I Bleed Gold

I gave blood a few months ago. Now the American Red Cross is pursuing me like a Doberman after a pork chop. Like an Eskimo after a baby seal. Like a politician after a tax hike. Like Dracula after a neck. Like a bald guy after ... what do bald guys go after? Never mind. You get my point. They are mailing me. They are emailing me. They are calling me on the phone. I think one of their guys followed me home from work today. I lost him when I cut through the library parking lot. (Sorry about the books, granny. Didn't you hear me honk?)

I. Bleed. Good.

It's not just my blood that they want. Oh, no. That's for commoners and peasants. They want platelets. MY platelets. I seem to have a lot of them. Down at the local Red Cross Collection Site they call me "Mr. High Octane Platelet Guy."

So I guess that platelets are these things in you blood that have magical and mystical clotting powers. If you don't have enough you might bleed to death. If you have too many you might have a heart attack or a stroke. Geez. Back-up the sudden death truck! If I have a lot of platelets ... I COULD BE ABOUT TO DIE!!!! I hadn't thought about that until just now as I began typing this paragraph. Hmmm. (Let it go, Ron. Let it go.) Platelets live between 5 and 9 days. I suppose they die after that. This conjures up mental images of teeny tiny little funerals rushing through my veins. I suppose there may be 2 day old platelets that are platelet pastors and they conduct services for the dearly departed. Other platelets gather around and sing or say nice things about the past-tense-platelet. It's a very sad affair.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. For the sake of humanity I have chosen to bleed. We are at war, people. If it is platelets the people need, it is platelets they shall get! (Did I mention that it takes up to 3 HOURS to donate platelets? Sheesh. I hope they have wifi. Or plenty of cookies and juice. Or both. You suppose they have Oreos?) Never let it be said that I failed America in it's hour of greatest need. Up goes the sleeve. Out goes the blood. Round and round it goes in the Centrifuge until all of the platelets are whisked away. And then back into my arm goes the blood.

I forgot to tell you about that. They are going to take my blood out, screw with it, and then put it back in me. I mean, that's in laymen's terms. Here it is in technical terms ... "We are going to remove blood from "Patient A" and suck from it all valuable ingredients. We shall then inject the worthless left over used up depleted stripped of all possible good blood back into "Patient A" where it will (hopefully) keep him from collapsing to the floor in a lifeless ball of flesh or rocketing around the room backward like a balloon on crack with a hole in it." (Wikipedia)

Now let's get personal. This is to you, Alex Babot. And you, Adam Page. And you too, Mr. Joe Dills ... maybe I can't bleed as fast as you young bucks can ... but when it comes to quality ... I OWN YOU.