I would rather run stark naked across the Arctic with a Polar Bear on my tail than go to the Dentists. Of all the professions created by man this is the closest to the rival that of the Kings’ Torturer. The implements of their trade would delight Torquemada or Vlad the Impaler. As you enter the treatment room the first thing you see is the dental form of the rack with its’ light and multi- jointed arms hanging on the back. On one arm there is a tray to hold the torture devices and on the other a tiny sink to catch the blood. Usually there is no window in the room and the door is shut which I think is meant to instill a sense of dread like being sent to room 101 in the novel 1984.
Almost immediately you are asked to get into the chair by the dental assistant who is usually a woman and who, in your state of anxiety looks like Olga the wrestler so you dare not refuse. Once positioned on the chair (rack) she proceeds to adjust it and finally place a bib around your neck. This bibs’ function is to stop the blood from running down your chest and puddleing on the chair (rack). After fussing about for a few more minutes Olga leaves and you are left to your own devices. As I have a very active imagination I spend this time trying desperately to suppress it. It is usually an exercise in futility as the more I try to curtail it the more rampant it becomes.

My Dentist is a Japanese chap and really quite nice, outside of the dungeon. As I said I have a very active imagination and it reaches its’ apex as the door to the treatment room (torture chamber) opens and in he walks. He is always dressed the same in his full Samurai Armour brandishing a very long, sharp, lethal Katana in the typical overhead two handed position. At this point I am on the verge of passing out until I hear him say “Hi David, been a while” the image of this ruthless warrior evapourates instantly to be replace by a very pleasant smiling face. All the pleasantries are camouflage, smoke and mirrors, designed to calm the victim and prepare him/her for the excruciating pain that is soon to come. The Dentist will ask what can we do for you today. You tell him you have a cavity that’s hurting. He asks where you tell him he says OK let’s get an X-ray of it. Next thing you know they are shooting radioactive X-rays into your mouth and your thinking your teeth are going to glow in the dark by the time it is finished. A few minutes later he comes back and tells you that yep you got a large cavity that definitely needs filling and asked if it‘s OK to proceed. In a voice full of false bravado you reply OK all the time wishing you were somewhere, anywhere else.

Now that the work up to the main event has been complete you hear from somewhere behind you some mumbling and the rattle of something. Instantly you know they are preparing the needle full of Novocain. MOMMY, is being screamed silently in your mind. Then he is standing in front of you with his hand behind his back. He is attempting to hide the eight foot long dull needle and believe when I say it is eight feet long because I have felt every millimetre of it going into my gums. My hands now have the arms of the rack in a death grip, my eyes are closed, breathing is rapid and shallow, and he hasn’t even moved towards me yet. Around this time I open one eye just in time to see the needle enter my mouth and almost instantly strike. I don’t care what anybody says it hurts. As the Novocain is being pushed into the gum tissue there is a constant unintelligible mumble emitting from my vocal chords when translated it comes out as “Oh Shit, Oh Shit” over and over until the needle (which by the way feels more like a water pipe) is removed. Then there comes that condescending phrase “there that wasn’t so bad” I’m thinking how the hell do you know you weren’t being punctured. Anyway I have returned from my foray to the Inquisition none the worse for wear as I have been grant a reprieve from the torture rack until next Wednesday when the screaming, moaning, and groaning will probably start in earnest. So when you hear this [poor soul whimpering and softly repeating over and over again “PLEASE MOMMY I DON’T WANT TO GO” show some sympathy, already.



There seems to be a conspiracy aimed at me. It is in the form of what can only be called nagging and it relates to my not shaving as often as those who comment think I should. My answer is a resounding “TOUGH”. When I was in the Army I had to shave every day sometimes twice a day and of course when I was married it was the same situation. Well now that I am retired (Old Fart) single, unattached, and not on the hunt I will shave whenever I feel like it or if I have to go somewhere on an appointment or special gathering. Tis my face and I will scrape it when the itch gets unbearable. Also remember every time I shave I destroy the home of millions of mites and other microscopic creatures that take up residence in my whiskers. Sometimes I feel like a mass murderer.
The disposable razor, Weapon of Mass Destruction, which can be bought at any pharmacy or corner store. It is such an innocent looking weapon made in both the male and female variety’s with very little to distinguish between them with perhaps the colour. When first introduced the Mk1 had but one blade which was quickly followed by the MkII, III, and IV each successive mark adding blades and improving on its’ capability to mow the whiskers from ones face. Now what took 5 or6 stokes to accomplish takes only 2 or 3. Along with this new efficiency come greater killing power to eradicate whole populations of mites and whatever other creatures abide within the bearded face.

Picture if you will a normal day in Mite Ville population 20 billion or so, lovely place with lots of trees (Whiskers) and a plentiful food supply of dead skin cells. Now in this serene setting are millions of families with Daddy, Mommy, Billy, & Susie living their day to day lives without a care or a worry? With the exception of the odd quaking and rustle of the trees life is good. Then one day a white foamy mixture falls upon the landscape and the kids think this is great something new to play in. The poor little things don’t realize that this white foam is the prelude to disaster the forewarning of a disaster of such magnitude it boggles the mind to even contemplate it. You see behind that white innocent looking foam is the Weapon of Mass Destruction the likes of which they could not think of, not even in their wildest dreams. The Razor. This one is blue and has two cutting blades so sharp that the slightest pressure is all that is needed for them to rain devastation upon Mite Ville. As the ground (skin) quakes and the trees fall by the hundreds all a mite family can do is hold on and hope that the monster will pass. Alas it is not meant to be, the mites by their billions are uprooted and then washed away in a series of Tsunamis’ the likes of which they have never seen. Some by in ‘the red tide that can follow as the wielder of the razor nicks his flesh and the blood begins to pour. After the Weapon of Mass Destruction has done its’ work the last of the Tsunamis hits followed a rough scouring of the landscape then a blistering evapouration of any residue including the bodies of the dead and dying. What was once the peaceful borough of Mite Ville now is a barren wasteland. Wait though as hope does spring eternal for within a few hours of this holocaust life begins to reassert itself upon the landscape and new trees start to rise and with them the birth of a new generation of mites. Alas the cycle repeats itself every few days and for some everyday.

So dear friends ends my tale of destruction. This tale and its’ consequences is the reason I do not shave every day because carrying the burden of such total annihilation weighs heavy upon my spirit and I endeavour to prolong the life of our little microscopic friends for as long as possible.




Tis 10:30 of a morning, any morning as it seems of late they all run together making one big blur. That’s the problem my life feels like one gigantic blur speeding by. There are times lately when I feel like I’m sitting in a high speed train looking out the window as the world passes by as nothing more than a continuous flash of telephone poles. Sometimes I swear I go to bed on a Monday night and I wake up Thursday morning. Like where in the hell did Tuesday and Wednesday go? It is not that my life is overly busy or that I have so much to do that I forget what day it is. No it’s must have something to do with growing older. Aye therein lies the rub. That insidious disease known as ageing. Alas it come to us all and some that I know that have resigned to take it gracefully. I am not one of those. I detest, dislike, and hate it.


It is Friday afternoon and the only reason I know that it is Friday is because it is Food Bank Day. The weather has been rather pleasant lately but it shan’t last as they are predicting cold temps and snow for this coming Tuesday 15 April. All right already enough is enough. I am really developing an intense dislike for that white crap that falls from the sky. If winters keep up like this one all those dumb ass stories that the Yankee believe about us living in igloos and skiing all year long just might end up being true.

Well it’s Saturday morning and I have been up for about 2 hours now and I still feel like I’ve been run over by a bulldozer then it backed up to make sure it did the job correctly. All this is in con-junction with the simple facts stated above. Getting old really, really sucks. It is amazing how the body can ache in places that were once deemed impossible to ache. It seems to me that when I go to sleep the Gremlins come out in force burrowing their way deep into the muscles causing new aches and pains upon awakening.

Just a few minutes ago I returned from an excursion to the lobby where I sat for about 45 minutes listening to the latest round of chatter and of course gossip. Usually when I take these excursions I leave my hearing aids at home so that 90% of the conversation goes unheard which is fine with me as I really don’t want to listen to who is doing or saying this or that and how that new blouse doesn’t suit so and so because of the colour of her eyes. Like who really gives a damn. It was just another 45 minutes blur that occurred to be added to all the others that have come and gone. My life is becoming just a “Gigantic Blur” flashing by at faster than light speed dragging me along with it to an unknown destination.




It is now 9:53 a.m on Sunday morning. Don’t ask what happened to Saturday afternoon or evening. All I really remember was watching the news which is just the same old same old rehashed and homogenized. The world is going to hell in a hand basket just at different speeds at different times of the year. Like a said before another winter or two like this one just past (ain’t ended yet) and all those fallacies about Canada and the Canadians will end up true. You know tje way I’ve been feeling lately I really don’t give a damn. I think I really have a very severe case of Cabin Fever (self-diagnosis). The spring and summer are never going to arrive and this is the slow death of the world as it slips into eternal cold because it has broken free of its’ orbit and is flying off into space. YAHOOOOOO.