Dave Foulk Internet Flyer

The front tooth will not go quietly into the biohazard box. No, it is planning an escape- a deed that will leave me with a gaping maw in the front of my pie hole- a hole that says nothing if it does not scream ” Goober! Goober! This man is a goober! Look at the hole where his tooth used to be!”

I’ll look like Curley Joe Howard without a tooth. My three chins will have lost a companion. My image will plummet from that of a rather dapper fat man, to a slovenly dolt who has managed to lose all of his teeth except two, and they have cavities and root canals.

Then there’s the aspect of how my voice will sound on the air. Will the empty space cause a whistle, a rush of air where a “th” or “tee” sound once sounded? The demented dental criminal is planning to leave and ruin my career. I can hear it now. I will sound like Sylvester The Cat. Thufferin Thucotash!

My only hope is that Bill in the dental lab places the mold of my non-teeth in the front of the assembly line, and that Doc Campbell can deftly place an imposter in the escapee’s position before it has a chance to flop out in a suicidal plunge into my lap- probably in front of somebody important.