Forget the market for virgins; the hottest new opportunity is the market for vegans! Because of breaking news in the Guardian that Mad Cow Disease has been transmitted through tainted human blood products, the body-juice of a vegan is now far more valuable than the potentially-deadly, germ-soupy gore of a carnivore. Per pint, vegans are now worth several times as much as meat-eaters on the open market, to say nothing of the back alleys of Whitechapel and the farther reaches of Transylvania.
Hmmm, some of my clean-living friends had better watch their backs. The next time someone squeezes you in a crowded bar, maybe he's just trying to see how juicy you are. Try not to squish, okay?
The government has been forced to warn 14
countries that patients are in danger of developing the human form of mad cow disease as a result of contaminated British blood products sold abroad.
Documents released under the Freedom of Information Act show that patients in Brazil and Turkey are most at risk from the products, although it is too early to know how many, if any, foreign patients may develop the incurable variant CJD, as it takes many years to appear…
The contaminated blood products were exported in the 1990s…Health authorities then had to re-examine blood products sent abroad by the state-owned company Bio Products Laboratory (BPL)…
countries that patients are in danger of developing the human form of mad cow disease as a result of contaminated British blood products sold abroad.
existed? But, knowing that as you now do, is it any surprise it's written by a raving Xeniac?


There are some few things in this world that remind me of the late Hunter S. Thompson. There are very few things indeed in this world that remind me both of Hunter S. Thompson and Homer's Odyssey. There is only ONE thing in this world that reminds me of Hunter S. Thompson, Homer's Odyssey, and that 300-pound bundle of muscle, fat, tattoos and leather who got on the bus and sat his wide, Harley-ridin' ass down beside my English professor, who happened to be reading The Iliad at the time and expecting the worst from his new seatmate, poked a chubby, dirty finger into my prof's Penguin paperback and chuckled, "Da Iliad! I love dat book! Rumble in Troy! Ah, man, war's all about chicks, eh? Fuckin' chicks, man."