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Huge Piece Of Shit Nice Guy Or Benevolently Altruistic Asshole?
You Make The Call
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Believe it or not, I'm not the type of guy who'se constantly whipping out my monstrous cock and sucking it in front of everyone (figuratively I mean. Of course, unfortunately; despite my yoga classes, rib removal and well above average endowment, that holds literally as well.) so that the world knows truly great I am. I don't give 2 puked covered rat zygotes about what people think of me. While it may seem that my hubris is the reason for the story you are about to read, it's really driven by my desire to perplex and confound people. Then again, that's exactly what I'd expect a narcissitic prick to say though. But then yet again again, I still don't give a shit, so shut the fuck up. Without further adieu, here's a little peek into my life that will give your moral judgement vertigo, make your conscience motion sick and hopefully cause you some sort of stroke in the portion of your brain responsible for empathy.
While most of you have probably already gotten vengence boners at the sight of the above picture thinking that its of me getting my much deserved cumeuppance from god, the ghosts of roadside memorial victims past or just that bitch named Karma you keep writing me about, you are all wrong. Don't stroke that vindictive hard-on quite yet, in fact, its about to go discombulatingly flaccid. For all you who have written in wishing death to me and my loved ones because I'm not compassionate enough, the pictures on this page are from something far more worse.
That's me saving a dude's life.
No wait, it gets worse.
That's me saving the life of a motherfucker I don't even know. Those aren't pictures of me in dire need of medical treatment, they're pictures of me assisting in providing medical treatment to someone in dire need. In the immortal words of Mother Teresa: What the fuck?
A couple years back I got blackout drunk and accidentally joined the Be The Match Bone Marrow Registry. There was probably a slutty girl with huge tits spilling out of her dress running it or something. Or maybe they were letting you beat a kitten to death with a ball ping hammer if you signed up. It might have been a condition of my parole. At any rate, they say I registered.
Flash forward to August 8th, 2011 and I am I donating bone marrow stem cells to some cancer patient who ran out of treatment options. For four hours I was hooked up to a machine that sucked blood out of my left arm, extracted my delicious bone marrow stem cells (and a unit of plasma, but who's counting?) and returned what remained into my right arm. That morning, and for each of the four days preceding it I was given 2 shots a day of a drug to help the extraction process that caused various side effects. On 4 seperate occasions leading up to the donation I had a total of over 15 vials of blood drawn. Then there were x-rays, fondled nuts and other hoops I went through.
And what did I get for it--besides a warm glowing feeling in that cold lump of excrement I call a heart?
Jack-god-damn-shit.
In conclusion, if your a 60-something year old lymphoma patient some where in the US who got a bone marrow stem cell treatment from an unknown donor on the 8th, 9th or 10th of August 2011: Start praying that my assholishness isn't a bloodborne disease. And for the love of fucking god, if you waste that magical elixir that poured from my veins and your cancer starts to spread, have the common decency to off yourself before it metastasizes into that breast cancer bullshit. That's not too much to ask, is it?
Now, back to your regulary scheduled Jason.
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