Finally, Proof.

I find it funny when one's parents attempt to convince their child that going to the dentist is not all that bad. Well, I'm here to tell you that parents are liars, and the dentist is the most evil, sadistic man to walk the planet. I know this for sure. This is not opinion; this is factual and proven to be true.

On the DAT, Dental Admission Test, there is a personality test that each applicant must take. Results of said test show the individual to be of benevolent or villainous character. Acceptance of the former character trait is rare and only if the applicant scores in the top 99th percentile. On the contrary, an individual with a personality test revealing high levels of cruelty does not need such a high test score and will be accepted in a percentile as low as the 85th. What does this information mean?

The ADA, American Dental Association, was sued in 1979 on 237 accounts of subjective acceptances of applicants based on personality testing and not test scores. When the case was taken to the Supreme Court, the ADA was found not-guilty and all accounts were mysteriously dropped. The ADA was threatened by the U.S. government to make sure their methods were more standard and objective. Since then, in the past 40 years, the ADA has perfected their entrance exam so that it is fully lawful but still only accepts those of malicious character.

This being said, to all those whose parents force them to go to the dentist's office, beware, you are correct and your parents are horribly misinformed. As I warily entered a small, quaint dental office in Glendale, I stood on my guard, keeping a watchful eye for the savage individual in the blood specked smock. As I lay in wait, patiently, I noticed this lone chair in a white-washed room. Strangely, and for reasons no one could ever justify, this chair was plugged into the wall. I do not suggest that this dentist electrocuted his patients, for a true master is much more subtle in his approach. To document my findings, I lifted my film Nikon FA and cranked the film into place. I looked over my shoulder and made sure I was safe to drop my guard and look through the viewfinder. All was safe and I peered through the tiny hole. I set the exposure, checked the focus, and, pressing gently on that little silver button, heard the open and close of my shutter. Pleased with my work, I put my camera back into my bag and turned around. Standing there before me, blood stained and wearing a cunningly vicious smile, was my dad, the dentist, holding a honed scalpel.