What if your dentist forgot to remind you to floss last time you visited him?

It's time for the dentist again. You always hate going there. Last time, you had a root canal, and just the sound of drilling almost drove you crazy.

But now you're back for your appointment and a little wary.

"Open please."

says your dentist.

"So, how's your new job coming along?"

You try to tell him that you've been working there for three months so it's not really all that new anymore, but it ends up sounding like this:

"I een rkeen er or ee on o i o eall al a ew aneor,"

He nods understandingly.

"Well, you know what I mean. Everything's good though?"

"eh-he"

"Well that's good. It looks like I'm finding a lot of plaque here between your gums. You know, you could get gum disease. Have you flossed lately?"

"I oppo o oss?"

"Well of course you are."

He stops picking your teeth with the metal thingy.

"Why would you think you weren't supposed to?"

You clear your throat now that you can talk.

"Well. You never told me to floss last time, so I didn't think I had to."

"WHAT!"

Your dentist pulls out the air suction thingy that he uses to clear the goop out of your mouth. He puts it up to your neck.

"Now I want you to listen very closely. Last visit, I reminded you to floss."

"No you didn-"

"I said I TOLD YOU TO FLOSS! Okay? Look, if word gets out that I forgot to remind you to floss, then I could get hit with malpractice suits, lose my job, and become the laughing stock of all other dentists. I'm not going to let that happen, so unless you want me to give you fake hickeys and ruin your marriage, I suggest you listen to me."

"Okay, okay!"

you say.

"Just finish the job and I promise I won't say anything."

He quietly and moodily cleans your teeth, puts on the fluoride, flosses you, and then sends you on your way. You pay your bill, set up an appointment in three months and walk out the door. About half way out to the car, you realize that he forgot to tell you to floss again. You decide that you aren't going to tell him, but you aren't going to floss, either.

Now you know.

What if you found the lost diamonds of Zarenzia?

They all scoffed. They all told you there was no such place as Zarenzia, neither in history or even legend. They all said you were crazy, just like that time you swore that you were Sid Caesar's long lost brother, or the time you tried to prove the existence of space weasels. But they don't know. You are his long lost brother, and it's not like anybody ever disproved the existence of space weasels. Now, however, you have undisputable proof of your sanity.

It had taken a lot of work, and sometimes you had doubted yourself. Sometimes you had to stoop to unethical means to follow your dream. You deceived people. You offered money you didn't have. You even had sex with your biological mother.

"Anything to find the diamonds,"

you'd say.

"Anything."

It wasn't that you were greedy for the richness of the diamonds. It was more about the adventure, and proving everyone wrong. It was about finding a piece of the puzzle, a long lost icon of our earliest heritage. As a side note your mother is kind of a fox. More like a cougar.

You begin your long trek back. Back out of the ruins, through the amazonian trees, past the only friendly native village in miles. You ride a raft on the Amazon river all the way to the Atlantic ocean. Then, you travel north and take the first plane you can back to your university so you can rub it all in their faces. When you arrive there, you don't even bother to shave or shower. You just run into the history department, throw open the door and shout.

"Behold! The lost diamonds of Zarenzia! Now who's crazy?"

It turns out you forgot to take them with you.

Now you know.

What if your lawyer is also a trained lion-tamer?

The back story behind your lawyer is somewhat fascinating and somewhat mundane. His father had wanted him to grow up and be a rich lawyer, but that wasn't what he wanted in his young, reckless youth. He wanted to be a risk taker, so he ran off and joined the circus, and accidentally knocked up the bearded lady.

Reckless as your now lawyer was, he loved the bearded lady, and wasn't about to leave her or his son. He couldn't afford to pay for junior with circus money, however, so he took a day off to himself to reflect and mourn the loss of his passion in life. He left the circus, took his father's advice, and became an attorney.

Either way, it sure is coming in useful now, because he is cross-examining a lion.

"Is it true that you were in the same house as the victim, one Mary Sue Linden, on the night of the murder in question?"

The lion roars. It sets its paws on the witness stand and looks like it is about to pounce on you.

"Your honor, permission to treat the witness hostile?"

"Granted."

He pulls out a whip and snaps it down in front of the lion. The lion sits back down in the witness stand.

"Answer the question."

The lion purs softly.

"That's what I thought." says your lawyer as he gives the lion some raw liver. "You weren't even there. No further questions, your honor."

You beam a wide, confident smile. Looks like you picked the right guy.

Now you know.

What if you're really good at bad analogies?

You're really mixing it up at this block party. A daft punk tribute band is there, singing in autotune, and everybody is having a hopping time drinking and rocking out. Everyone except you. You're insistent on "proving" how smart or cool you are by comparing things as similar that really aren't.

"Oh, you swim?" You say. "I don't swim, but I play video games. The two are a lot alike."

The athletic woman you're talking to goes along with your bull crap, but only to be nice.

"You see, swimming is very graceful, but people don't realize that it requires a lot of work, like calisthenics and leg shaving. Video games are like that too. It takes grace, but it takes work. You have to stretch your fingers every day or they'll cramp up. I'm also thinking of shaving my nuckles so they can move faster. Real gamers are hardcore like that, am I right?"

She's gone. She left about at the word "stretch". She, however, isn't going to stop you in your quest to use bad analogies.

"Oh, you like drinking, eh? I don't drink much, but I fish. You'd be surprised how similar the two are. Like...like. When you fish, most of your time is spent waiting for the fish, but when it happens, boy oh boy is it awesome. Just like drinking. It's boring until you start to get buzzed, but watch out when its throw up time! That's no fun. That's how I know. If I throw up, it's time to stop fishing."

The guy was never listening to you. You just like the illusion that people care. But they don't. They never do, and you just keep telling yourself that there must be a reason. C'mon. Admit it. You know, don't you? You have to know why, don't you? I mean, how could you not? Just quit being a jerk already.

Now you know.

What if Buying a cell phone makes everyone fall in love with you?

You're sitting in front of the ol' boob tube, and a new commercial pops up, one you haven't seen before. There is a guy buying a cell phone, and the minute he finishes signing his contract, a whole flock of beautiful scantily-clad women flock to him.

"Cool-O-phone. So you can talk to people, AND actually be liked."

You turn off the T.V. It's been three years since you've actually dated a woman. You run upstairs, shower, shave, and put on your newest Proclaimers t-shirt.

"Girls like rock band fans." you think. "It makes you look mature."

You drive down and purchase your own Cool-O-Phone® and instantly nearby women begin to migrate toward you. You invite three of them to ride home with you. When you arrive at your apartment, there's a whole crowd of people already there, but not just hot women, ugly women two, and a few guys. There's that horrible old disfigured lady who lives on the upper story of your apartment building. She hobbled down four flights of stairs to meet you. She's wearing that green floral dress that she hasn't worn for a good thirty years, but she brought it out just to meet you.

You know Gus, the cranky old guy who just sits on the stoop in his bathrobe and yells at cars all day? He's there too, just anxious to see you. He's the first of the crowd to see you. He runs to you with open arms and a wide smile. Soon, they are all charging at you, like heroin addicts on the verge of withdrawal.

You run a sharp turn and make a break for the back entrance to your apartment. Your roommate lowers a ladder a hoists you up in just the perfect moment. Once inside he locks the doors, shuts the windows, and calls the police to see if they can control the mob. You take a peek outside. The mob has grown, and now you can see even some police officers have joined the mob. On the bright side, the mob has pacified somewhat, and they all are singing songs of adoration to you.

"It's a good thing I got you out of there when I did." he says. "Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to save you."

He fixes you a glass of lemonade. You sit down on your futon and he hands you the lemonade and sits in the sofa across from you.

"Now I have you all to my self."

He stares wistfully and creepily into your eyes. He follows your face, even when you try to move.

"Cool phone." you say.

Now you know.

What if you fed your dog a love potion?

It's not like you intentionally fed your dog a love potion. You aren't sick like that. You didn't even expect it was a real potion. You had bought it at the bargain bin of Bed, Bath, and Beyond. You thought it was just bath soap.

However, you should have at least been curious about the name of the product. "Love Potion. The Real Deal". You had opened the bottle and smelled it, curious of what it smelled like. It smelled like those chalky little valentine's day candies. You had set it on the counter and Mr. Ruffers had knocked it over, and licked it up. The worse you had expected was a little soapy gas and perhaps some constipation, but now Mr. Ruffers is clearly infatuated with your little sister, following her everywhere and barking, as well as licking her face. You think its a little bit too PDF, but to each his or her own.

Ruffers is neutered, so that's not a problem, but he's also licking himself, which tells you that he clearly thinks he's going on a date. You decide that it is time you and him had a talk. You grab the nearest set of scissors just in case you need to threaten him, although that is a last resort.

"Mr Ruffers," you begin.

Mr Ruffers barks in excitement. You can only imagine what he's thinking.

"Listen. I know you and Tanya have really hit it off, and far be it from me to tell you two how to live your lives, but what if Tanya doesn't want to date a dog?"

Mr Ruffers growls.

"Listen, I know you are in love with her, but maybe you should cool off for a little bit, you know just in case she's not interested that way?"

He barks, does a small flip and barks a few more times.

"Thanks, buddy. I knew you'd listen to me. All I'm saying is wait a few days. If the love potion wears off, and you are still crazy about her, then make your move. Okay? I can't help but interfere. You're my best friend, and she's my sister. Of course I'm going to be protective of her."

Unfortunately, you've deluded yourself a little here. You were right the first time. It was just shampoo. Also, Mr. Ruffers has no idea what you are saying, because he is a dog.

Now you know.

What if the creepy little girl in your closet is just a regular little gir?

Your mother has just finished reading you a story, and now it's time for lights out.

"No mom!" you say, "Please, just read me one more story."

"Sorry," she says, "but I've got a date with a bottle of Jack that I can't keep waiting."

"But mom!" you protest, "There's a creepy little girl in my closet!"

"There's no such thing as creepy little girls."

With that, she closes the door and turns out the light. At first, everything is quiet, but a few moments later, lights begin to flash under the closet door. You hear a tiny voice.

"Hello. I've come for you."

You scream the highest pitch your lungs can make. You strain your throat so much that is sounds like gravel being scraped against glass. Your mother rushes inside. You just cover your head with your blanket and point to the door. It turns out there really is a little girl in your closet, just not a creepy one.

"Hi!" The little girl smiles and does a curtsy. Your mother berates you for wasting her drinking time over a silly little girl in your closet and you tell her about the lights under your door.

"Oh you mean this?" The little girl hands you an old toy of yours that flashes lights and makes weird noises.

"Tee-hee! Sorry I scared you. I was just playing hide-and-seek and I guess I got kind of lost."

"But you've been in my closet for about two weeks now!"

"Yeah." she says. "When nobody's around I sneak food from the fridge and use the bathroom. You really need good timing. Do you think you could drive me home?"

Your mother grumbles about losing her drinking time and you watch as they both get in your mother's car, and the headlights disappear over the hill down the block. You lay down in your bed and try to relax. That's when the burglars hit.

Now you know.

What if army ants ate your bagel?

It could be worse, I suppose. They could have destroyed your house in an attempt to devour you alive. That seems to be the expected thing that army ants would do. These ants, however, like to be unpredictable, which is quite a task considering their sheer numbers require some serious organization.

Here's how it went down. First, they formed a ladder made of ants two stories tall. From there, they used their sharp mandibles to drill a hole through the glass of your window. They climbed into your guest room, climbed down the wall onto the bed, chewed through the buzz lightyear bedsheets, climbed down the bedpost, made another ladder up to the door handle, turned the door handle, climbed down the stairs, turned toward the kitchen, and that's where your bagel was.

You had taken the bagel out of the pantry and set in on a plate. You went to look for some cream cheese in the fridge. You turn around, and sure enough, they were there, just tearing away at that bagel. It was beautiful and terrifying to watch them destroy it. Thinking that you were next, you turned to run, only to realize that they weren't coming after you. They didn't even go for your dog, or the food in the still-open fridge.

Instead, they turned around, chewed through your patio door, and went through your backyard, over your green picket fence, and disappeared into the neighbor's yard. Apparently, they just had a bagel craving.

Now you know.

What if your nerdy best friend caught a horrible flesh-eating disease?

You've always been a little at odds with Terry. He helped you with your schoolwork when you were younger, and whenever you get into trouble, he's there to lend a hand in any way he can, but more often then not he creates problems for you and damages your social life. Plus, he has this bad habit of inviting himself to every single social occasion you throw. Also, every single time you get back from work he is sitting on your stoop waiting for you.

Now, to make matters worse, he's caught this disease that the doctors call necrotizing fasciitis, and it can be somewhat contagious. You've talked with him before about your social life, but Terry never seems to understand. Last time, you tried to explain it to him as the "worlds colliding" theory. You told him that hanging out with your other friends was like mixing the wrong chemicals together.

"They aren't interested in your moth collection,"

You'd say.

"I see."

Was his only response. He left dejected and stopped hanging around you for about a month. It was the most blissfull time of your life. Then he came back, assuming the two of you had "made up" for an argument you never really had, hanging around you every day.

Now he wants to come to your party on Thursday, horrible flesh-eating disease and all. It's time for a phone call. The phone rings a couple times, and you hear on the other line a fevered

"Hel..l..o?"

"Hey Terry, it's me. Listen. I heard you have an awful flesh-eating disease. That's too bad. Look. I know you're looking forward to going to my party, but I don't think that would be a good idea with the whole flesh-eating disease thing and all."

He protests. He complains. He whines and says he thought you were better friends then that. Then he throws up from the horrible pain of his disease. You try to explain that it's just the flesh-eating disease, not him, but he won't listen.

"It's always something. Either I'm not the right type of friend, or 'I'm too cool', or you 'forgot' or I have a horrible, contagious, flesh-eating disease that could kill everyone at the party. You know, why don't you just come out and say it? You don't want to be my friend anymore."

"FINE! I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!"

The words just burst out of you unexpectedly. You feel both guilty and liberated.

"Look. This time it really is the disease."

"Whatever."

he says. He hangs up and cries to himself before throwing up again, but you didn't know that.
Hopefully he will be feeling better in about a month when he starts bugging you again. That is, unless the flesh-eating disease kills him. But then at least you won't have to worry about him anymore. But you would feel pretty guilty about that, so hopefully not.

Now you know.

What if Disney purchased the rights to you?

It's a sunny, mostly normal day. You're up on your room reshingling your house.

"Come down from there."

You hear the voices from down below you.

"Who are you?" You say.

"We're with the Disney corporation. We have some news for you."

"If it would be alright with you, could you come back? I'm kind of busy reshingling."

They stay put. At first you ignore them, but after a few minutes, it begins to unnerve you. You hit your thumb with the hammer and howl out a curse in every language you know.

"Actually," Comes the response from below. "You aren't allowed to say that anymore."

Confused, you decide to finally come down and talk to them. One of them looks kind of like the creepy Nazi guy from the first Indiana Jones movie. The other has a lopsided mustache and is wearing a "I heart Mickey" shirt. You ask them for an explanation and they happily oblige.

"Disney just purchased the rights to you." says creepy guy. "Anything you make, do, or sell is automatically our property. In addition, you can't do any violent actions or say any of the following words..."

The man lists every curse word known to man, including the "borderline" words like butt, fart, and "Walt-Disney the Jew hater." Then, he pulls out a branding iron and burns a giant "©" into your back, along with the phrase, "Property of Disney."

"Hold on," you say. "I already had myself copyrighted. I have the paperwork to prove it."

"That won't matter. By the time our lawyers are done with you, you'll be ours. After all, you do have a giant 'Property of Disney' sign on your back."

"Am I at least allowed to have sex?"

"Yes," They say, "But only if it is disguised as a rock concert."

As you follow the two men by leash into their truck, you imagine that somewhere out there in this small small world, there are people who once again, can show you the world and help you complete the circle of life. Bipitty, bopitty, boo.