My dentist never gives me a lolly anymore. I don’t think
she’s completely forgiven me for biting off three of her fingers. I
reckon she got off lightly. I don’t let just anyone stick their fist in
my gob, you know (well, not on a first date).
There’s a
shortage of NHS dentists, so I’m setting up my own emergency mobile
practice. For fifteen quid I’ll pop round on my motorcycle, wrench out
all your teeth and stick putty in the holes. It will hurt, and it won’t
be pretty, but you’ll get a lolly. Vain customers after a bit of
cosmetic whitening will get to gargle a litre of Dulux Gloss for three
minutes, plus a lolly. That’ll be thirty quid (or twenty-five if you
can spit the paint back into the tin). For fifty quid I’ll supply you
with three hundred lollies and wait for your teeth to fall out by
themselves, then I'll fill the holes with putty, and give you a lolly.
If I can negotiate a good deal on the lollies I could make a fortune.
No comments:
Post a Comment