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Anyone who knows me knows when I’m onto something, I never let it go. Like a dog yanking on a piece of steak, I am reminded why I go years being single. I’m a sucker for bleeding a good revelation to its shriveling end, and with not much good out there in this treacherous world, we often have to look within to see the good.

Who knew that my silver lining is red and here to save the world? Ok, save the world may be a bit of a reach. I am here to ameliorate this planet with my life-giving juice. That’s more like it.

This plasma-drenched revelation came hot on the heels of a Facebook notification of 1 year of Facebook friendship (as opposed to real-life friendship which does not deserve recognition). A week prior, I was on a walk with my 1-year friendship recipient (who is a jealous female lover to whom I make no love. She’s also crazy, so no names for fear of retribution) and we decided to donate blood at our previously unnoticed blood donation center. It does not exactly stand out among the always soon-to-be-replaced Cape Town eateries. But their work is almost as important.

Ever the gloater, I delighted in the fact that my person had low blood pressure *mwuhahahaha evil grin, strokes goatee while lightning flashes in the background* and I pumped my fist like a restrained and dignified party boy, while she stared on wistfully at the flowing red river from my arm.

Those feeders should be commended. They made me feel so special. They fed me liquids and sweet treats and almost made me forget that they were literally draining the life from me. At least they were forthright about it, unlike the rest of the world.

After patching me up and sending me on my way with a muffin and a pat on the back, I hop, skipped and jumped down the road like Dorothy down a dirty and windy piss-stained yellow tarred road.

If I thought that that feeling of satisfaction could not be rivaled by anything, I thought wrong. Because when I went back to find out what my blood type was, I saw faces light up like meth labs gone awry.

I swear I told those bloodthirsty tyrants that they had won the lotto. And in a sense, they had.

And the winning power ball number is… O NEGATIVE!

This was probably the second most excited I’ve been upon hearing the word negative around my blood. I can’t remember the first time.

So there it is – I am a universal donor. A part of me wants to be classy about it and walk around knowing that I am the key to keeping you all alive. The rest of me is all “Fuck it, I am a god among men” while running around in a Cupid costume squirting all of me all over all of you. I’m still deciding on the best course of action for that routine.

Of course this gave me a Sookie Stackhouse/ Bella from-that-sparkly-vampire-film complex, but I am no different from the rest of you.

Now that you know I am better than you, please do not treat me differently. It’s just blood.

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<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>

 

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Comments on: "Good Blood" (1)

  1. Haha, awesome. Congrats, Mr. O.

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