Like a lot of things about me, my blood is special. My blood type is O-negative, which is similar to my workplace type, so-negative.
While my workplace type of so-negative is fairly common, O-negative blood is not so common. About 6.6 percent of folks have O-negative blood, which, coincidentally is about the same percentage of folks who are stunningly handsome and supremely intelligent. I can’t tell you how special I feel to keep cracking that top 6.6 percent in everything.
Having O-negative blood makes me much sought-after by the American Red Cross because I’m what they consider a universal blood donor. This means that if your spaceship crashes anywhere in our universe from Earth to Planet XJ17 in the Yodabacca System, you can get some of my blood.
It must be good blood because the Red Cross calls me a lot to let me know they’d like to have a few quarts of it. Because I stole a few quarts of their blood after a car crash nearly 17 years ago, I figure I’d better give some back when they ask for it.
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The past couple of years, though, they didn’t seem to like the fact that I’d spent a little time in third world countries in Africa and Central America, so they’d say nice things about my blood, such as how it had a good personality, but they weren’t as into it as they thought they might be. Apparently, they feared they might get a case of the Zikabola or something.
Last week, however, they walked it back and said that, Zikabola and jungle fun be damned, they wanted my blood anyway. So, I finally returned to the blood-suckers after an absence of nearly four years.
I’m happy to help. However, I think the people who will be getting some of my blood should be informed of the side effects, good or bad.
For instance, you might now find that you have lost your love of today’s rap music. In fact, you may not even consider it music. If you find yourself at a Kanye West concert screaming “Freebird!” don’t say I didn’t warn you.
You golfers might notice a slight hook on your drives and likely a score increase of 15 to 20 shots.
You may no longer have any mechanical gifts whatsoever. You will no longer be able to identify your vehicle’s engine beyond saying, “It’s the kind that takes gasoline. Or electricity. One of those.”
If you sink into depression between football seasons, don’t worry, that’s perfectly natural. And if you sink into a great depression at the end of the football season, don’t worry — this means you’re probably a Falcons fan now.
Even if the only TV shows you’ve ever watched are Brit-coms and “Downton Abbey,” you will magically find yourself able to quote lines from every episode of “The Andy Griffith Show,” “Cheers,” “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and “Scrubs.” You’re welcome.
And, of course, you might find yourself stunningly handsome and far more intelligent than you remember.
Again, you’re welcome.
“The Best of Chris Johnson, Volume II” is now available at KudzuKid.com.