The maxillofacial surgeon heaved a pickaxe onto his shoulder and, before he dealt the blow, wiped the sweat off of his forehead with a fistful of cotton balls. A pile of broken dental equipment and the electric drill from a carpenter lay scattered on the floor underneath the dental chair. The carpenter was currently yelling about the drill.
"You sure you're going to replace that? I mean, I need that for my livelihood."
In the dental chair, the patient watched with his mouth agape. Not that he had any choice. He had more steel supports in his mouth than a skyscraper.
"Yes, yes, I promise. I'm very sorry that I bent all the bits."
"Uuugnnnhhh," the patient said.
"You did not bend the bits," the surgeon said, relying on the uncanny ability of good dentists to interpret garbage phonemes. "I did when I tried to use it on you. Are you ready?" the surgeon asked. He hefted the pickaxe into a good swinging position and wiggled his hips to plant his feet.
The patient gave a thumbs-up.
"When?" the carpenter asked.
"Laaaatteeerrr," the surgeon grunted as he swung the pickaxe overhead and into the patients mouth. The hydraulics on the examination chair gave up and the entire apparatus swung backwards. It deposited the patient on his head, and he rolled over the broken equipment and slammed into the sink behind the chair. The surgeon lost his grip in the pickaxe. It flew from his hands and the arm of the x-ray machine caught it with a clash.
The patient sat up. The metal in his mouth had been bent and twisted into a handful of steel spaghetti. He pulled the bundle from his mouth and, seeing the chaos all around him, set it carefully on the floor.
"So. Is it safe to say that this extraction isn't going to work?" the patient asked.
The surgeon slumped into the wreckage of his examination chair.
"I'm ruined," he said. "The first tooth that I couldn't take out."
"Hey, now, don't talk that way," the carpenter said.
"And why not?" the surgeon asked.
"Because you still have to replace my drill," the carpenter replied.
The patient stood up, dusted off his spandex body suit, and patted the surgeon on the shoulder.
"You tried your best. It isn't your fault that my superhuman invincibility means that you can't take out my wisdom tooth."
The Moral: if you're broke, buy some exotic minerals that weaken superpeople and setup a maxillofacial surgery clinic.