Dentists are people who you pay with the INTENTION of making sure your teeth don't rot, but with the RESULT of up to several hours of torture on some of the most sensitive tissue your body contains.
When you arrive at a dentist's office, the first thing you will notice is the distinct lack of screaming children in this paritcular doctor's office. This is because, if you are reading this, most dental offices are divided into Children and Adults. If you are reading this, you are hopefully in the latter category. If you're still around screaming children, you are either in a children's dental office and most likely a pedophile (for shame) or possibly in an un-segregated office. That is, both children and adults attend it. In this office, the children will most likely be louder than normal because they have a good idea of the horror to come. That's the bad news. The good news is that most dentists have really neat fish tanks to stare out while waiting for your name to be called.
Your next step in the hellish process could be several things. You may possibly have an X-ray taken of your teeth: Here, you will be given a bib to wear and very likely a gag / pacifier to 'reduce radiation imbedded in your jaw' (notice that the theme of pedophillia appears in dentistry again. Coinicidence? I think not!)
Seriously, don't let these people near your fucking kids.
Next up is the "probing" stage. The dentist escorts you to their chair and lays you down like Prince prepping one of his courteseans, and they go all CSI on your mouth and look for suspicious areas of plaque, gum decay, and semen (if they use a ultra-violet light).
Here we go, the really terrifying stuff. Are you sure you're comfortable reading this?
If you think so . . .
At any rate, you've been lead to believe by the dentist / architect of Satan that this process will be simple and plainless with the mild poking around with the mirror and scrapy-stick you just experienced. Lies! The dentist proceeds to gorge your enamel with said scrapy-stick while Eli Roth looks on in from the corner with a twisted smile on his face.
Yeah, that's the one.
You may or may not be fucking abandoned by your current master at this point, as they go to let you say your final goodbye to your genitalia and probably . . . get coffee or something. On their return, you are ordered to felate a thin straw as it sprays thinly-veiled 'water' in your mouth. They aren't swallowing fans, though, and order you to spit in a minature toilet bowl which could possibly be used for defecation by imps.
You think this is bad? What if you need a filling, or heaven forbid, a root canal? These procedures involve your teeth themselves being actually mutilated, seemingly beyond repair.
These things are damned the moment you walk in.
Seriously, it's too graphic to go into. We suggest you capture one of their hellions and interrogate them by threatening to give them a plaque enema. They should give up the goods then.
To further fuck with you, you're given gifts as your suffering ends. But, to your dismay, it's a toothbrush, floss (to go towards such useful purposes as tying around your finger to not forget stuff, and Cat's Cradle string) and toothpaste . . . along with a card that details the day of your next appointment! "Curses!" you think. "Do they believe me to be such a fool? I'll never return!" You think this even as you fill out the card and return it to The Gatekeeper, A.K.A. The Receptionist. You leave a shell of human being, only to return six months later. Because your teeth could seriously start to hurt a fucking lot if you don't.
Pictured: A recent patron of the local dentist's office.