Your Life is About to be Changed by a Pig Icon

We had to switch banks when we came up to PA because our former institution doesn’t have much of a presence in our new area.  Switching banks is such a headache, isn’t it? I didn’t really care where we switched to because, I don’t know, a bank is a bank and I’m sure I’d get more or less the same experience wherever.

Like, when we went into PNC to open our new accounts, the chick first asked us, “So what qualities did you appreciate at your old institution that you’d like to see continued in your new relationship?” LOL wut? What is this? The GMAT? Jeopardy? Some kind of application process to be, like, AN ASTRONAUT? She might as well have asked me the cosine of pi.  I don’t know, lady.  I liked the quality where I had this little red card that said “Visa” and when I handed it to the nice lady at Starbucks they gave me a mocha in return.  That is seriously the extent of my relationship with banks.

I take all that back now.  Switching to PNC was the greatest move of my life.  Let me tell you why.   Because today I discovered PNC’s “Punch the Pig” tool.  Stay with me now.  You need to know about this.

Punch the Pig was made for people like me.  AKA impressionable airhead girls who are easily swayed by cuteness.  (Me.)  You guys know the infomercial for the Baby Bullet? The baby food version of the Magic Bullet blender thing? The infomercial wastes all this time blabbing about all its nifty features.  It’s cost effective.  Labor saving.  You can make organic stuff.  Freezer safe.  Order in the next 10 minutes and they’ll throw in the baby food steamer for free.  Whatever.  Snooze.

BUT WAIT OMFG did you see there are adorable little happy faces all over everything?!?!

YES HELLO 1-800-BABY-BULLET? THIS IS SARAH I’LL TAKE NINETY PLEASE.

So, yea, somewhere along the line, marketing experts got together and determined girls like me– for reasons unbeknownst– respond passionately to cute gimmicks.  Back to Punch the Pig.  I discovered today that on PNC’s online banking portal, there resides a small pig icon.  When you click (punch) the pig, it transfers $1 from your checking to savings.  (Or whatever amount you tell it to).

 

See it? My pig is dressed in an argyle sweater.  It makes me wiggle my fists and squee when I see it.  There are like 30 different choices for your little pig’s outfit.  THEN you get to choose what sound it makes when you punch it.  I went with the classic “oink” option here.  Due to its excessive adorableness, I’ve already punched it like 5 times, so it’s accomplishing its goal of tricking an irresponsible dolt like me into using this mythical “savings account” entity.

The only major drawback is that it makes you jump through a hoop to confirm the transfer.

I can’t have this kind of road block.  I need the impulsiveness of the pig punch.  Now it’s making me think.  Transfer $1.00? An entire dollar? One hundred cents? Well now that I am forced to think about it… $1.00 could get me, like, 46 Swedish Fish from the bulk aisle at Wegman’s.  Or I could vacuum my car at the gas station.  Or I could try to win a plush toy from the crane machine at Red Robin.  Maybe even TWICE with a whole dollar.  This dollar could go a long way.  I’M NOT SURE I’M COMFORTABLE WITH THIS TRANSACTION.

I then utilized another sweet PNC feature and instant messaged a customer service representative to inquire about this.  Here is an excerpt from that transcript:

sarah becker: But when I punch it, there is a pop up that prompts me to confirm the transfer

sarah becker: is there a way to disable that?

sarah becker: it’s kind of a deterrent

[name redacted]: Good evening Sarah! I would be happy to assist you with that today

[name redacted]: Currently that pop up does not have an option to remove the transfer. This is just in case of an accidental punch to the pig.

I will never know why I laughed extensively at the “in case of an accidental punch to the pig” line.  But I plan to find a way to work that expression into my everyday lexicon.  Between that and getting to pick out an argyle sweater for my pig, my year has been made.  This now concludes the time I wrote 698 words about a pig icon.  A pig icon which will be responsible for any amount of wealth I may someday retire with.  Thank you, pig.

10 More Things I Hate About Pinterest

As cathartic as it was trashing Pinterest in Part One, I quickly realized there are so many more annoying things! Why stop now! Here are the next 10.

—-

1. Stupid Bucket List Items

I don’t know why but this just makes me picture a memo.

To: Ovaries
From: Self
Re: A Request

Thank you in advance for your cooperation in producing a set of twins for me.  What? You believe this is up to God, the Universe, the laws of biology and endocrinology? Is that what you think? YOU WOULD. How will people know I’m hip and unique unless I follow through on my bucket list which I re-pinned from someone else’s bucket list along with 847 others? MAKE ME SOME TWINS ALREADY, YOU INSUBORDINATE SPHERES OF USELESSNESS.

One of each while you’re at it, thx.  GET TO WORK.  God.  Idiots.

2.  Hair Tutorials That Make No Sense

Umm, yea, I got none of that.  I didn’t even make it past steps 1 & 2, wherein she is wielding a curling iron in frame 1 only to appear in frame 2 with straight frizzy hair.  Bun is not in fact fun.

3. Pregnant Women I Hate

Who are you, Sam and Deesha Patel? I cannot wrap my mind around the level of self absorption that must be necessary for creating this nauseating train wreck of narcissistic celebration.  I hope this trips a Google alert for your names and you’ll consider being less annoying during any future gestational periods.

4. Brides I Hate

Don’t be blinded by our love? I don’t even know what I would do if I went to a wedding and saw this stupid, saccharine sign, but I would start with barfing up the 9 chicken satay skewers I likely downed at your cocktail hour.  I’m also insulted you think I would wear your fugly dollar store sunglasses.  I wish you much marital strife and unhappiness.

5.  Kids Who Will Never Know a Day of Hardship

Aww, how sweet.  Your mom commemorated your last day of school with some sort of cutesy little banner.  Adorable.  Guess where this is going.  I HATE YOU! When I was a kid, my “welcome to summer!” greeting was being sent to YMCA camp.  Do you want to know what YMCA camp was like, little girl? We sat in pavilions.  In the woods.  Playing card games.  All summer long.  If we got tired of pavilion-sitting, our second choice was woods-roaming.  I built my first lean-to by 11.  SUCK IT.

HOLD UP.  50 fun things to do on a trampoline? IT’S A MF-ING TRAMPOLINE! I whined to my parents every day between years 7-14 for a trampoline and always got some BS line like “You’ll break your neck” or “The kid next door will break their neck” followed by “And then we’ll get sued and you’ll never go to college, is that what you want?”.  So you mean to tell me there are kids out there who aren’t satisfied enough by their trampolines that they need additional fun things to do on them!?  Ungrateful weasels!

Yep.  I also hate you, drive in movie theme party kids.

And rock wall kid, you can go ahead and take a slab of synthetic granite to your orbit.

6.  “DIY”

The DIY acronym is like catnip to every girl on the internet.  It’s a perfectly reasonable and explanatory expression in the appropriate context, one which I use, but I am just so tired of seeing it fixated onto EVERYTHING.  I DIYed this grilled cheese sandwich!  I DIYed tying my shoes! I wrote “Mac Book” on this bread tag and put it on a power cord, OMG DIY!

WTF? Of course you DIYed this! IT’S YOUR HAND PRINT!

7. Hot Dogs

Is Pinterest secretly being held afloat by corporate donations from Hillshire Farms? Why is every third picture a portrait of some nasty hot dog concoction?

8. Other Disgusting Food

This reminds me of the night Chooch ate 4 mint chocolate brownies and I had to induce vomiting.  Eww.

Still eww.

Here, let me fix this caption for you.  “The Crockstar: The Absolute BEST arteriosclerosis recipe.  For those nights when your family is too busy to gather around the salt lick.”

10. This Girl

Who are you, elusive hair girl with the nondescript medium length blonde ‘do? I think you have the most recognizable head on the internet.

Hi.

Hi again.  Cute scarf.

Hi.  Still You.  You can’t hide from me.  I feel like a stalker being able to identify the back of your head, but I can’t help it your freaking noggin is all over the Pinterest main page every single day.

10.  The Same Crap Over and Over

Yes, I know.  50 crockpot meals.  50 freezer meals.  50 seasonal localganic fat blasting super food smoothies under 100 calories.  50 Shades of Grey on your “books i like” board.  3 generations picture.  Keep calm and _____.  Autumn chopped salad.  Melted crayons. Questionably sourced infographic.  Nutella recipes.  Pumpkin muffins.  Pumpkin loaf.  Pumpkin milkshake.   PUMPKINS ARE LIFE.  Eggs baked in muffin tins.  Zucchini fries.  Stacked bob.  Textured bob.  Short bob.  Salads in jars.  Fringe scarf.  Teacher gifts.  Ryan Gosling.  And ARE YOU AWARE that you can glue glitter onto the heels of your shoes?!?!

10 Things I Hate About Pinterest

OK, first, let me preface this by saying that it’s no secret I a) adore Pinterest and b) love to craft like a mofo. But… I must draw a line on the WTFery. This is that line.

1.  Curly Hair.

What exactly is the fascination here? How many times have you seen a head of curls re-pinned 4,759 times with captions like “WOW!!!!” and “Dream wedding hair!!!!!”. People. Someone curled hair. With a curling iron. That you can buy at CVS. The cheapest, most gangster mall haircut place could do that.  A groundhog could do that. A paramecium could do that. You, wistful pinner, could do that.

2.  Creepy, Sexualized Children.

No. This is not “cute” or “omg she is so beautiful” or “my future daughter will dress like this!!!!” NO. This is strange, bizarre, and some straight up To Catch a Predator material.  Gross.  Delete.  Please.

3.  Ugly Things That Inexplicably Get Re-pinned a Ton of Times.

WTF is this? If a woodland fairy copulated with a centaur at a Pottery Barn Kids outlet, I have to imagine this would be the result. EWW. 225 people re-pinned this, indicating they…. desire a room in their home to look like this. Your precious Taylor is going to grow up to be a Renaissance Faire employee or possibly a slutty Hobbit.

4.  Terrible Polyvore Boards.

Every time I stumble across one of these, I wonder who on earth is alright with walking out of the house looking like this.

I can only assume it was an 11 year old…

A color blind 11 year old…

A floozy 11 year old…

An 11 year old gone wild with a gift card to New York & Co…

5.  Women with Entirely Too Much Time on Their Hands.

I’m sorry. There are many things I don’t have time to do in between watching 16 and Pregnant, taking showers, and the mythical entity known in some circles as a “Job”. Some examples include upcycling vintage pillow cases into onesies, anything involving the adjective “distressed”, and printing typed labels that say “Quinoa”, “Barley”, and “Steel-Cut Oats” to place on TRANSLUCENT containers encasing quinoa, barley, and steel-cut oats (respectively). This photo sums it up best:

Huh? I have a number of issues with this.

• There are six spots for 7 days. I don’t need to point out that that equals less than one thing per day.
• Two of the things use the verbs “plan” and “brainstorm.” Those are not even what my English teacher called “action verbs.” Those verbs are synonyms of the verb “think.” This person has less than one thing to do per day and two of the days are dedicated to thinking about things? Where do I get this life?
• Please tell me the blog tutorial wasn’t explaining how to make this list-thing, because… it’s a piece of card stock. That someone drew on with a Sharpie. As far as I can tell, the most complex skill used in creating this was tracing around a Post-It.
• However, invariably, this will be re-pinned 142 times with captions like “Finally a solution for my insane crazy busy to-do list!!!!! My days of missing mason jar sales because I was busy making a sensory box for little EmMyrsynne are OVER!!!!!!”

6.  Juxtaposition of Thinspo and Extreme Junk Food.

It’s really difficult to appreciate Pinterest’s delightful displays of bacon-wrapped-bleu-cheese-burgers and oreo-inside-a-cookie-inside-a-brownies when right next to them is a bunch of disturbingly-captioned swimsuit models staring back at you. Branded with innocuously-named Tumblr sites, because “Ackshually it’s just motivation to be healthy, so I don’t know what the big deal is.”

I made that one up but you know the ones I mean. (And in all seriousness it should really stop)

7.  Under-Impressed Captions on Photos of Luxurious Homes People Falsely Believe They Will Live In.

Cool patio.

My kids would love this tree house.

Kitchen.

Because if I had to caption this, it would be more along the lines of OMFG GET A LOAD OF THAT FRIGGIN KITCHEN HOLY BEJEZUS!  But, yea, no.  Just Kitchen.  Like the kitchen is just okay. I mean, that hardwood leaves a lot to be desired. And who doesn’t have a vaulted, cross-beamed ceiling anymore? Uninspiring. Next.

8.  This Picture.

ENOUGH. This is not Castle Island, Dublin, Ireland.  This is the People’s Republic of Photoshop. Take it off your mailing list, update your database, stop calling.

9.  Completely Random Crap Nobody Possibly Cares About.

To illustrate this point I searched the following items: tire, shovel, dryer lint, dog poo. Did Pinterest disappoint? Never.

10.  I Just… Can’t.

Top 10 Reasons to Own an Herb Garden

10.  Distracts from dirty window screens
9.  Major street cred in suburban wifey circles
8.  Local-ganic or whatever
7.  Can be strategically placed on top of spray paint marks on the deck when the landlords come over
6.  Neighbors must assume you have your life together
5.  Savings of up to $2.08 per grocery store trip
4.  Lazy person friendly! Did you know they automatically regenerate themselves after being dead all winter?!
3.  Builds responsibility and care-taking skills
2. You’re cool like Michelle Obama
1.  If you wanted, you could say things like “Oh you like this pesto? BOW AT MY FEET CAUSE IT CAME FROM MY HERB GARDEN, INFERIOR ONE”

Another Day of Asking You to Make Me Feel Better

Tonight I was, as always, hysteric at the end of the day and a little bit late meeting BFF Kristine for Happy Hour.  I was typing out an email while exiting the metro and thus, stupidly, went out the wrong exit and put myself a couple blocks behind getting to my destination.  Then, in my haste, managed to go another 2 blocks out of my way walking in the wrong direction.

Not that I was bent out of shape meeting BFF Kristine, who knows my ways very well, but it got me thinking about how the more late and directionally disoriented I am, the dumber choices I make.

Again, please tell me I’m not alone here.  Pls.

It’s like anytime I’m in a situation where I’m extremely lost and late my reasoning is always “waaaaaAAAAAaaaahhh omg omg so late…. I’m just going to turn down this street, yea sure this must be right, gggaaaaahhhh………I’m out of breath and running in SOME direction so surely I must be closer to solving my problems waaaahhhhh………. I’m trying to get to Philadelphia but here is this sign saying ’76 West to Pittsburgh’ SURE MAKES SENSE gaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh Late! Lost! HELP.”

 

Best 80′s Dance Scene?

I can’t decide… Kevin Bacon’s Footloose solo (1984) or Jennifer Beals’ “She’s a Maniac” workout in Flash Dance (1983)?

Beals…

Pros:

• Probably more appropriate for a female to be seen carrying on like this
• Legwarmers, obviously
• Her apartment is a converted industrial space, so you know she’s cool
• She does a masculine occupation (welder) with feminine sex appeal… INTRIGUE!

Bacon…

Pros:

• It’s forbidden, so automatic points there
• Impromptu gymnastics bit at the end
• Impromptu gymnastics bit by Bacon stunt double (points revoked)
• Light wash jeans

Winner? It’s a draw for me.  Weigh in!

I Freaking Love the Internet

Do not ask, but today I googled “Are Altoids bad for you?”.  A seemingly boring query which, once again, revealed to me new and unprecedented depths of the Splendorous Wonder That Is The Internet.  Because what did I turn up but some sketchy forum full of people legitimately addicted to Altoids. (Source) 

Here is our original poster…

Can I relate? No.  No sir.  No I cannot.  But I appreciate you “putting it out there.”  I like Altoids.  Altoids are my friend.  When I’m feeling a little stale in the pie hole? Altoids.  When I want a sweet fix that isn’t Hershey’s Assorted Miniatures (Family Val-U Size)? Altoids.  But… umm… wow.

Just set… them down… and walk… away? WOW insightful advice, dude.  THANK YOU.  Actually I’m with Altoids Girl Trish on this.  You know the Sex and the City where Miranda eats the brownies out of the trash and then has to pour detergent on them to stop? I wept and felt a little less alone in the world.

Now our girl is going to address this bad breath accusation…

LOL NO you guys she doesn’t have bad breath! Gawd what kind of person do you take her for? Homegirl, by my estimation you just ate 600 Altoids in 48 hours so I’d say you’d be lucky to have bad breath as your problem.  Also, you should probably withhold your judgment being someone seeking help from an internet forum about your debilitating breath mint addiction.

I’m also beginning to suspect this whole thing is a sham and these people are plants from Altoids corporate given the suspicious marketing buzz-phrases ”cold and refreshing feeling” line from the last person and the “cool, refreshing taste” from Trish.  Trish’s analysis also lends itself to a possible new slogan: “Altoids: come for the cool, refreshing taste.  Stay for the crunch”

No, I agree and actually do not believe there is anyone in the world who eats as many wintergreen Altoids than you.  6-12 cans.  Rock that minty shyste.

This is where I gain a great deal of respect for the medical professionals that have to listen to the insane problems of the world with straight faces.

Doctor: Any other questions you had today?
JanieTheresa: Well, yes.  Altoids.  I eat about 1-2 cans per day… and that’s limiting myself.
Doctor: Hmm yes Altoids yes.  Tell me more?
JanieTheresa: For me, I put about 4-5 Altoids in my mouth…
Doctor: Yes I see.
JanieTheresa: Crunch them up into small peices…
Doctor: Mm hmm crunch OK.
JanieTheresa: Swirl those peices around in my mouth…
Doctor: Yes yes.  And after the swirling?
JanieTheresa: and then swallow.
Doctor: CHHRRMPPHHH SNORFLE I mean, that’s very interesting.  Anything else?
JanieTheresa: Mmmmmm!

PSSHH get OUT… Insensitive troll…

Also did anyone else have a really inappropriate double take on “gentlearts”? Please don’t make me say it…

Let’s end on an uplifting note OK?!

FWD: TLC Production Department.

Yay the Superbowl is Over for Another Year

This is one area in which I must shamefully admit to being one of those terrible, pathetic, girly-girls.  All of the standard, popular sports I find waaay too boring and slow to accommodate my attention span.  Whereas the weekend before Christmas I think I watched Battle of the Nutrackers on the “Ovation Network,” whatever that is, for, like 16 hours straight.  That was some quality athletics. 
 
Yea, I’m also kind of bitter about the amount of attention the world gives a bunch of badly behaved millionaires who attack one another for a living.  And I hate to be a hater make a generalization because for all the bad there is so much good in sports, but some days I worry that generation after generation of young boys are looking to the NFL for role models.   Don’t you kind of? And then you look at athletes near and dear to my heart like gymnasts, who work ridiculously hard, don’t get paid, have never in the history of their existence since Ancient Freaking Greece gotten into fights with one another or with officials, and they are lucky to get some attention every 4 years with the Olympics, but otherwise most American households couldn’t give a goose poop. 
 
Anyway.  THAT is a complaint for another day and I sound obnoxious so I’ll step off my soap box thingy now.   
 
And I take some of that back about disliking the popular sports, baseball is not so terrible if you’re actually at a game.  It’s outside, the weather is nice, there’s beer and ice cream, you can wear cute things, there is a kids page in the program that usually has a word search or a dumbed-down sodoku that can occupy me for a good inning or so. 
 
Football is kind of the worst though.  First I will state for the record that I don’t understand how it works AT ALL, despite many people having tried to explain it to me in my life.  And I will concede that it’s possible I would find it more entertaining if I made an effort to learn and appreciate it.  Possible.
 
My ignorance is extra shameful because I was an actual cheerleader in high school and still don’t know what was happening on the field all those years.  “First and ten, do it again, go fight win!” <–I don’t actually know what that means.  Thank God it fell to our cheer captain to decide whether a given situation warranted an offensive versus a defensive cheer.  That crap might as well be Applied Cosmic Physics. 
 
Football is also extra boring because I swear, nothing happens!  Occasionally someone makes a so-called “interception” or a “catch” but those occurrences last, like, 1 second each, as opposed to the rest of the time they spend in this pattern: 1) assemble 2) attack each other into a giant pile of bodies 3) gain one yard 4) ref whistles 5) players extract selves from pile of bodies 6) Reassemble and repeat for FOUR HOURS. 

SNOOZE! (Sorry…Don’t hate me…)
 
For me, the highlights of last night, in addition to lovely company of course, were…
 
MISTER QUIGLEY:

 
 
GUAC-A-MOLEH! (In my head right now I am singing the “Shots” song but replacing it with “Guac,” that is how much I love this crap).

Yay.  Guac.  Happy Monday.  The end!

Hell is Whole Foods on the Weekend

11 Reasons I Want to Stab My Dentist

 Look, I realize this is not groundbreaking news here.  And saying “Wow the dentist is awful” is pretty much the observational equivalent of “Breaking: Better Places to Spend Your Time than the DMV.”  Whatever.  I just went this week and every time I set foot in that place, my hatred is re-birthed with a new fervor. 

 

The Reminder Postcard.  It’s the end of the long day.  You’ve arrived home and are tending to the mail.  Oh how nice of her to send a card! Oooh People magazine! 

 

OMG WTF is this!?!?

 

 

Oh hahahahahahaha aren’t you dear I HATE YOU.

 

Wha…. Whuh…. how is this possible?! I was just there…. LIKE….. 8 weeks ago!?!?  I mean, just yesterday I was sitting there in the chair, penning my own damning reminder card, knowing I was the furthest possible amount of days away from my next trip.  

 

BS Cancellation Policies.  From there, the dread builds until the day has arrived.  And if you’re like me, you start to cycle through the stages of grief, usually getting hung up at “bargaining” and trying to rationalize an excuse out of it.  On the day of my appointment this week, I made the most excellent decision of enjoying some office holiday awesomeness in the form of Harry and David’s Moose Munch.  Is there ANYTHING yummier than that filth? NO.  Except then I was like Oh CRAP I’m supposed to be at the friggin’ dentist later today. OH I KNOW I’LL CANCEL IT.  Not like I can walk into the dentist all “Oh hi….Don’t mind this layer of caramel on my molars! This is totally a one time thing and not indicative of my daily habits at ALL.”

 

Me: Umm hi.  I have an appointment later? If I cancel now will I get char…

Evil Dental Office: Yes.

Me: Oh.  OK.  Umm, see you later than I guess.

  

Coming Clean About Lackluster Dental Habits.  Does your dentist do this? First the hygienist grills me my relationship with my teeth and asks me how many times I floss during the week. 

 

“Well… some weeks I floss, like, every day! Other weeks, umm, less than that.  And by less I mean more like zero.” 

 

“OK.  We’ll say 3 on average then.  It says here you were flossing 5-6 times a week last time you were here.”

 

“It’s possible that was an exaggeration of the truth.” (Note to self: Keep better track of lies.)

 

“OK.  How about fluoride?”

 

“Pass?” 

 

The Television. Unless I am missing the “Induced Coma” channel, there is no possible television programming that could possibly make me feel any better about what’s happening.  Plus, it introduces another element of pressure to choose something socially acceptable.  I’m not sure what normal people watch, but if I’m at home by myself I’m watching Big Cat Diary or Secretly Pregnant or men’s gymnastics.  Other people need not know this.

 

The Stabby Ice Pick Device Thing.  This is THE PINNACLE of dental awfulness.  The cleaning is underway and I’m being stabbed with a pointed object, flinching and whimpering and gazing up at my masked hygienist with desperate, pleading eyes.  ”Is that sensitive there?” she says.  SENSITIVE? Lady we moved from “sensitive” to “OMFG PLEASE DESIST” like 8 teeth ago.   

 

X-Rays.  Correction.  These are the pinnacle of dental awfulness.  Hate.  Going in the thing looks like a harmless little plastic circle but in reality feels like you’re gumming a jungle machete.  And then the hygienist sort of ambles over to the button on the wall to take the picture and I’m like “Move, woman… MOVE!” And does your dentist have this? Mine is all high-tech and the images flash right on a screen on the wall.  So I’m sitting there praying for nice, clear images of my poor teeth yet half expecting…

 

Which brings me to…

 

X-Ray Re-Dos.  Correction #2.  This is the worst  part.  This is reasons I want to impale the dentist numbers 1 through infinity.

 

Flouride.  After about 8 seconds my gag reflex is on Tom Ridge Threat Code Red.  The stuff actually doesn’t taste that bad, it’s just the pressure of sitting there for sixty seconds trying not to gag and spew it all over yourself, or worse, swallow it after being warned by the hygienist to “Whatever you do DO NOT SWALLOW THIS.”  Can someone tell me what happens if you ingest flouride? If I had to guess I’d say it was certain and instantaneous death.  This is what I try to remind myself of when I’m sweating bullets at second 49 and starting to see the face of God.

 

Desperate Longing for the Water Hose.  The only thing that gets me through the horror of the stabbing, the disgusting “polishing,” and the X-Rays is the thought of the sweet succour of the water hose.  And its equally soothing partner, the yin to its yang, the sultan of suction, ladies and gentlemen give it up for your friend and mine, MR. THIRSTY.  At my dentist, after the flouride they hand Mr. Thirsty right over to me and tell me to suck to my heart’s content.  I mouth that thing with an enthusiasm that can only be likened to the famous Virgin Diaries first kiss:

 

 

Encore Appearance from the Stabby Ice Pick Device Thing.  The hygienist is just giving you a final once-over before turning you over to the dentist and she’s all “Oh… what’s… Is that…. a micron of Moose Munch I still see on your right lateral incisor? Here… lemme just…. get that for you quick…” 

 

Condescending Douchebag Dentist.  Seriously I hate mine.  This week he told me he was putting 4 molars on the “cavity watch list” and then followed up with these condescending gems: “I’m trying to work with you here, but you have to work back.” And “You don’t have to floss every day, only days when you chew something.”  Well is that a fact? Come to think of it, an eating disorder would be better than having to come back here.  And sorry that I have a life that doesn’t involve being a fetish-y, tooth-obsessed, dentist weirdo like you.  Whatevs.  Turd.  We’re done here for 6 months.  Suck my tartar, dude.