The Blood Drive and the Intern

Yesterday we held a Red Cross Blood Drive at our place of employment. This is something we typically do about 3-4 times a year and is a great way to contribute to a worthy cause with minimal effort. Anyway, my appointment was at 9:00 am and everything went smoothly. After the required pre-donation grilling to make sure I wasn't a HIV-infested, drug-crazed, prostitute-employing, porthole pirate, and I had not eaten any questionable meat overseas (not counting the numerous redlight districts), it was off to donate. After the technician asks you how you are feeling they typically ask, "Are you allergic to iodine?" To which I always reply, "Yeah, it makes my skin turn all brown and orange-like." Take it from me, 9 Red Cross technicians out of 10 have no frigging sense of humor whatsoever. Then, it was one stick of the needle and 15 minutes of lazy time, all on the company dime. The best part, obviously, is when you are done you get some orange juice to wash down the delicious complimentary pretzels and cookies. Quite the reward for saving lives. Anyway, they tell you to leave the little bandage on for 5 hours afterwards, which I tend to remove immediately - I just don't like that and the iodine on my arm, I guess I am just a different breed of cat. But I digress.

Anyway, about 1-2 hours later, IT's favorite intern, we will call her Alotta Grossebusen, comes into the IT lair complaining about her bandage. A quick review of her, she is 19 years old, about 5'7", 125lb, dirty-blond hair, and innocent green eyes. She is going into her sophomore year at the University of Pitt. And to top it off, just about every day she wears a pair of low hip-hugger jeans and a shirt that is painted on, showing off her considerable assets. She is a very smart girl, but she definitely wades in the shallow end of the common sense pool. So I said, just rip it off (the bandage, you pervert). And she answers, "But no, it hurts" (but in a MUCH whinier voice). I say, "It is not like you have any hair on your arms, just rip it off". "But I do have hair on my arms, see?" she says. "I am really hairy for a girl." Showing remarkable restraint I say nothing, nor do I break into my Chewbacca impression. She then, after about 2-3 minutes of working herself up, pulls the bandage off and leaves to wash the iodine off her arm. After a few minutes, she storms back in and says (I am NOT making this up), "Oh my God, I just washed my arm with soap and it is burning where the needle was. I am not going to get gingivitis am I?" After just staring at her slack-jawed for about 10-15 seconds, and then laughing for a good minute straight, she said, "Oh no, not gingivitis. I meant jaundice." Yeah, jaundice. Which then touched off 2-3 minutes of painful, doubled-over laughter. Finally, she got to gangrene, which by that point I couldn't laugh anymore. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Guess what her major is at Pitt? Pharmacy. God help us all.

The Maiden Voyage

Well, here we are at the inaugural post for the TWAP Blog. We would suspect that the first question you might all have is, "Why do so many Europeans love David Hasselhoff?" Or maybe it is, "What does TWAP stand for?" Do not fret, young grasshopper, all will be revealed to you. We just can't say when.

Our mission is clear, as well as two-fold. First, we need a place on the Internet to quickly dump a textual representation of all of the funny and mundane shit that happens to us during the day so we don't forget it forever 10 minutes after it happens. Second, we feel an overpowering sense of duty to provide such a place on the Internet for the commoner, the serf, the unwashed, to take a few minutes out of their otherwise average life and maybe get a chuckle, a guffaw, or maybe even a LOL. This means you, dummy.

Here is a sample of what to expect out at TWAP....

Well, we just got back from lunch at the Food Court at the local mall. Man, what a bummer. Normally, the place is crawling with a serious bumper crop of MILFs, but nothing could have been further from the truth today. All I wanted to do was shout "BINGO" at the top of my lungs just so I could hear loud groaning from the bluehairs and swearing like longshoremen with bunions from their cigar-store Indian counterparts, as well as see the in-house defibrillator in action. But alas, I showed remarkable restraint.

As a final note, we don't know whether we will be publishing individually or in cahoots, as they say. We do know this, though... you cannot contribute, save for Comments. No, this is strictly a creative outlet to maintain our sanity, keep us from urinating in our seats, and most importantly, making fun at your expense.

We hope you will enjoy this as much as we plan to.