Dentist: You have different colored hair every time I see you. Normally I wouldn’t worry but I’ve seen you four times in six weeks. Is this a cry for help?
Me: More like a yell of defiance.
Dentist: Right on. Punk never dies. 

If you are squeamish about teeth or gums, don’t read the rest of this.

So I went to the dentist about the ongoing pain in the tooth he just put a crown on, and it turns out that while I was feeling nerve pain from the crown, it wasn’t because the crown had a crack in it. It was because a portion of the crown had chipped off – the crown is still intact – and embedded itself in my gum at the base of the tooth. It was digging into a nerve in my gums every time I chewed anything with that tooth. 

The dentist had a look and then said, “I can’t get it out with the tweezers, so I can either cut your gum to pull it out or I can try to lasso it.”

I thought lassoing it sounded like fun, because I’m me, so he made a little loop out of dental floss, managed to hook it around the porcelain, and tugged, and it felt like about a FOOT AND A HALF of porcelain came sliding out of my face. It wasn’t, of course, but it was a razor-sharp chip about an eighth of an inch long, which is a great deal when it’s in your jaw. 

Then while I was still recovering from the shock he dangled it in front of me by the floss and said, “This was in your gum for two weeks. I was wrong, you aren’t punk.”

I made REALLY BIG EYES at him from my chair of pain, and he said, “You’re metal.” 

Now I have a giant hole in my mouth that I have to rinse daily with warm salt water, but a dentist called me metal, so I’m gonna wear that like a badge of pride for a while.