It Is In You To Give

As a first time blood donor I don't want to jump into any assumptions about the process, I'll leave that to sceptics and doctors and such, but I'm pretty sure that the day after you donate blood, you become some sort of superhuman booze-tank. The craziness of this will no doubt enter into my mind tomorrow once the effects of my new best friend wear off, but for the mean time I will wax poetic about the merits of saving lives and getting hammered.
When I set out on this journey of self discovery, I was hesitant and wary of the consequences, carefully testing myself against wine coolers and margaritas. A breakfast buffet to prepare myself for the smorgasbord to come. However, I found myself unimpressed by the effects of being minus 555 ml of blood and plus half a litre of passion fruit flavoured sodahol. In the place of the alcohol poisoning I had promised myself I found only the hollowness that flavoured waters will always leave me with.
I soon downed 3 glasses of wine, in an attempt to push myself past the brink of what I assumed a reasonable person would try in this situation. Alas, it was to no avail, my stomach remained unturned and my thirst unquenched. Soon enough I found the British coming to my aid with the delightful fruit of the Newcastle Brewery. After several run-ins with this delightful potion I decided that either it was magic, or my charitable deed of saving 3 people's lives had given me some sort of karmic imbalance. I dismissed this theory upon returning home to find that Scarlett Johansson was, once again, not naked in my bed. But who am I to say that heightened tolerance is a less fitting reward for saving 3 seperate lives than finding ones hollywood crush in ones bed. No one, that's who.

One day Scarlett, one day.
Now, I do not allow myself the delusion that I am some sort of alcohol sponsored god, in fact I am better known for vomiting up my weight than I am for holding my liquor. I believe this makes this all the more impressive, that or I need to be declared supreme drinkmaster of Bloodtown.
I've always assumed that losing a pint of blood would make you more susceptible to the hideous monsters which constantly batter your subconscious mind, but my comrade Newcastle and his 237 years of brewing history insist that this is quite the opposite of the truth. Instead of taking away sanity, the combination of blood loss and delicious ancient ales heighten both your senses and your social prowess.
Every prostitute legitimately wants you for you, passers by are begging not for smokes and change, but for a chance to be addressed by the greatness that is your soon to be comatose mind. Carlos Mencia is insightful and risqué, rather than just being insufferable and kind of a fatty.
You are the Cortez to this new world of drunken social conquest. So I beg of you, bold adventurer, burn your boats, slay your deserters, explore the world that is this glorious vision of your own mind, and, if you are lucky, you shall live through the night.
If not, there is always more blood to go around.