"...Yeah, I don't think that's how cannibalism works," Chuck says, expression growing only more dubious. He's never attempted eating a human to find out, but he'd be surprised if it caused any sort of craving or addiction for more human. That's just zombies, at least from what he can gather from his minimal pop culture knowledge. Then again, he doesn't have the first idea why he's thinking about this with any sort of seriousness. Timeshares and breakfasts offered by potential cannibals shouldn't be something he even has to think about. Neither should whatever the hell is going to happen to him during this dentist appointment, but that is, he supposes, what comes of being friends with Newt. Things are never dull, Chuck will give him that.

Eyeing whichever frosty-haired Crentist is in front of them now with some measure of skepticism, mouth pressed into a thin line, Chuck says, "None of that gas for me, got it?" He vaguely recalls seeing Newt loopy as all fuck once upon a time, and he however much he may enjoy a good, strong drink or several, he isn't looking to meet the same fate himself. A chipped tooth isn't the worst pain he's ever had, and neither will fixing it up be. "Not even a little bit."