Rumsfeld says other nations privately back war plans – Well duh, of course Rumsfeld says that, the prick. He wants to obliterate Iraq. The “private countries” are probably Hawaii and Alaska, anyway.

I went to the dentist today. My teeth ache, but they’re whiter than they’ve ever been. My new dentist, Catherine Cox (who has the same name as my stepmom’s mom), had me sink my teeth into fluoride for a minute, and then have me not drink anything for an hour afterwards. Bleah. But at least I can see white in my mouth again.

The following is an essay for English. It’s more in-depth about my trip to the dentist today, told from an existentialist view point. In other words, it’s not much different from any other essay. But I just have to tell it with less emotion, that’s all. By the way, v4 will so most definitely be based on various book covers of Albert Camus’ “The Stranger.” That book is the rox.

I went to my new dentist’s office today. The atmosphere was pleasant – much more classy than my previous children’s dentist’s office. As I entered through the door, the aroma of burnt vanilla wafted by me. I sat down and waited for a while, quenching my boredom with a TIME Magazine. After a while, an assistant dentist asked me in, greeted me, and told me about the operation for today.

She said that my teeth would be x-rayed, polished and scraped. Although it’s the usual procedure, she was surprised that I didn’t wince or even give a sigh of reluctance, as most patients couldn’t put up with those procedures time after time. I shrugged, and said that it was inevitable, and that I had to go through with it, so there’s no need to complain.

Having my teeth x-rayed did hurt, though. The tools in my mouth hurt my tongue and roof. Her suspicion of me died during the x-ray, as she discovered that I’m a bit more human than most people take me to be. I kept thinking, though, that it’d all be over in due time, and that passed the time along.

She left to develop the x-rays, and I was left in the room alone. I entertained myself by reading about miscellaneous celebrities. I took a look out the window for a while to watch the clouds rolling by. A water tower on a distant hill read “’02,” graffiti sprayed on by the departing senior class. I rolled my head around on the cushion of the reclined seat, trying to pick out the fine print of the safety warnings above the small sink. After what seemed like an hour, the dentist walked in.

Dr. Cox was a middle-aged, friendly-looking doctor with eyes that reflected years of experience in her field. She explained to me that my teeth show amazing resilience through all the torture I give them, given that I often forget to brush and am liberal with my sugary food intake. I agreed, shrugging my shoulders and saying that I don’t like to brag.

She did suggest, though, that I have my wisdom teeth pulled soon, and that I consider braces for some of my awkwardly positioned teeth. I nodded, agreeing, and the doctor eyed me with a look of sympathy. After a moment, she asked if that was all right. I was taken by surprise, since I thought I had already agreed. She said that she both procedures would have a profound impact and that she understood that I would have to think about it. I had to explain to her that it didn’t matter to me. When my time comes, my time comes. Besides, a little change never did any harm.

My teeth were expertly cleaned. The dentist didn’t snap the polishing brush against the ends of my gums like my old one did, and consequently I had no problem keeping my mouth open like I did at the last one. The procedure went quickly, and I left, thanking the dentist, her assistant, and the receptionist on my way out.

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