New Smithfield Tax Requires Blood Donations to Pay Debts

Pictured: A typical person from Smithfield

SMITHFIELD -- In what mayor Diana Holcombe described as an emergency situation, village leaders passed an ordinance Wednesday night requiring residents to sell their blood plasma to pay back the town's debts.

"We just had a vote on whether or not Smithfield would remain a town," Holcombe said. "You can't have your cake and eat it too. Until someone offers up a better solution, we have to pay the blood tax."

One resident proposed an alternative, a 1 percent income tax increase, but he was promptly escorted outside and beaten to death with the town's kaleidoscope.

"I'm not too happy about the blood tax," Troy Walker, a 2-week long resident, "But a tax increase on our incomes? That's just stupid."

According to the new ordinance, those residing within city limits will be obligated to donate blood at least twice per month. Those with blood deemed "unusable" will be allowed to donate hair, fingernails or a kidney.

57-year-old Lisa Smith angrily defends Rupert Warshington

"It's just the reality we have to face right now," Holcombe told OVN. "We have to make sacrifices, and those are key ingredients in witchcraft. They're the key ingredients which craft our solution, rather."

Key among the opposition to Holcombe and the city council was Rupert Warshington, a bald Smithfield resident who has no blood, kidneys or fingernails. The new proposal left him speechless.

"Look what this is doing to poor Rupert," 57-year-old Lisa Smith angrily shouted, pointing toward a blow up doll seated at a table.

Regardless, the ordinance passed as color faded from the town, flowers died and children's laughter turned to cries. The local mom-and-pop shop became a Walmart. The village was fenced off, FEMA camps were set up, men in hazmat suits appeared and all the Budweiser in town became O'Doul's.

"Nobody in the village of Smithfield was ever heard from again," George Grant said, reading from his copy of OVN's 2017 Year in Review. "And the rest of the Ohio Valley lived happily ever after."

8-year-old Billy looked around his bedroom. The story was over but he still didn't feel tired, only sick.

"Is that it grandpa?" he asked. "Is that the end of the story?"

George calmly patted his frail grandson's hand. The E. Boli had begun to take its toll, and the medical marijuana had just made things worse. ISIS would soon be rejoicing in its latest victory.

"Yes, dear child," he said, sadly. "This is the end."