Ever wonder why men can't catch it?
Mad Cow Disease?
A bovine bane spread o’er the land;
a plague not seen since filthy fleas.
From mountain glen to coastal strand,
Great Britain spawned ‘Mad Cow’ disease.
This dreaded scourge that muddled minds
bode grave for Man, there is no cure.
From tainted meat not bugs' behinds,
should one ingest, it's death for sure.
As peasants, paupers, Kings and Queens
served modest meals or fancy feasts,
their guests grew tired of rice and beans
but few dared dine on butchered beasts.
And then one day in Yorkshire Moor,
a Gypsy clan from Pyrenees
came hawking wares from door-to-door
with claims to free folk of disease.
“Come hither, friend, for one half-crown
this jungle juice is secret brew.
'Will keep yer mind and innards sound,
plus cure the measles, mange, and flu."
I listened closely to their spiel
when wife stepped forth and pulled me ear.
It sounded like a dang good deal,
but she insisted I stay clear.
“But hon,” says I, “I’m scared to death.
'Twas you who said I’ve ‘alf a brain.”
“Oh, hush me luv, and save your breath;
a half-wit, yes, but not insane.
"They’re slipp’ry pitchmen, thick as thieves;
it’s how Gitano’s ply their gigs.
Why, you can’t catch mad cow disease,
'cause doncha know that men are pigs?”
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