Plasmasturbation

Okay, so this whole day I have definitely felt the absence of my life fluids. I am sitting there, you see, a piece of metal thrust in my arm, a liter bottle hanging beside me filling slowly with what looks like Stella Artois. Before moving to her next patient, the phlebotomist says to me, "Everything is good," and she's right, it really is. I feel effervescent, intensely and unreasonably sexual, only half-distracted by my consciousness being peeled away in thin strips from the left side of my brain to my right. Snowy re-runs of Dawson's Creek impress upon my mind, and that's the last I remember before falling into a deep void of cheering plasma recipients who have materialized from an orange haze; they are mostly gay minorities. The one in front, a young sensitive Mexican man with a slight mustache, proclaims, "The returning champion!" and he attempts a wet kiss, but before he gets to me I hose him down with my hemoglobin. I follow with a right hook to his kidney. I sense the force of my punch frustrated -- frustrated by what? It's like punching someone underwater. Ah, it finally comes to me in a flash of intuition: I am punching through the sheer slowness of time. I can perceive every detail of my environment, mostly the uncharacteristic silence, the Hawaiian-themed wallpaper, and my hooking fist clenching twenty-dollar bills. When my fist finally arrives at its destination, the Mexican man is now a sexy female bank teller. Tall, slender, curvaceous. She takes my cash and says, "I don't know whether to applaud your resourcefulness or to run, very, very far away; oh you little white thug." Nonplussed, I promptly reply, "Listen sweets, you'd better step aside unless you want to dwell in the holy conclave of my vomit." I'm just bluffing the girl, the nausea has already subsided. And suddenly I am back in my recliner made of hospital-grade vinyl, the centrifuge next to me eagerly separating out my blood plasma. When it returns my red blood cells back to me through the same needle, an unmarked bag of clear liquid is also emptying into my intravenous tube. Saline? Sugar water? Cyanide? There is only one question on my mind at this time: "When is my heart going to stop?"