It has always been my belief that the only thing we truly own and control in this world is ourselves. Which is why, being the poor wretch that I am, I believe I should be able to vend bits and pieces of myself to whomever I choose.

I’m not talking about prostitution. While I have a very lenient moral standpoint on it, I personally would not make that choice. I mean, have you seen most of the men who use prostitutes? Now, if you could guarantee me that all my clients would be hot I might consider it. Thomas suggests I should seek employment giving hand jobs in the men’s shower room at Bally’s but there again, I’ve seen the men that work out there. Yikes. However, I am willing to part with some of my excess bodily fluid, or unused eggs. Hell, even a kidney for the right price.

In High School I had fond hopes of selling my eggs either for research purposes or to some poor, lonely couple who desperately wanted a child. I figure I have plenty to spare and if one or more somehow managed to survive the deepfreeze and the drain and make its way into a nice receptive womb, well, my plans for world domination were that much closer. Spreading my genetics could only be a good thing and I would not only be paid for it, I wouldn’t have to do much work. Unfortunately this was before ads for such things could be found on the back of the City Pages and my research only led to dead ends.

Now my fruit is withering on the vine. I am no longer an ideal candidate for donation and I fear I would be rejected out of hand. If I were to be accepted I can only imagine it would be by a bottom rung corporation. My Bio would read –

-31 Yrs old
-Blonde
-Blue Eyes
-Smokes like a Chimney
-Fire Sale Prices!

Something tells me my genetic material will not be shot into space as an example to alien life of the pinnacle of humanity. At this point I wouldn’t care if someone wanted to scoop out my ovule with a Mellon baller and serve it on Croquettes for tea as long as they paid me. But I don’t see that happening; which leads me to my next marketable item; Plasma.

Plasma is where the money is at. The chintzy assed Red Cross will drain me dry for the precious type O negative nectar coursing through my veins. But all I get out of it is a cookie and a glass of watered down “Orange Drink”. Whereas, the plasma center will pay 60 bucks a week for two visits. Now, I’m all for helping people I guess. Maybe. But I’m poor and therefore I want cash for my fluids so that I may buy necessities like smokes and beer. So I went in to Biolife earlier this week and guess what happened? That’s right; REJECTED. Again.

I’ve tried multiple times over the years to slip past thinking that I might find one squirrelly phlebotomist who didn’t care about the miniature size of my veins. I guess they’re afraid I’ll rupture while I’m on the machine and I will sue the hell out of them, or my family will, after I crash and bleed out on the floor.

Normally I get REJECTED with the professional vampire apologizing and explaining to me that my veins are too small and won't accept the gauge of needle that they use without causing me a ridiculous amount of pain. I try explaining that I really don’t care as I have been pierced in some pretty uncomfortable places. I have a high pain threshold. Typically, they look at me with blank eyes and walk away shaking their heads (a reaction I’m surprisingly accustomed to).

The phlebotomist at Biolife didn’t even bother with an explanation. She simply took a tap at my veins and declared “There’s nothing there” she then called another woman over who did the same thing and simply replied with “nope.”

Nothing there! Am I not Human! Do I not bleed!? What do you mean there's nothing there? This constant rejection has damaged my psyche. I now suffer from a rare condition called “Vein envy” I envy all you people with your beautiful golden walled veins for I am akin to some amoeboid sea creature and have none. And I’m still poor.

Perhaps I should track down Mr. Surprisingly not German I’ll pay you $700 to poop in my mouth guy.

*shudder*

On second thought; maybe I’ll just quit smoking.