SHORT AND WEIRD JUST GOT WEIRDER
Further Adventures of Denter Dunter
The case of verbal diarrhoea
I was busy typing reports when Denter Dunter suddenly appeared in my office doorway, a gas mask firmly shoved on his green-tinged face; cylinder clutched under one arm.
“Blark! Blark!” he dry-retched at me.
My one reason I stayed working as a Practice Manager — I got to twirl on my office chair when things went downhill.
I twirled. I felt sick. I joined the Dry-retching Association.
Suddenly, Dentine pushed Dunter out of the way and propelled into my office, headed straight towards my corner sink. She promptly spewed.
Dunter and I joined her. His stomach contents dribbled down his mask.
I threw up again.
“Why are we throwing up?” I croaked through an acid-destroyed throat.
“The patient, Gingival Frenulum!” Oral Mucosa, the receptionist, slipped into my crowded office. “Had a reaction to the gas — left the twins with me!” grumbled Oral. “Superior and Inferior Labial. Little bastards always shred the 1955 Women’s Days. I restrained them with dental floss — you can’t break that shit.”
“Sorry I’m late, doctor!” puffed Vulva as she sidled into the group. “My water broke — had to wait for a plumber.”
Dunter glared at me. “Uvula, why’d we hire that girl?”
“Her name’s pretty.”
Dunter nodded. “Experience?”
“She’s been filling cavities for years,” I mumbled. “Her previous specialty was gynaecology.”
“Vulva, I’m a denter, not a doctor! The first episode clearly explained that”
“Who’s with Gingival?” I enquired.
“Not going in there! It’s rancid! Gingival had diarrhea in the chair,” explained Dentine. “Sieved crap clear through her pantyhose—it’s dripping everywhere!”
My basin received another thrashing.
I scanned the room, eyes resting on Vulva. “Clean the patient up,” I ordered.
“Why, Vulva?” Dentine sighed relief.
Dunter drew reassuring lungfuls of gas and giggled. “Because poop holes are in her general area of expertise,” he giggled.
