Pokings

So I have been thinking about selling my body for quite some time now.

To science, that is. Lock me in a room with books and DVD's, bring me food, give me drugs, test my blood, pay me a couple thousand dollars. I'm in. However, Andre has been trying to convince me to get a spinal tap for $5500.

I have written before of my thoroughly irrational fear of needles. I am willing to kick that fear in the ass for a couple grand and some holes in my arm. My spinal column is a completely different story.

First of all, he wants me to do this so that we can go visit Argentina. Now, as much as I am thrilled by the prospect of visiting a country where most dogs suffer from a flesh eating disease and wander through the cities in packs unabated, and where the summer heat stokes the pernicious stench from the open sewers to the extent that entire neighborhoods and city blocks reek like the festering bowels of a rotting corpse, where people suffer from "liver attacks" "golpes de aire," and eating watermelon with milk is universally thought to be a deadly practice...I will not willingly allow some crack pot "medical professional" to bury a needle in my SPINE.

I can't think of many things I would rather not do than take a needle in the back. I think even if you offered me a million dollars, I probably couldn't lay still for the procedure. I would probably start hyperventilating, and then they would puncture something they shouldn't have, and goodbye motor skills.

So I was thinking today of a lot of terrible things I would rather allow to voluntarily occur, rather than a spinal tap.

I'd rather let somebody break my arm with a baseball bat. I'd stand there, close my eyes, grit my teeth, and CRACK.

I'd rather spread my legs and let a pissed off girl kick me in the groin. Bring on the foot.

I'd rather kiss a drunk girl who vomited in my mouth.

This one, I couldn't quite make a decision on; getting prison raped. As soon as I think about the needle sliding between my vertebrae, I think that I would rather get raped. But then I think about getting raped, and want the needle again. I think if ever I found myself in a situation where I had to choose one, I'd change my mind about 50 times before I finally settled. I'd be bent over, and as the prison monster would approach, I'd be like..."Wait! Wait! The needle! Gimmie the needle!" And then, once curled up on a ball, as the needle descended, it would be..."No! Wait! White Power Bill! Send back White Power Bill!" I think, ultimately, the needle would win. But I'm like...60/40 at best there. Worst scenario ever.

I'd rather listen to Rascal Flatts for a year straight, at least 3 hours a day.

I'd rather jump off a 2 story building naked into a pile of stinging needle.

You get the idea. I wish I wasn't so terrified of needles, because 5500 dollars in 4 days is pretty awesome. However, abandoning dignity, screaming like a girl, and thrashing around on a cold metal table in a hospital gown while fluid is drained from my spinal column, is just something I think I was never meant to do.

Sorry Andre. I'd like my spinal fluid to stay right where it is.
Hell no.