“Ugghhhh.”

“My assistant Janet tells me that you’re her cousin, the big promoter.”

“Ugghh, Ugh Uggg.”

“Now this won’t hurt a bit. I’m going to rub a local anesthetic on the inside of your mouth. By the way, is there any chance of getting good seats for B.B. King Blues Festival 2000 and Def Leppard?”

“Ughhhhh.”

“That’s too bad. Oh, look, I’m all out of the local. Forget what I said a minute ago. You might feel a little discomfort.”

“Ugghhh Ughh.”

“Twentieth row, side?” I think I might have to drill. How about tickets for Up In Smoke or the Spitkicker Tour?”

“Ugghhhh Ughh Ug.”

“Balcony?” You know, I think I’m going to need a bigger drill.”

“Ugghhhh. Ug.”

“And I just might have to sand down those molars. I’ve got lawn seats for Pearl Jam. Any chance of an upgrade to the pavilion?”

“Ughh Uggggg.”

“Oh, shoot. Looks like Janet forgot to order more novocaine. Here, squeeze this rubber ball while I strap you into the chair.”

“Ugghhhh.”

I see that Paula Poundstone is coming next month. I’ve always wanted to meet her. Do you have any backstage passes?”

“Ughhh Uh Ugghh.”

“Oh, my. It looks like you’re going to need a root canal.”

“Ughhh… Uggggggg.”

“And I’m going to need a much bigger drill. Just a second. Oh, Janet? Could you wheel in El Supremo?

“Ughhh. Uhhhhh Ugh!”

“While we’re waiting for Janet, let’s talk about those service charges.”

“Ughhh Ughhhhhh. Ughhhugh.”

“Couldn’t have said it better, myself.”