Apple Sauce and Rodeo Clowns – a story

Apple Sauce and Rodeo Clowns

This wasn’t my dream.

This wasn’t my fantasy.

This wasn’t what I spent hours thinking about and planning for when I was a kid.


Fucking dentist.

Who wants, who dreams of being a dentist. Who dreams of years and years of college so you can become a dentist.

There’s no glory in dentistry.

There’s no honor here.

There’s no fame, no fortune, there is nothing but teeth, rotten, fucking teeth.

No, I didn’t want to be a dentist.

I wanted to be a contortionist, or a wrestler or a fucking rodeo clown. Yeah, a rodeo clown. I can’t even imagine the sort of action those guys get.

It’s just, it’s sexy.

It’s dangerous.

It, it just, ok, here’s what it is, you’re the star of the show. No one goes to a fucking rodeo to watch the bullshit with the cowboys. They go to watch those assholes fall on their asses so the clowns can come save them. They go to these things, and watch these rodeos to see the danger, to see the action, and to see the clowns.

Me, I’m a dentist.

I spend my days getting up early to go to work and root around in people’s filthy, disgusting mouths. I tell them to brush and floss so they won’t get cavities. What do they do? They go out for pizza and ice cream as soon as they leave my office. Some of these people’s mouths are like sewer holes making me wonder how it is that they’ve taken something meant for speech and pleasure and done this to it.

I don’t get it.

I don’t even know why I am a damned dentist. I remember being in tenth grade and we had some speaker come out to the high school, some jackass that made a million bucks after he left our area and he became some big shot business man. He went around asking people in the audience what they wanted to be, basically patting them on the back, smiling like a patronizing prick, and then telling them that sure, sure little Billy, you can be a banker some day. So he got to me and I told him what I wanted to be – a rodeo clown.

Rodeo clown.

And he gave me the most shocked and appalled look I’ve ever seen. It was a full ten seconds before anyone started laughing, not sure if I was serious or not but deciding that no, I had to be fucking with them. For a full minute I sat motionless and silent as my heart broke. That was the day, no that was the moment that I made my choice, and I started laughing with them, laughing with everyone, and that was that. I became a dentist. People didn’t laugh at dentists. They didn’t stare at them. They didn’t talk about them. And while a dentist might not be the star of the show, he could still meet a respectable woman and start a family.


If he could get it up.

If he wasn’t impotent.

If he was a man.

That isn’t me though, I’m a dentist.

Sure, people need me, but they don’t love me.

They’ll never love me.

It’s like, fuck, America is all about apple sauce and rodeo clowns, we love familiarity and danger, but me, I’m a car wash on a rainy fuckin’ day.

I sold my dream. I gave up on it. I turned my back on it, and for what, for an American dream that was a lie. I turned my back on happiness to take comfortable, to take safe, to take average.

And I hate it.

And worse, I hate myself.

Ah, but that isn’t to say that I don’t have my moments. I am no wrestler, and I am no contortionist, and no, I am no rodeo clown, but I do have my moments.

I have my fun.

I wait until the patients are out, the gas seeping into their brains and turning the world to darkness, and then they’re mine. They’re so helpless, so weak, and I love it. No matter what they need done I try to insist that I put them under and usually they agree, happy to have the gas. Happy to have oblivion. At first I gassed them so I didn’t have to look into their stupid, glassy eyes, but then I realized how much power I had when they were under, and how they had none.

I laughed.

Now I am a performer, now I am a rodeo clown, and they, they’re my cowboys.

I get out a video camera when they’re sleeping and I perform dangerous feats with them, all while they sleep. I take off my socks and lay them on their faces. I slap them to see if they’ll wake up. I drill and fill teeth that don’t need it and charge them for it to see if they’ll notice. I’ll take small items, usually of metal, and tie them to a piece of floss, then will drop the thing down their throats and cut it free so it enters their stomachs. I let my pet snake play upon their bodies. I make them my puppets and act out plays. I turn up the gas to see how close I can get to sending them into sleep forever. And sometimes I just talk to them and they have to listen. They have to hear.

The best was when that business man from my childhood came in for a check up a few months back. He has fallen on hard times and lives in our home town again and wasn’t so high and mighty as I gave him a root canal. Oh, I cleared my schedule for him. I took my time with him. I wanted to make sure he got the best treatment. That’s the best part of working in a small town – you can be your own secretary.

I have my moments.

I never met the good woman. I never found the American dream. I never became a rodeo clown. I do have my moments though, and now I can re-live them, over and over again, while I decide what comes next.

Bring on the bulls.


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