mmmm, raw sherpa
yesterday mr. nice guy went to his friendly downtown red cross outpost to donate some of his precious plasma (a word to the wise: much like the dire wolf on the trail of rotting herbivore flesh, once they get the slightest taste of your blood, the red cross will hound you forever. they will pester you remorselessly for another, and another, donation until you reach the point where you are prepared to slit your own wrists. which actually works nicely for them, as long as you do it over the blood bucket). generally, mr. nice guy is all for donating--he does it as often as his blood is untainted by alcohol or the clap. he is, after all, a nice guy. also he believes in karma and would rather not--simply because he never took the time to give up a pint when it was his turn--risk bleeding out in an emergency room after some domestic cat-stroking incident gone horribly awry .
so after being repeatedly reminded by the red cross that the nation is in the midst of a severe blood shortage and ONLY MR. NICE GUY HAS THE POWER TO MAKE IT STOP, mr. nice guy agreed to donate yet again. mr. nice guy is bringing a fragile little angel babychild into the world, after all, so he wants the world to be as blood-soaked a place as possible. down to the donor hut he went.
after filling out the approriate forms (no, mr. nice guy has not recently engaged in heroin-fueled monkey sex; no, mr. nice guy has never eaten raw sherpa in the himalayas), and after WAITING UNTIL 1 PM FOR A GODDAMN 11:45 APPOINTMENT, mr. nice guy was interviewed by a decidedly tetchy nurse ... oh, did mr. nice guy forget to mention that he had horrifying oral surgery last month? alas, 'tis true. he had a chunk of meat carved from the roof of his mouth and sewn onto his gums. mr. nice guy brought it up in passing as the tetchy nurse was re-asking all the questions on the form (no, for the last time, mr. nice guy does not partake in the ancient blood-drinking rituals of the orthodox wicca).
tetchy nurse: but you have had a graft?
mr. nice guy: well, yeah. but i was also the donor. the graft came from me.
tetchy nurse: sorry, you can't give blood for a year.
mr. nice guy: what? that doesn't make sense!
tetchy nurse: it's a new policy. no autogeneic grafts allowed. you'll have to wait a year to donate.
autogewho? do they think mr. nice guy contaminated his own blood? seriously, what the fuck? as if i've given myself the hep, or something. christ. no wonder the red cross has a shortage, it won't even allow its most enthusiastic donors to donate. add to that the shuddering embarrassment of it all: mr. nice guy had to slink out of the red cross building right past all the donors in the waiting room. he could hear every last one of them thinking "not giving blood today, are we hmmm? looks like someone had a little heroin-monkey sex. pervie pants." so, if anyone needs a pint of mr. nice guy juice, he's got your piping hot O-positive right here. drop him a line and he'll open a vein for the needy.
and is mr. nice guy sure that's his blood type? O, positive!