Why People Hate Their Dentists

Dentists are unpopular, it’s just a fact. It could be that their magazine collection is out of date (Ricky Martin is gay?!). It could be that their dental assistant is not hot. Or it could be that they charge a week’s wages for what basically amounts to legalised torture when I have a neighbour who says he’ll poke around in my mouth for free! He’s a scout leader.

There are a few articles out at the moment saying that dentists are at an all-time popularity low and that it’s not much fun being a tooth-jockey (that sounds like something they’d say) right now. Apparently dentists in the UK are crying FML because they are too heavily regulated by the government. Yeah that’s probably fine, I know that I like my medical professionals to have a bit of flexibility in their practices. Maybe mix up some knee surgery with a bit of beer pong just so things don’t get tedious.

"Ok Mrs Flenderson ONE more round and then we really have to replace that hip"

So dentists are the least popular kids in the playground right now and I think I know why because I was in for a checkup last week and it sucked.
Things that ACTUALLY HAPPENED in my dental checkup last week:

– The dental assistant pulled up the wrong patient file and my dentist was confused as to    how my wisdom teeth had grown back. For 5 whole minutes!
– My dentist dropped the drill onto my face.
– He started to drill the wrong tooth before saying, “Oops. Don’t worry that one’s free.”
– He actually sweated onto my face. It dripped off his chin and onto my face. For real.

Forgive me for not being the biggest fan of dentists right now but I get the impression that I’m not alone. I know people don’t like going because it’s expensive and it can be painful but there are more subtle factors at play here; things that subconsciously lead us to dislike dentists full stop.

For instance have you ever been in a situation where it was actually appropriate to yell “Is there a doctor in the house?!” (i.e. NOT when I dropped my phone on my foot at my cousin’s funeral and the screen cracked). Maybe someone was choking on some food in a restaurant, maybe someone was having a heart attack, or maybe someone tried to sit through an entire movie featuring Rob Schneider. In all of these scenarios a dentist is technically a doctor but also fundamentally useless.

Just like Rob's career guidance counsellor

Because unless you’re dying of “tooth AIDS” (it’s a thing probably) a dentist isn’t going to be a great help in these scenarios. Chiropractors are in the same boat and we always hear how they love to be considered “doctors” because they went to “medical school” but when push comes to shove I know I’d rather have someone who knows their Bradykinesia from their Choledocholithiasis. Am I right?!

Bottom line, if you’re looking for a “doctor in the house” make sure he’s legally allowed to probe stuff with his finger.

Possible captions - "Wait, do I smell it or taste it?" - "One kiss for luck and then..." - "Ssshhhhh. You had me at 'comprehensive insurance'" - "Why am I wearing eyeliner?" Take your pick.

Now I don’t want to take anything away from dentists because, let’s face it, they did get pretty close to being a full doctor. They’re like the security guards of the medical community. Doctors are police. And House is Batman.

Plus there are some pretty positive facts out there in favour of dentists. According to a 1997 Gallup Poll, dentistry is the fifth most trusted profession in America. This seems impressive until you find out that the other four jobs that beat it in the votes were: “Jedi warrior”, “prison inmate”, “my Mom”, and “other”.

Have you heard the long standing rumour that Dentistry has the highest suicide rate of any profession? Yeah me too! I always thought the most depressing job in the world would be “being Perez Hilton’s face”. But apparently it’s kind of true and dentists can suffer from something called “Dysthymia“.

Dysthymia is characterized by loss of appetite, low levels of energy, desperation, excessive anger, social withdrawal and working long hours to compensate for declining performance, troubles in concentration, guilt and suicidal thoughts.

Wait...is this dude a dentist or an old rope?

Seems like a bit of a rough deal and I would have more sympathy but I was at my dentist last week and he actually dropped the drill onto my face. On my face!!! Thank God I was wearing those stupid indoor 3D goggles they make you wear (they really make the pain more vivid). And the response I got was a very dry “Oops. That’ll be $400”. I’m just glad that I can, in my own small way, put my dentist’s children through university. I suppose it was the least I could do for the guy who dropped a mini Black and Decker onto my face.

On the plus side there are some totally awesome pros to being a dentist!
You get to literally use power tools inside someone’s head, when someone asks you the time you can tell them it’s “tooth hurty”, and you get to say “rinse and spit” to people multiple times a day and nobody thinks it’s creepy!

But at the end of the day dentists just are never going to be that popular. In the table of “Medical Profession Popularities” it goes:
1.  Thai massage
2. Swedish massage
3. Foot Rubs
4. Family Doctor
5. Scientologist
6. Dentist

See?! People would rather have Tom Cruise fiddling around in their mouths than a dentist.

"Oh I get it. Tooth HURTY! Ha!"

It doesn’t make any difference though because I’m done with dentists. No more I say! I’m sick of the cost, I’m sick of the pain, and I’m sick of waking up in the middle of the night screaming while I vividly remember the taste of dentist-sweat (it’s kind of like a mixture of listerine and regret). I think I’m gonna get my neighbour, Scout Leader Eric, to do my checkups from now on. The kids seem to love him.

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Why Australians don’t do Halloween

With Halloween rapidly approaching our donut-loving brethren and sistren (it’s a word) in the States it’s dawned on me that trick-or-treating has never really caught on here in Aus. Some may say it’s a useless holiday who’s meaning we forgot long ago and now celebrate it purely because it’s always been there. Like Labour Day. Seriously what do we celebrate then? Labourers?

That had better be a business call.

Halloween should be huge here because it has all the usual hallmarks of a classic Australian holiday – a rather tenuous reason to drink alcohol, an officially sanctioned opportunity to leave flaming bags of poo on multiple doorsteps, and free shit.

Yessssss! Free shit.

With so many things we Aussies love in a single “holiday” one must ask the question: why don’t we celebrate Halloween? We steal nearly everything else from America. We brought Glee over here and that’s the TV equivalent of getting kicked in the junk by Kathy Griffin – it’s painful AND annoying.

So here, for the first time, is Why Australians will never get involved with Halloween:

1. It’s a holiday that requires you to do something more than “find a wheelie bin to act as the stumps”. It’s a well-known fact that Australians are rather fond of doing bugger all. It’s why we invented the four-day weekend. So when someone says you can have a holiday but only on the condition that you go and hit the IGA for every last home brand liquorice all-sort and bite size Milky Way so you can hand them out to kids who clearly don’t need another chin it all of a sudden becomes a bit too much like hard work. If only there was a religious holiday that was a thinly-veiled excuse to have a bloke bring gifts to me rather than me having to go and collect them from other people.

Wait...milk AND cookies? Who does this guy think he is?

2. Halloween pranks are acceptable but incredibly rare. When you say “trick or treat?” to the old lady next door (you know the one who you caught pouring a bucket of pee onto her lemon tree because she says it makes it grow better) you are effectively saying, “Ok wrinkles – you can either give me a fun size Mars bar or I’ll lay a Hans-bar in your letterbox.” Now every single one of us would much rather she pick “trick” rather than “treat” because it gives us the green light to shave her cat and there’s not a God damned thing she can do about it. She did pick “trick” after all. The only problem is that nobody ever picks the prank. It’s a tantalisingly frustrating fact that here you are on the one day of the year when it’s completely fine to act like a douche and not one person will give you the go-ahead.

Nobody gave you permission Andrew

3. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it, apples are not “nature’s candy”. And apparently you’re not “allowed” to give beer to children (bloody political correctness). Getting free stuff from strangers is a huge cornerstone of Halloween and some may say it’s true meaning (same as Christmas for orphans) but there will always be people who try to fob off a few granny smiths instead of Starbursts because they either forgot to go to the shops or they suck monkey balls. Nothing ruins a good holiday like being accidentally healthy and we Australians know it. That’s why we’d much rather sit at home with a carton of Export and celebrate the Queen’s birthday or whatever.

Wrong queen

4. Nobody knows why people celebrate Halloween (it’s so that John Belushi will someday rise from the dead right?). Sure, we could Google it probably but that would take valuable time away from we Aussies enjoying sport and being mildly racist. Plus, we’re a bit reluctant to celebrate something that involves even a tiny bit of research. We like our holidays to wear their hearts on their sleeves. Australia Day – the celebration of Australia (and nudey runs). Bank Holidays – the celebration of bank workers knocking off even earlier than normal because closing their doors at 4pm so that Hans can’t cash a fucking cheque till Monday just smacks of workaholism. And Easter – the celebration of that time a carpenter woke up from a bit of a snooze in a cave punctuated by nuggets of diabetes being hidden in gardens by a giant rabbit. Makes complete sense. We still have no idea what Labour Day is though.

Why are you still on the phone?!!

5. And finally Australians will never celebrate Halloween like the Americans because women can’t turn it into an excuse to emotionally molest the men in their lives. Americans are content to simply get some free candy but Australian females are a little more complex. Think about it. Valentines Day, Christmas, New Years: they’re all just an opportunity for girls to guilt their husbands, boyfriends, fathers, brothers, or friend-who-wants-to-be-more-than-just-friends-but-it’ll-never-happen into spending huge amounts of cash on the “perfect gift” or committing to some ridiculous resolution that will literally last until they get home from the party. With Halloween you just get free stuff and hang a couple of glow-in-the-dark spiders on your balcony. That’s it. No relationship undertones, no “perfect gift”, and the women won’t stand for it. Sorry Halloween you’re just not manipulative enough. Have a word with Valentines Day, he seems to have it down to a fine art.

Here's your Halloween present bitch!

Oh by the way if you do ever get asked “trick or treat” go ahead and pick the prank because I really want to set fire to your car.

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Date My Mate

A very perceptive friend of mine once said that a blind date is the dining equivalent of being kicked in the balls but I don’t think that’s quite right. It’s the dining equivalent of needing to fart at a funeral – it’s really uncomfortable for what feels like forever and you know that the inevitable climax of the situation is going to be awkward and humiliating.

But your mate did say it’d be fine. “Just go for it! You never know, you might enjoy it.”

"I immediately regret this decision"

This is what my new web series Date My Mate is pretty much all about.

It’s a restaurant review show hosted by me and my mate Simon Holland for www.wots.com.au (Word on the Street). The idea is we each plan the other’s date – both the restaurant the other has to go to and the person they have to date. Plus we each have to complete a secret challenge throughout the course of the night.

Episode 2 has just been finished and reviews Dux Cafe in Como and Villa Picasso in Osborne Park.

The only problem is that Simon set me up with someone guaranteed to make me uncomfortable.

Hint: It’s one of the following characters – a midget who owns a bicycle store, a 6 foot 6 tall drag queen who works for a circus, or Simon himself dressed up in a lizard costume.

Nawwwwww. Not my date.

Only one way to find out!

Watch it:

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Hans is an Artist…officially

Everyone knows that Art is life’s version of cleaning your bathroom mirror: It’s not that important but you do it anyway because it’s really easy and people comment on it.

But who wants to be called an “artist”? They’re the kind of people who own ergonomic chairs that they stole from a curb-side collection and watch The L Word not because it’s entertaining but because it’s ironic. Somehow.

Hey cool an ergonomic rug!

I’ve always had a fear of being called an artist because it has a clear yet unspoken translation: “I am unemployed and spend most of my days eating cereal in my underwear but if I give myself a title then my Mum will have something to tell her friends when they ask about me.”

Unfortunately things have actually got to that stage for me and I’m now proud to say that I’m a porn addict an artist. And this proves it:


It’s an interview about me as an artist. If you’ve ever thought about throwing away your lucrative and rewarding career and shifting over to the endless bliss that is spending your money on spray cans and getting yelled at by your housemates for spilling paint on the floor then have a look!

"Aw you bitch!"

Plus I’ll tell my Mum’s friends you stopped by.

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A TRUE Christmas Letter

It’s that time of year again. The time of year when we dust off the credit card (or in my Mum’s case, fashion a holster for it so that she can shop at a speed normally reserved for Paris Hilton and Fran Fine from The Nanny) and hit the shops for Christmas!

It’s a magical, glorious time of year that sees us put aside our differences so that we may revel in the true meaning of Christmas: that men who are homeless and unemployable for ten-and-a-half months a year can set up a booth at a Westfield and have small children sit on their lap and tell them their deepest secrets all because they sport a thinning, grey-ish beard.


"What's that? You want to see the inside of my van?"

It’s also the time when your Mum puts her half a semester of night school writing classes to good use and unleashes – The Christmas Letter.

The family Christmas letter is basically a group-text version of a greeting card in which all of your families’ achievements, memories, and funny stories from the past year are printed on clip art letterhead under an awkward family portrait.

Seasons Gree...wait are you my wife or my Mum?

Except none of these letters tell the truth!

At least not the whole truth. Because Mums tend to gloss over anything that makes their family look like a bunch of spoiled “Packed to the Rafters” addicts (i.e. reality). A typical Xmas letter is full of things like “Brayden entered grade three this year” but fails to mention that Brayden is seventeen and can literally destroy a kid’s skull with a dodgeball.

What if parents did write the absolute truth? I think it would go something like this: I present to you the world’s first True Christmas Letter:

Happy Christmas 2010

Merry Christmas and seasons greetings everyone! Even to those of you who are Jewish or Muslim or Gary who is a level 8 spirit-conqueror in his local cult. We know you’re going to hell but it makes us feel more self-righteous when we ram our own beliefs down your throat under the veil of happiness.

What a big year we’ve had in the Jones household! I know you don’t really care but doing this saves me from personalizing dozens of Christmas cards and, let’s face it, we’re only Facebook friends. And the type of Facebook friends who only accepted the friend request so we could look at each other’s profile pics and see how fat you’ve been getting.

Mike my hubby is doing really well at work and spent a lot of time this year on business trips and “stuck at work cos the boss is really riding me”. Turns out his boss was literally riding him. Like a pony. And that they are now engaged in a serious homosexual relationship and both are really quite interested in farmyard role-playing and self-mutilation. Mike now lives in Adelaide and is thinking of opening a Baskin & Robbins icecream store.

"What's this 'Chloroform' flavour?"

Just to re-cap: Mike is a strange, homosexual, sex pervert who took the best years of my life away from me and has left me just a shell of a woman with homicidal tendencies. Merry Christmas Mike! 🙂 ☺

Michelle, our eldest, turned 17 this year and has just finished her TEE! This would be good news if it weren’t for the fact that Michelle is a complete idiot. There is no possible way that she has passed any of her exams, even if she did pick subjects like “What is your favourite colour 101” and “Advanced Glee viewing”. Last week she actually asked me if China plates were made out of Chinese people! Enjoy your career as Prime Minister of Australia honey! Oooo political jokes.

She does have a boyfriend though, called Kevin, and I’m still hoping he gets her pregnant so she moves out of home and we can begin our strained mother-daughter relationship built on the mutual hatred of men. By the way Kevin – I’m pretty sure you’re impotent and yes the whole house can hear you softly crying after you have sex with my daughter.

On to Rory, our youngest. He’s just turned 13 and as a result he spends most of his time watching Family Guy and masturbating furiously. Sometimes simultaneously. It’s actually got to the stage where his bedroom smells like wet Kleenex. Also, his acne is so bad that he was refused entry into the school fete because the teachers said he was scaring the younger children.

The horror!

Chin up champ! Soon you’ll be a hideously disfigured young man with an older sister who thinks that you can catch AIDS by talking about it.

And that just leaves me. I don’t work because I was considered a “trophy wife”, until my husband left me for his riding-crop wielding boss, but I did join a new book club this year. To be honest I just read the synopsis of each book online the day before our meeting and pretend that I’m aware of the protagonist’s emotional struggles. It really pisses off Judy from down the road because she’s blind and deaf so she has to read everything in Braille. Sucked in bitch!

Apart from that I spend most of my days trying to seduce the lawn mowing man and trawling Myspace for young men with a thing for bitter, jaded housewives with varicose veins and an addiction to children’s Nurofen. The good thing is those are the only type of people that use Myspace anymore.

So that’s it for this year. I hope you enjoyed this Christmas letter but for God’s sake don’t send me one. While you may hang on every word I say about my life I don’t care about you or your family.

But I know some of you might have grown bored and not reached this far into my letter so for those of you who did stay till the end, here’s a little reward:

My soon-to-be-ex-husband Mike’s credit card number is 3665 3986 0907 9887.

Happy Christmas shopping everyone!

And fuck you Mike.

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Hans’ Beauty Secrets

Some people have called me the “Zac Efron” of my generation because of my classic, unbridled good looks. Yes I might be older than him and yes Zac Efron is probably the Zac Efron of my generation but that doesn’t stop people from asking “Hey Hans, why are you such a douche what’s your beauty secret?


As a famous religious leader once said, “There’s more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking” (I think it was the Dalai Lama) and he was so incredibly wrong. When’s the last time you had sex with someone because their car was very fuel efficient? Or booty called someone because their house smelled like lavender? Exactly, “very infrequently” is the answer.

Mmmmm...smells like platonic

Anyway, Wellness WA asked me for my health and beauty tips last week which I found strange as my days mostly revolve around waking up at noon, eating Milo out of the tin with a large spoon, and thrashing through 4 songs on Guitar Hero before a mid-afternoon nap. Nevertheless all my worldly, 24-year-old, male beauty wisdom is here for your pleasure:


It’s at this point that I will gesture to my face and say “This is not an accident…but I’m still sorry”.

I stole that from this guy

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Picking up at a Costume Party: What NOT to Wear

Parties are natures’ way of getting drunken young people to sleep with each other in the quite convenience of someone’s parent’s bedroom while the unpopular kids sit at home and level up on World of Warcraft.

And what better party to pick up at than a costume party right? I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “I’ll go as Wolverine. Chicks love the pants off that guy”! Yes chicks do indeed love the pants off that guy BUT…there are some pitfalls that some young go-getters frequently fall into. Make just one wrong costume choice and it could mean the difference between introducing that Sailor Moon chick to Superman’s “genitals of steel” and spending the night scrubbing blue paint off your Mum’s car seat. So take a minute to look over these tips on just how to get that special lady into your ill-fitting rented spandex jumpsuit.

Exhibit A

Picking a character –

Wolverine. Superman. Batman. Wonder Woman. You can guarantee that someone else will come as one of these “classic” characters and there is nothing worse for your pickup game than being referred to as “the shit Superman”. Not to mention that the costume you hired has probably had several hundred man parcels squeezed into it. If you smell cologne that isn’t yours while wearing the suit it’s a pretty safe bet that you now have herpes.

Your best bet is to pick a character that everyone had a crush on when they were younger. This is not only a conversation starter (“oh my God I loved Full House when I was a kid”) but also prevents your hook-up target from getting to know the real you. In her eyes you’re John Stamos – bad boy uncle of DJ, Stephanie, and Michelle Tanner, when in reality you’re an unemployed guitar hero expert with a near-crippling porn addiction.

Note: Picking someone like James Bond to dress up as is fine but picking an esoteric link to your object of desire is not. Dressing as “the hot postman that Julie had a crush on when she was twelve” just displays your disturbingly intricate knowledge of Julie’s personal life and interests. She will pepper spray you.

Facepaint / bodypaint –

An extremely bad idea! Some people think that by turning up at a party dressed as a Smurf they’ll become some sort of fabled hero known as “that guy who was blue da ba di da ba da” (that is an excellent reference for anyone who was young in the nineties).

The truth is wearing paint hurts your chances of hooking up on two levels. First, it looks shit. Ok? And yes I know your Mum helped out by doing your back (which is slightly creepy) but it still looks like a group of toddlers lazily finger painted your naked body (which is also creepy…and expensive). Plus as the night wears on the paint cracks and wears off so that by the end of the night you look like a Smurf who makes a living by going down on belt sanders.

Second, the paint tracks your every move. Pick up a glass? There’s blue paint on it. Sit on your host’s favourite chair? There’s blue paint on it. Take an anonymous photo of your penis? There’s blue paint on it. Congratulations! You have managed to chart your evening right from “arriving with no alcohol and stealing some out of the bathtub” to “sexually harassing the host’s dog before passing out in a hastily-built cubby of cereal boxes”. And yes, the blue handprint on Rex will be used in court. Use bodypaint and the only thing you won’t have to colour are your balls. Which will be blue anyway.

Props –

Can be good or bad depending on their versatility in a wide range of applications. By this I mean can your prop be used to cheekily lift up someone’s skirt? Wolverine claws – yes, Village People Indian headdress – probably not. Do chicks find my prop sexy? Motorbike – yes, talking pirate parrot – probably not (then again…). My point is if you’re going to have to hold something all night make sure it: carries beer, looks expensive, is not offensive to women. A prostitute can be two of these things.

Also, the veteran costume party picker-upperer will consider the application of the props in the bedroom. Should you actually fool some drunk/rohypnolled victim into coming home with you your costume could act as a sexual device. I’m looking at you Wonder Woman and your lasso of sexiness. Not you Hulk and your shorts of sexual aggression. You wouldn’t like him when he’s horny.

So there you have it. From picking the right character, to avoiding paint of any kind, to making sure your props have real-world applications both as a drinking aid and as a sex toy (simultaneously?…nah I’m just kidding), you now have all the tools needed to score at your next dress-up event.

Just don’t go as Wolverine cos I totally want to go as Wolverine. Chicks love the pants off that guy.

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