t help myself. Life gets stupid. But it doesn’t stop there. My adolescent humor even seeps into my care of patients.

A young guy was in my operatory chair. He hadn’t had a professional scaling in four years. I was about to begin his SRP when he said, “I might be a big baby when you get in there.” I laughed and said, “That’s what I tell my OB/Gyn.” Later, when the guy asked to see another hygienist, I said to myself, “I’m so retarded.”

Another patient attempted to describe what sounded like floss threaders. She went on for more than five minutes trying to describe what floss threaders looked like. I finally said, “You mean those furry, tampon-y thingies with the long string attached? Yeah, I have those.” After the patient rolled her eyes and asked to speak with the dentist privately, I thought to myself, “I’m so juvenile. Why do I do that?”

With the influx of dental products out there, I wish there was a device to zap me with low-voltage electrical currents when I misbehave; like a TENS unit but angrier. As soon as I unleash a nasty one—zzzzt! Owie. Everything would be fine after that, but I’d have to explain to patients why my hair has a static electricity boner. I suppose it doesn’t have to be a dental product, per se. It could be manufactured by a urologist for what it’s worth. They could call it The Electrical Nerve Punisher.

I don’t know. Perhaps it’s not a good idea after all.