Doc Curtis - Dentist Emeritus

He was long retired, sick of groping and drilling inside the mouths of fellow citizens. But golfing wouldn't do, his old sciatica had now revisited. So he would spend his mornings sleeping until past noon, then dress in Wranglers and Sears fake Birkenstocks Hawaiian shirt each afternoon. It was a splendid club, 'the usual', he would say and Cedric poured as if there were no limit, then added just a sliver of iced Kohlrabi. It helped, he knew, desensitize the gums against the sudden cold. He'd talk with Cedric about the past, and implantology, and Dr. Weston Price as well as caps and crowns and splints til Cedric's ears would burn and ache. And, in due time he'd join Doc Curtis. It was a medicine so universally respected. And no one could deny its brilliant efficacy. The day the accident, way up Alaska way did make the news the two were grinning. Doc Curtis called it crap and added that, in all his years he'd seen the benefits of sodium fluorosilicate with his own eyes. And that the charlatans and commie bastards had likely engineered the deaths through water, enriched to help the children of the world. 'No one would ever die of fluoridation, properly applied', he said to Cedric, who had now reclined atop the Heineken, and at that moment, that afternoon in May Doc hatched a plan to give some meaning to his retirement. And so he did. Soon he had allies, there was the firm INTALCO, and then the fertiliser crowd, as well as dentists by the dozen and their closed society. And so they formed in a great hurry a group called, not surprisingly: 'The Families For Health For Our Children'. Their motto was Life must have fluoride. In sixteen weeks they did amass a pot of real gold. Threehundredthousand to use, and well they did. Since money talks, it would, most likely be a piece of cake. Election came for all the people. There was no money for defense but there was something better. The people called it common sense. When all the votes of all the folks were counted it was found that Curtis had, to put it mildly, now lost the plot. By FOUR percent. The people had prevailed. Today, each afternoon, Doc Curtis, in fake Birkenstocks and checkered shirt and well-worn Wranglers still sits with Cedric at the Bar and drinks. No sliver of Kohlrabi, though. Instead he adds a dash of fluorosilicate to please his own.