Feel no fret feel no fret

Something stirred quietly in the laboratory. It was a research
assistant, and he was stirring his tea.
Maybe it was a little unusual to be stirring it with the jawbone of an
ass, but he was feeling strangely biblical that day.
In the corner of the room, he kept his fretless bass guitar, sexiest of
all the instruments. Stroking the neck gently, he essayed a chromatic
run or two, then moved his hand deftly down to the scratch plate.
Slipping his nails behind it, he tried to gently lever it up. This was
a terrible mistake as he discovered when, on pulling, a handful of
fingernails were wrenched from their moorings.
He tried a bitter laugh at his stupidity, found that didn't work and
embarked on 10 minutes of fluent swearing instead. When that had
finished, he looked at his barren fingers. What to do with them?
A brainwave quickly seized him. But he wasn't a martial arts expert for
nothing and he bravely fought it off, finally chaining it down out of
harm's way. But this was not improving his fingers.
The vice caught the corner of his eye, a particularly painful blow.
Fortunately, he was able to pull it loose. The altercation had been
deeply unpleasant, but at least it had proffered a solution. Taking a
sheet of aluminium, the assistant cut out five small fingernail shapes,
then curled them to shape in the vice.
How to attach them to the fingers? Easy. Taking a blowtorch, he set
fire to his fingertips. As the skin began to melt, he cleverly rammed
the aluminium into each gaping socket. A little further action with the
torch to sear the skin over the wound and the assistant was back to
full fingerdom.

Having survived this scare, he went back to his workbench and retrieved
a small screwdriver. This was how he should have removed the plate in
the first place he realised to his chagrin.

Beneath the plate, he found the small plastic package. Opening it with
expectancy shining through his fetid eyes, he deposited the contents on
the desk before him. The white powder looked strangely tempting and he
began to chop it delicately with a small razor blade.
He rolled up a five pound note into a small tube. He inserted one end
of the tube into a cavity in a tooth. The other end he placed above the
powder. Sucking the powder up into the tooth, he made a pretty
unedifying sight. The powder safely ensconced in his tooth, the
assistant took the blowtorch and a small block of chewing gum.
He stretched the gum into a thin, gossamer layer and placed it over the
tooth. The blowtorch was quickly applied, sealing the cavity, and also
setting fire to his head. When he took his head out of the sand bucket,
he gently probed the tooth.
This DIY dentistry seemed to work he thought, rather pleased that he
had saved himself a consultancy fee. Yet the low, grumbling sound
suggested that perhaps all was not well. As the noise increased, he
began to feel the tooth pulsate in his head. Was it expanding? No,
couldn't be, just a natural reaction to the raging inferno caused by
the blowtorch. But it was, the tooth was growing.
He could feel something pushing at the layer of gum and then everything
tumbled through the tooth. How do you walk in dignity with throw up on
your shoes? He couldn't. So he sat down instead.
The gory mass that had hurtled from his mouth lay at, and on, his feet.
The mass gradually grew. At first it was utterly shapeless, but then it
seemed to grow into an elongated body. At each end came strong,
powerful legs. A long flaxen tail appeared, a long neck and a graceful
head with flowing mane at the other end, hooves growing from the ends
of the legs.
Suddenly, the assistant realised what had happened. There had been a
mix-up at the mail order warehouse. Instead of sending him dentist's
amalgam filling powder, they had despatched a packet of dehydrated
horse. The water in his saliva had rehydrated the horse. It was an easy
mistake for anyone to make.
Happily, he laboratory was in Belgium, so the horse didn't go to waste.
He set to it with his blowtorch and served up a sumptuous three course
meal.