Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I didn't grow up with my dad around a lot, but that doesn't mean he wasn't there for me. On the off chance he would get just drunk enough to call, he'd always have some piece of guiding, dudely advice I couldn't get from my mom or sisters. The idea of scrapbooking, for example, never even entered his head. It was a whole different world.
I remember one time he told me "Son..." He called me "son" out of a combination of affection and general inebriated name-centric apahasia, but I tried to focus on the former. "Son," he would say, "chicks ain't no goddamn good." He's been divorced twice, so I forgave him some bitterness. As I got older, I realized it turned out he was mostly right, but that's a different post. Then he would almost always tell me "Well, except for the fact that they have blood which can be transfused into your own body, assuming a type match, which can be critical in a life-or-death situation. Other than that? No goddamn good!" And then he would either cry and tell me he loved me or aspirate some vomit as he lost consciousness.
Well, bad news, dad. Turns out that now we find out chicks ain't even good for a blood transfusion anymore. This is terrifying news. Not only does it mean that half or more of the blood in bloodbanks is possibly contaminated by gender-taint, but my God, just think of how this is going to work its way into the act of every hack "Hey, aren't men and women different?" comedian working. Transfusion Related Acute Lung Injury is going to be the new Women Hate It When Dudes Leave The Toilet Seat Up. I am cancelling Comedy Central immediately.
The clinical ramifications are being realized at a shocking pace. I found one study on-line that freaked my shit out.
Here's a picture of a regular, healthy adult male:
And now here's a later picture examining some of the side-effects of having chick-blood in his veins:
And those are just the externals. Add to that the possibility that your perfectly healthy dude lungs could fill up with evil, evil chick-based briny fluid which kills one in ten people, well...
If it's a choice between death and underwear with visible labels on them, I choose... OK, give me the blood, but Structure? Come on. Calvin Klein or nothing.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 2.0