”--””—Paul Masters had long lost any hope. He had stopped counting the days, they were all the same to him.The days started with the first day...ight, when the bright light of the local sun replaced the sporadic artificial lights of the slave pens and the cruel guards supervised the dispersion of the foul-tasting, lukewarm gruel served in simple earthware bowls.Once in awhile, other slave gangs exchanged the feces and urine soiled straw-like stuff that thinly covered the slave pen. The accountant is somewhat taken back and says, "No, No, No, that won't work. Let's try to rephrase that"The woman says, "OK, I'm a high-end call girl"."No, that still won't work. Try again."They both think for a moment and the woman says, "I'm an elite chicken farmer."The accountant asks, "What does chicken farming have to do with being a prostitute?"Well, I raised a thousand little peckers last year." Chicken Farmer it is."A woman from Vancouver who was a tree hugging, Liberal and an. More

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