Long Story Short ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Squozation of Blood Okay I'm done, I'm ready to go home now. I came in this morning, drank Mountain Dew, copied a few pieces of paper, and then I gave blood. Done, right? Time to go home? I felt like I was chased to work. Evil Massholes and their tailgating ways. I look in my rearview mirror and see cars swerving from side to side behind me, apparently trying to find a way to get around me and into the path of the tractor trailer on the other side of the street. I look at the speed limit - 35. I look at my speedometer - 40. What am I doing wrong here? I try to tell myself not to keep looking in my rearview mirror but it's scary. Oh! I thought of another annoying thing. Nope, I forgot it again. Sorry. I'm short some blood right now so I can't be expected to think too hard or remember things. What's my excuse the other 364 days out of the year? Shut up. When I was at the cookie table after my blood was squozen I got to sit with Chris the Red Cross Volunteer. And Chris was really weird and nerdy. He asked how often I donate and I answered honestly, "About once a year". He made that face like Jennifer Aniston's boss in Office Space when she told him she was wearing the minimum 15 pieces of flair. I expected Chris to say,"Well, if you only want to do the bare minimum..." What he said was that, while they appreciate my donation, I could be donating five or six times a year. What a cockknocker, right? Don't poop all over my once a year. That's something. But in Chris's defense, I think the only way fluids are leaving his body is through a needle in his arm. Translation: The boy ain't gettin' laid. Like, ever. EVER. Nerdy self-righteous blood donater/volunteer? Who probably lives with his elderly grandmother? And rubs her feet while she watches Murder She Wrote? No thanks. 1:27 p.m. - 2005-07-13 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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