This is the book I read my kid when she won't brush her teeth. 

Note: this is mostly parody of the original text using the original b&w photographs.

"Hello, Mike. My name is Dr. Schwaid and I am a 'Dent-ist.' Did they have dentists where you’re from? We fix teeth. Do you know what 'teeth' are?"

"Dr. Schwaid, I was born right here in Terre Haute. I played spin the bottle with your daughter Lindsay last weekend."

"You likey candy?" Dr. Schwaid replies. "Me fixey holes in teeth from too many fortune cookie!"

"You're going to operate on my teeth," says Michael, opening his mouth wide.

"Michael, you're too smart for me. I tell you what. Why don't we change places? You be the dentist and I'll be the patient."

"Aw," responds Michael with a grin. "You're just fooling me."

"I wish I were just fooling you, Mike," laughed Dr. Schwaid. "You see, I've had a pint of bourbon already this morning. I'm not qualified to wipe my own ass right now. So you stop telling me what I'm going to do and let's have a look, shall we?"

"I'll bet you're good at math, aren't you?" asks Dr. Schwaid.

"Norr rearry, Ah rike Engrish."

"Sorry, me no speakee Japanee," Dr. Schwaid laughs.


Dr. Schwaid shows Michael all the sharp tools and implements he's going to use inside his mouth. "When I was operating on Vietnamese prisoners of war, I used to call these my 'pinchers of peril,'" Dr. Schwaid says while showing Michael the tool he'll use to keep his mouth open if Michael doesn't keep it wide enough.

Dr. Schwaid then wheels out a weird-looking contraption with a lot of hoses attached to it. Michael hasn't really noticed this piece of equipment before. "Michael," says Dr. Schwaid. "I would like you to meet my magic orange machine."

"Is it going to take me to Magic Car Land?" asks Michael.

"You bet," replied Dr. Schwaid.

"Magic Car Land? Gee, that sounds like fun. Did you hear that, Mr. Orange Machine Man? Right. Magic Carl Land it is," says Dr. Schwaid. "But first, before we can get there, we have to wear an oxygen mask just like the astronauts, see?"

"I don't want that thing on my nose," he declares.

"Michael, I'm surprised at you," says Dr. Schwaid. "Here we had it all arranged for you to visit Magic Car Land and have a good time."

"I don't care. I don't want to go to Magic Car Land anyway and I don't want that thing on me!"

"Okay, Michael," says Dr. Schwaid. "But then I'll have to use some of my magic water instead."

Good sense, innocence, cripplin' and kind.
Dead kings, many things I can't define.
Oh Cajun spice, sweats and blushers your mind.
Incense and peppermints, the color of thyme.

"What's that in your hand?" Michael screams.

In his left hand, Dr. Schwaid holds the dental drill.

"That's a good question," Dr. Schwaid replies. "Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to work we go. . ." sings Dr. Schwaid.*

Dr. Schwaid continues singing merrily.

"Hey Dr. Jones, no time for love. We've got company."

[* Parts of this book were so terrifying, I had to change very little of the text. I couldn't have made this part up ("Heigh ho, heigh ho"). I did make up the racist/drunk stuff, but all that Magic Car Land/Mr. Orange Machine/singing stuff was already there]