Cowboy poet Bryce Angell

I woke up with a toothache in the middle of the night. I’d eaten half a chocolate cake, now paying for each bite.

I stumbled to the cabinet to find some quick relief. Dang! Someone stole my medicine! The doggone, stinkin’ thief!

I didn’t want to make the call. The one I’d hear ka-ching! But I called my favorite dentist, if there’s really such a thing.

The lady on the other end said, “It’s your lucky day. Bring all of your insurance and we’ll see you right away.”

Now I’m not the brightest fellow. But I’d played this game before. What she meant was, “Bring your checkbook. You’ll be paying evermore.”

So, I sat down in the dentist’s chair. He gave me laughing gas. I’ve never been a druggie. Could it be a lot like grass?

The dentist said, “We’ll numb you but we’ve got a shot to do.” I felt so high I told him, “Go ahead and give me two.”

And then I heard him clearly. “There is something you should know. I really hate to tell you, but this tooth has got to go.”

I guess that was no big surprise. My mouth was such a wreck. But when I saw him holding pliers, I cried out, “What the heck!”

He wrenched and pulled and twisted and the sweat run down his snout. Thank heaven for the laughing gas. It kept my wits about.

Well, now I’ve got a gaping hole right where I wear a smile. Since I’m really no Prince Charming, it doesn’t cramp my style.

My wife says I look scary, and the grandkids? They all stare! So I stuck a Chiclet in the hole. I call it, “Dental Care.”

Now, if you see me grinnin’, don’t feel bad or stop to gawk. ‘Cuz now I’ve got a whistle that’s as loud as Cooper’s Hawk.

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