So I had a root canal this morning and indeed, it wasn't as bad as I'd heard. Certainly, nowhere near the pain of sitting through this show not once, but twice. The bad thing is that I'm still totally numbed up, and I'm sure by about minute ten, the Novocain is going to wear off and suddenly it's going to hurt a lot. That's when I might have to turn it off and cry. But more likely, I'll grab some scotch and a Vicodin, and the recap will dissolve into hallucinatory babble about the Dodgers game I'm supposed to be going to tonight and the episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force where Meatwad let Carl baby-sit his imaginary friends. If that happens, I apologize. You may raise my warn level accordingly. But don't be offended if I dribble some Diet Coke down my chin. It's not because I have bad manners, baby. It's just because I can't feel a thing on the right side of my face. Was that a kiss? No? Well, can I pretend it was?
And because my day has already been shitty enough, sitting in a chair for an hour getting stuck with needles and having my tooth drilled through and then filled up with volatile chemicals, I think we should just try to get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible. I will do what my dentist did. I will talk to you the whole time, asking you questions and letting you know I'm still here, that I'm not going to leave you to face this alone. And you'll sit perfect still and try very hard not to swallow the chemicals and the acidic bile collecting at the back of your throat. And I swear, before you know it, it'll be over. And then I'll bill your insurance and add a pool to my Newport Beach house. Oh, and just in case you're more scared than the usual reader: we have nitrous oxide. Your insurance doesn't cover it so it'll cost you a hundred bucks. But just a hint: it's worth it.
Previously. No. I refuse. Read it your damn self! I'm sorry I yelled at you. I love you.
Credits. Opening theme. The song that's destined to be a hit...in some tiny country like Tuvalu, totally as a fluke because it's the one record that made it over on their twice-yearly air drop the Philippines. "Do you like the way I rock it? Boy, it's chaotic" has, however, become something of a catchphrase around my house. Sure, mostly it's me asking the cats and them not responding, but nonetheless, it's taking off. Commercials.
K-Fed: "Yo, baby. I'm confused. I just watched one of them commercials for The Bad Girl's Guide and I can't read so good, but when I Phonic-ed it out like Mo's been teachin' me, I think it said it's a 'comedy.' But then how come I didn't understand a single one of the jokes? You think I'd like that shit, too, cuz it's got all sortsa shit I like. Girls. Boobies. Scarfs. The color yellow. Baby, you awake? Damn, girl, how many of them Special Ks you take? Baby? Since you asleep and shit, I'm just gonna take some money out of your wallet, 'kay? Hey, Li'l Cheetus. You up inside there? It's Daddy. I just wanted to say I'm sorry if I bumped my pee-pee into your little head last night. No matter how pregnant a mommy gets, sometimes she just gotsta get some Federline up in there, you know what I'm sayin'! Yeah, you do. Night-night. When Mommy wakes up, tell her I went to get straight frantic on a whole mess of Nacho Cheese Chalupas. I'll bring you home sumpin', don't worry."
Cirque Du So Gay. BritBrit "performs" "Toxic," touching her cooter a lot and glaring around with an evil look on her face like she's in the road show of Wicked, by way of choreography.