Blood Samples Gallore!

This woman is not a nurse, but she does look about as eccentric as the nurse that sucked blood out of my arm. Not to mention, as blonde. I have no idea what that goddamn thing on her heas is, though.

Last night I was delightedly reminded that I had to fast for my blood sample this morning. I had to stop eating any and all forms of food after 7 PM. You see, in order to properly give an accurate blood sample, the patient must be properly starved so that the nurses can laugh about the huge meals they just had whist jabbing needles in said patient's arm. The resulting resentment that the patient has for the nurses, makes the blood piping hot and delicious, er, I mean prime for...."testing." Yes. That ought to hold those little SOBs.

I'll spare you the dull details of getting up and skip right on ahead to when I got in to the blood-snatching office itself. The nurse there was grinning it up as I was about to collapse from my extreme fatigue. She asked how I was doing, and I said, "Fine. A little tired." To which she laughed hysterically. I don't really know why that was so funny to her. I guess the nurses who work there at 7 AM have to keep themselves hopped up on goof balls just to stay awake and pass the time, as if sticking needles in arms wasn't exciting enough!

The oh so very exciting experience began with her tieing some kind of heroine addict turnicate around my arm, and then promptly jabbing me with her sharp metal death wand.

"That's all you're going to feel." she said. I must have forgotten to take my Flinstones Chewable Morphine because I sure as salmon paste felt that little bugger tugging around in there and then sucking out my plasma with a spring in its step. That is, if it had feet...Ah, fuck you.

When doctors get bored they start taking blood samples from local villiagers.

I think the nurse must really enjoy her job there, because the whole time she kept smiling like she had the world in a deep fryer basket. No matter how much blood she took, you just couldn't get her down. And it was like...oh wait..that's right. The goof balls. Nevermind. Screw that whore!

Next, she told me she also needed a urine sample.

"OK!" I thought, "Urine sample! I can do that! Pee in a cup! Sock it to me!" Various other catch phrases sprung to mind as well.

So she gave me the cup and told me where the bathroom was, and I marched on down there like nobody's business. It didn't occour to me until I was in the bathroom with the door shut behind me, that the only other time I'd ever given a urine sample, the nice people had a cup all set up for me in the toilet. This lady gave me an empty cup sealed in a plastic bag. Now, you women might not know this, but peeing on target can be a little tricky, particularly when your target is a very tipable plastic cup about the size of a regular drinking glass. I basically figured I had a choice of setting the cup teetering on the edge of the toilet bowl, putting it on the floor and praying I didn't miss, or rigging up a special apparatus that would ensure minimum urine-to-floorage/cup-to-toiletage. It took me a while, but I figured it out. When I got home I drew a blueprint of my ingenious device.

As you can see, my plan was foolproof...or so I thought!

I don't remember exactly how this worked, but rest assured fine readers, in the end justice prevailed!