A Spitting Dentist on an Army soldier! As of 2019, there are 200, 419 dentists working in the U.S. If only 5%, of dentists, spit in patients’ mouths that is still 10,020 dentists forcibly ejecting saliva and other substances from their mouths. So, imagine if one of the 10,020 dentists is yours and when you open your mouth he spits in it…imagine it. This poor soldier’s Army dentist spit a huge wad into his mouth. Sort of like being mortared by the enemy.

Dentist spit is something that whiskey can’t even wash away…or can it?

Operation Spit Storm: The Soldier vs. The Spitting Dentist

Private First Class Danny “Lucky” Dawson wasn’t unfamiliar with danger. He’d been through boot camp, survived some harrowing missions, and even faced down enemy mortar fire in the middle of the night. But nothing—nothing—could prepare him for the terror that awaited him in the Army dental clinic.

It started innocently enough. Danny had been ordered to the base dentist for his routine checkup, and though he’d rather face a battalion of enemy troops than sit in that chair, orders were orders. He figured, what’s the worst that could happen? A little drilling, maybe some judgment about his flossing habits? No big deal.

He had no idea that he was about to enter the battlefield of spit.

Meet the Dentist: Dr. Spittle McSaliva

Dr. McSaliva (real name: Captain Simon Spittleworth) was the Army’s resident dental warrior. Known for his swift extractions and precision cleanings, he was a pro when it came to teeth. But he had one small flaw, one tactical issue that even the best Army training couldn’t fix: he was a chronic spitter.

You’d think with 200,419 dentists in the U.S., Danny could have dodged this bullet. But, as fate would have it, Dr. Spittle McSaliva was his dentist that day. And when you’re Danny “Lucky” Dawson, luck is a relative term.

The Spit Storm Begins

Danny reclined in the chair, mouth open wide, and stared up at the ceiling tiles like a man preparing for battle. His heart pounded, but he steeled himself. Dr. McSaliva hovered over him, masked and goggled up, dental tools gleaming under the fluorescent light.

“Open wide, soldier,” the dentist said, his breath carrying a faint whiff of mint toothpaste mixed with an odd aftertaste Danny couldn’t quite place. “Let’s get those chompers in fighting shape.”

Danny braced himself as Dr. McSaliva leaned in. And then it happened.

With the precision of a sniper but the splash radius of a broken fire hydrant, Dr. McSaliva’s mouth produced a wad of spit—a glistening globule of dental doom. It arced through the air like an enemy mortar, except this one wasn’t aimed at a fortified bunker. It was aimed directly at Danny’s wide-open mouth.

Splat!

It landed right on his tongue like some unholy communion. Danny froze, eyes wide in horror, the taste of the dentist’s spit invading his taste buds. The sensation was… indescribable. It was like being on the receiving end of an enemy mortar—except worse, because this mortar was made of someone else’s saliva.

Dr. McSaliva didn’t even notice the incident. He continued cleaning and scraping like a man unaware he’d just unleashed chemical warfare on his patient.

Soldier Down: The Aftermath

By the time the appointment was over, Danny stumbled out of the dentist’s office like a man who’d just survived a battle he never signed up for. His mouth felt violated, his soul bruised. As he wandered through the base, the horror of what had just happened settled in. Was he going to be okay? Could he ever recover from this? And, most importantly, was there anything in the world strong enough to wash away the taste of Dr. McSaliva’s spit?

Enter Sergeant Murphy.

Murphy, the hardened veteran who had seen everything from combat to questionable Army chow, took one look at Danny’s shell-shocked expression and raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you, Dawson? You look like you’ve been through the ringer.”

Danny swallowed hard. “The dentist… he… he spit in my mouth.”

Murphy grimaced, as if he’d been punched in the gut just hearing the words. “That’s rough, kid. Real rough. But there’s only one thing that’ll help you now.”

“What?” Danny asked, desperate for salvation.

Murphy reached into his pack and pulled out a flask. “Whiskey.”

Danny stared at the flask like it was the Holy Grail. Could whiskey really erase the taste of dentist spit? Could it wash away the trauma lodged in his soul?

Murphy unscrewed the cap and handed it over. “Take a swig, and don’t hold back.”

Danny took a deep breath, tipped the flask back, and let the liquid burn its way down his throat. It was harsh, like swallowing fire, but after a few seconds, something magical happened. The whiskey was winning. It was battling the spit residue like a well-trained infantry unit, storming the beaches of his taste buds and driving out the enemy forces.

He swallowed again, savoring the sensation of freedom.

Murphy grinned, patting him on the back. “There you go, son. Dentist spit ain’t got nothin’ on a good shot of whiskey.”

Danny nodded, feeling the strength return to his body. “Thanks, Sarge. I thought I was a goner.”

Murphy chuckled, his mustache twitching with amusement. “Listen, Dawson, you survived a dentist spitting in your mouth. You can survive anything now. You’re practically invincible. Just don’t go back in there without backup.”

The Legend of Spit Storm

From that day forward, Danny “Lucky” Dawson became a legend among his fellow soldiers. They spoke of him in hushed tones, whispering about the man who survived not just enemy fire, but the dreaded dentist spit storm.

As for Dr. McSaliva, he continued his work, blissfully unaware of the carnage he left behind. But Danny? Well, Danny always carried a flask of whiskey from then on—just in case another dentist tried to mortar him with saliva again.

Because if there’s one thing Army soldiers know, it’s that whiskey can’t solve everything. But it can wash away the taste of dentist spit.

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