Leggo My Dentist Horse!



One morning while we were eating breakfast, my dentist horse asked me a strange question. “Hey man,” he said, “how come whenever we’re out at a gala or art opening, you just can’t wait to tell people I’m a dentist? I have too many clients as it is. I can’t afford the overflow. Everyone seems to want their teeth fixed by a horse that, through some miracle of God or perhaps the whims of Satan, has a passion for dentistry and the skills to get the job done. You know how sensitive I am about these things. I just hate turning people away.”

He was right. My dentist horse had always been kind and sensitive. By the time I first met him he was already volunteering at a shelter where he gave lap dances to orphaned giraffes. He also filed teeth for vampires who just wanted to lead normal lives, and for free too.

I recall first seeing him at a charity event where we were trying to raise money to buy new clown suits for our state senators. He was on the dance floor, wearing mismatched argyle socks on each of his hooves. He was trying to get his groove on, but he was just so uncoordinated. He didn’t care, though. He was having fun. It was as if he was trying to disco his way into heaven.

Well, I didn’t understand all that at the time. Instead, I was enraged that this arrogant dentist horse was making a fool of himself at such a serious event. I was so angry that I literally exploded. Pieces of me flew everywhere. It was a mess.

Well, wouldn’t you know it, that dentist horse spent two months putting me back together. I’m as good as new. Well, I do occasionally have diarrhea farts when I cry and every once in a while I sing Judy Garland songs while giving the postman a wedgie. The postman always tips me when I do that, which I’m slightly uncomfortable with.



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