I’m a firm believer that most of my bodily fluids are happy inside my body. And so they’re understandably reluctant to leave it.
I’m not sure why I’m not fond of blood, I’ve certainly bled often enough. And that didn’t ick me out. Even a couple of fairly bad knife cuts ::see the stitches?::
Maybe the Ick is some sort of hospital (creepy place) plus blood (creepy substance) combination? I dunno, but it is one of my creepy-icky things. I’m an un-fan of hematologists and their ghoulish lab techs.
Sneaking around with their evil plot to drain me dry.
Guess it’s Dr. Phibes that creeps me out…heh.
Whatever. You guys with the needles and bottles, stay over there. I’ll be over here where it’s safe.
No, I won’t write in support of blood-suckers, especially not sparkly ones. Die, Edward Cullen.
Think of something that truly repulses you. Hold that thought until your skin squirms. Now, write a glowing puff piece about its amazing merits.
ParkInkSpot 