Cross-species testes transplant successful...

NewScientist.com ^ | 08-20-2002 | staff

[steveo]

Testis tissue from goats and pigs has been grafted onto the backs of mice and shown to produce normal sperm, capable of fertilising eggs. Click to see the entire story.

[steveo]

Hope this still works. What made me laugh was the banner ad for "MyMatchMaker.com"

I guess I need rest...

[Nachum]

Are you sure this isn't from a joke? You know, the one where they inserted baby onions?

And everytime the man passed a hamburger stand he gets an erec---n?

[Teacher317]

Testis tissue from goats and pigs has been grafted onto the backs of mice and shown to produce normal sperm, capable of fertilising eggs

What KIND of eggs? Very tiny goat eggs? Scrambled eggs to go with the bacon? ;^)

[pepsi_junkie]

So scientists have finally succeeded in merging a spine and a set of cajones. Now if they can only find a way to merge the combo onto Trent Lott, then we'll have a breakthrough!

[steveo]

BRAVO!!!

[DainBramage]

"Scrath my back, I'll scratch yours" is no longer a term to use in mixed company.

[vetvetdoug]

Sorry, Dr. Brinkley was doing this in the thirties (1930) in Kansas and Del Rio, Texas except that he was transplanting goat testicles into men...He made thousands of dollars doing this even though the transplants were failures.

[hove]

OMG...that was good!!

[neutrino]

Does this mean that Osama bin Laden can reclaim his manhood...from a pig?

[Consort]

What do the kidlets look like?

[PoorMuttly]

So some day there may be little Michael Jacksons....

[Valin]

Chapter One
A SQUAT grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World State's motto, COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY.


The enormous room on the ground floor faced towards the north. Cold for all the summer beyond the panes, for all the tropical heat of the room itself, a harsh thin light glared through the windows, hungrily seeking some draped lay figure, some pallid shape of academic goose-flesh, but finding only the glass and nickel and bleakly shining porcelain of a laboratory. Wintriness responded to wintriness. The overalls of the workers were white, their hands gloved with a pale corpse-coloured rubber. The light was frozen, dead, a ghost. Only from the yellow barrels of the microscopes did it borrow a certain rich and living substance, lying along the polished tubes like butter, streak after luscious streak in long recession down the work tables.


"And this," said the Director opening the door, "is the Fertilizing Room."


Bent over their instruments, three hundred Fertilizers were plunged, as the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning entered the room, in the scarcely breathing silence, the absent-minded, soliloquizing hum or whistle, of absorbed concentration. A troop of newly arrived students, very young, pink and callow, followed nervously, rather abjectly, at the Director's heels. Each of them carried a notebook, in which, whenever the great man spoke, he desperately scribbled. Straight from the horse's mouth. It was a rare privilege. The D. H. C. for Central London always made a point of personally conducting his new students round the various departments.


"Just to give you a general idea," he would explain to them. For of course some sort of general idea they must have, if they were to do their work intelligently–though as little of one, if they were to be good and happy members of society, as possible. For particulars, as every one knows, make for virtue and happiness; generalities are intellectually necessary evils. Not philosophers but fret-sawyers and stamp collectors compose the backbone of society.