Can I donate blood if it's not mine?

OK, so after reviewing the previous weeks posts, I have come to the conclusion that I need to make my blog more positive and upbeat!
So my house was broken into today and my PlayStation was stolen . . . 
 . . . 
Shit.
OK. Screw that for a game of monopoly. You ever get the feeling that God should get down off His Almighty High Horse, come down here, fry us all and start again from amoebas? 'Cos that's what I would be praying for tonight if I thought for a second that He gave a monkey's left one about my problems.
Frankly, it could have been worse. My trophy's (online PlayStation achievements) are are redeemable if I get another ps3, and I only had 3 games on the go. 
What really burns me is the fact that they not only stole belongings from me, but time as well. I had put literally weeks of my life into that machine, and now I have nothing to show for it. It's like those 50 hours I spent playing Final Fantasy XIII never existed! . . . .
Well, even the most violent thunderclouds have silver linings, I guess.
 . . . 
They might as well have put me in a time machine and aged me, because as far as my age in terms of bitter world-weariness, I am 140 years old at this stage. That's at least 0.9 Frankie Boyles, or 0.4 John Steinbecks for those Americans who need that converted into metric.
 . . . 
But, as they say, tomorrow is another day. There is always tomorrow. If there's one thing, I've learned, it's that tomorrow is always there.
Waiting.
Waiting for you to slip up, to lose track. Then BAM. It comes and hits you right when you don't want it there, like an automatic door that's developed a malevolent sentience.
Tomorrow's a dick, is what I'm trying to say.
Tomorrow is the guy who brings a guitar to a house party. 
Tomorrow waits until the very end of your story before interrupting and telling one that's not as good, but involves him in some way (taking poetic licence to assume tomorrow is in fact, male. Which sounds about right.). 
Tomorrow doesn't flush. . . EVER.
 . . . 
So yeah, life goes on and all that shit. Really, The odds of me getting my PlayStation back are as likely as The Likely Lads clicking the Like button on licking a leaking lake. Which is to say it's not very likely at all. 
Practically impossible. 
I'm not even sure how that would work.
 . . . 
Now go and lock the door or something.

Bass-Ackwards

Do you ever think that rock stars and punk bands purposefully get into abusive, unstable relationships just so they'll have something to sing about?
 . . . 
Well, after spending the entire day sitting on my arse on a ride-on lawnmower, I think it's time to spend some quality time sitting on my arse typing. I had an idea today whilst trying to stave off the frequent heamorroid-inducing states of boredom. It's time for a new feature: Word-Learningness Day!
 . . . 
It works thusly: I find a word or phrase that I use in the frequent conversations with myself, but yet have no idea what it means. I then attempt to find out using the most premier internet sources available. You, the reader get to learn about it with me. Won't that be fun?
 . . . 
Well fuck you, I feel like doing it anyway.
 . . . 
The word for today is "Oligarchy". Or possibly "Religeous Oligarchy". Whatever get the best answers. Because shut the hell up. That's why.
 . . . 
urbandictionary:

	A system of government that is run by a small group of people not subject to vote or approval. The small group of people run the world in a feudal system-esque manner. While the other people are basically their slaves.

So it's basically one of those evil shadowy corporation type things with the circle of executives sitting round a table with their faces hidden. Like the Illuminati? Or McDonalds?
. . . 
wikipedia:
 Basically, it says that every system of government becomes an oligarchy. Which is depressing to think that shadowy dick-taters will eventually rule us all.
 . . . 
oligarchy.net:
 The most subtley terrifying website that money from 1997 can buy.
 . . . 
youtube.com:
 Playlist: The Criminal Elite Oligarchy (New World Order Illuminati)
Consists of videos about: The Pope, Tom Cruise, George Bush, The Black Pope, The Sun newspaper, The Evil Pope, The Disney Corporation and Mars. The Planet Mars.
 . . . 
So what exactly have we learned here today:
As far as I can remember (because scrolling back up the page is waaay too hard), is that the world will inevitibly be eventually ruled by a shadowy group of dictators around a table wearing robes and hoods. These people will consist of, but are not limited to: The Pope (who is black and/or evil), a hollywood actor, a former president and renowned fucktard, a british tabloid, a cartoon and theme park company, and a nearby 6.4185 × 10²³ kg hunk of space-rock.

 . . .

All in all, more useful than what I learn in college on any given day.
 . . . 
Thats a wrap. Now go finish that thing with that yolk that you're supposed to be doing.

English majors: Putting the "g" in "gnome", the "p" in "pneumatic" and the "b" in "subtle" since time immemorial.

Herro again. I was just thinking about how I could do something worthwhile for the literary world. Maybe by posting a thought-provoking dissertation on the internet.
Then I thought "No. Fuck that. Lets update this blog instead."
The fact that our souls are getting crushed under the weight of the work we've been given is really been depressing me. And when I get depressed I get angry. Not the Hulk-out kind of angry, the kind of angry that generates an anti-social field around my general area and causes 80% of the world's supply of not-giving-a-fuck and no-I-don't-feel-like-doing-another-assignment-for-ergonomics-go-die-in-a-fire.
I still haven't managed to pin down what exactly I want to use this blog for. I know I don't want it to be a rant blog, because god knows there's enough of them out there. They say "stick to what you know", whoever the hell "they" are. "They" should get their goddamn noses out of my business unless "they" want them cut off and served in a kind of creme du nez.
And I know video games, but a lot of people who read this probably dont give a monkey's left one unless I've got something really profound to say. I also know food. But not really from the talking-about-it point of view. If I'm talking in relation to food, chances are it's because my mouth is full.
Should it be an everything-is-wonderful-here's-a-picture-of-a-kitty blog?
 . . . 
No.
Dammit. I promise the next post I make will be more structured. It'll have an introduction and everything! The issue is that there's no structure in them. Just like theres less structure in my life than there used to be. Oppertunities just seem to pass me by without me even realising it, I'm finding it hard to work because I just sit at a desk and complain about how hard the work I'm not doing is, and lecturers seem to just throw all sorts of shit at me just to see what sticks. The obvious problem with that is, if you throw enough shit at a wall, yes, some of it will stick, but in the end, all that you're left with is a wall covered in shit. And a cleaning bill.
. . . 
There, that's your lot. Now go and make a healthy sandwich with soda bread or something. . .