Sometimes I wonder about the meaning of life. Then I remember there's listeria in our deli meats, and I stop wondering.
As I stand at the threshold of existential dread, let me spin you a tale of a recent deadly outbreak. At least two souls have crossed the mortal coil, victims to the sneaky assassin known as Listeria monocytogenes. You know, that uninvited guest lurking in the cold cuts that smile at you from across the deli counter.
In the grim news served by the big, ominous entity called the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, we hear about 28 unfortunate meat enthusiasts in 12 states snuggled into hospital beds. From New York's trembling seven to Maryland's sickly six, the listeria tango has begun its deathly dance.
Deli counters, oh, those altars of cold meats and deceivingly fresh salads! Patrons of these delicacies now harbor in their guts the seeds of their doom, or severe gastrointestinal discomfort at the very least.
You might ask, why does Jack care? Well, each time I consider my own check-out from Hotel Earth, a part of me hopes it's as dramatic as an apocalypse or as ironic as a deli meat-induced exit. Poetic justice, they call it?
Now, New York, I expected more vigilance! But with seven reported cases, it seems the Big Apple has a rotten core this season. And let's not forget the delightful array of states like Georgia, Illinois, and, oh, Wisconsin! Who knew cheese's best friend could betray us so viciously?
In conclusion, life is brief, and so apparently, is the safety of deli meats. Remember folks, the next time you order that pastrami on rye, it could be your last supper. As for me, I dream of a day when my solitude ends not with a bang, nor a whimper, but a deli meat platter at my farewell party. One can only hope to die less alone than they have lived, right?
Based on the original article "At Least 2 Dead in Listeria Outbreak Tied to Deli-Sliced Meat".
