The other day I was going to see a movie, and parked in front of
the theater was the ever-annoying Bloodmobile that seems to
follow me wherever I go. As I approached, I noticed the Blade II
posters plastered all over the thing, as well as a sign on the
door that read "Velcome to my Bloodmobile". Now those two
discoveries alone were reason enough for me to set fire to the
damned thing, but on top of that, as I was walking past to get
to the ticket line, some asshole wearing a Blood Drive T-shirt
asked me if I wanted to donate. "Yeah, sure, I'm going to see a
movie that starts in five minutes. Of course I'll take fifteen
minutes out of my time to donate blood!"
Yes the bloodmobile.
Home to "Drippy", the singing blood drop.
He'll sing you show tunes and then molest you
when you're dizzy and weak.
Seeing this reminded me of the last blood drive we had at my
workplace, where they plastered all kinds of obnoxious and
annoying signs advertising the event over every blank space on
the wall. The best part though was that they put one on the
men's bathroom door. Every time I went into the bathroom, I
couldn't avoid noticing the "Give blood. Save lives." poster as
I walked through the door. I wanted to change the poster to read
"Give blood. Eat Taco Bell." but decided better of it, since I
would like to keep a steady paycheck coming in for a while
longer, anyway. Those of you still foolish or insane enough to
eat at that wretched abomination of a "restaurant" know EXACTLY
what I'm talking about.
Oddly, they didn't put such a sign on the women's bathroom. Gee,
I guess somebody must have thought that might be construed as
inappropriate, being on the women's bathroom door and all. But
to put one on the men's room door, whereas men typically DON'T
bleed in the bathroom unless something is a little "off", is
Thinking about the last blood drive at work reminded me of the
blood drive we had at work before THAT, where I actually did
donate blood. They passed out little informational flyers the
day before, giving us a series of tips to follow to make sure
our blood giving operation went as smoothly as possible. Now,
seeing as how I don't normally eat breakfast at all, a single
Pop Tart seemed like a "good breakfast" to me. Especially since
it was a brown sugar cinnamon flavored one. The horrible nausea
and headache I felt the rest of the day disagreed with the "good
breakfast" assessment, however. Much to my regret.
Anyway, I went into the dreaded Bloodmobile and had to answer a
series of ridiculously personal questions, so they could make
sure I wasn't diseased or anything.
· Have you had unprotected sex in the last six months?
· Have you ever had sex with another male in the past five
· Have you ever fucked a sheep?
· Have you ever masturbated to a picture of Liza Minnelli? If
so, DEAR GOD WHY?? WHAT THE FUCK HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU
And so on and so forth. You get the idea. Anyway, after I answer
the stupid questions, they lead me back into the central area of
the Bloodmobile, where they lay me down and get me set up for
the blood extraction. They position me with my arm sticking out
into the main walkway that people have to use, and then tell me
NOT to move it. Then they bring a goddamned parade through the
Bloodmobile, various donors and bitchy nurses and the like, and
each and every one of them just HAS to bump my arm as they walk
by. So I move it. And then I feel the needle shift in my arm,
apparently just flailing around in there and poking the hell out
of whatever the hell it feels like. I had a purple bruise the
size of a fist on my arm for a week. People ran away when they
saw me coming, because they thought I had leprosy.
Reminiscing over that wonderful blood drive experience reminded
me of the time that I found that bloody tampon in my Burger King
chicken sandwich... anyway, the point of all this is that I hate
Blood Drives. I hate the fucking Bloodmobile that stalks me
wherever I go. And I really, really, really, really hate Blade
"Remember kids, donate blood... and your souls!"
Protoclown vants to suck your blood. Actually, he doesn't. So
please, keep your diseased bodily fluids the hell away from
him... you nasty freaks.