Jun 20, 2008

Quit all that cloning around

By Malcolm Fleschner / Humor Columnist

Note: Malcolm Fleschner is away this week. He has asked that, rather than rerunning a "classic" Culture Shlock, the Daily News pre-run one of Malcolm's future columns. The following is not slated for publication until April 9, 2021:

Sometimes when I'm sitting in my personal hydrogen-powered jet-tube, stuck in slow-moving air zone traffic, my mind will wander from the usual pre-programmed posi-thoughts. It happened again yesterday when, as I watched a sky-cast pop-up commercial for the new Paris Hilton Eroto-cizer, I began wondering just how much all our vaunted technological advances are really improving our lives. Now, normally a negative thought like that would be immediately zapped from my mindspace by the Government's Erase-O-Tron Brain Sweeping Field but, as I later learned, our sector's system was down while a construction crew did some repairs (I guess that explains the traffic jam).

But the point is that maybe we shouldn't always automatically embrace every newfangled technology that comes along. Take cloning, for example. Hard as it may be to remember, there was a time when the idea of cloning humans only existed in the minds of science fiction writers and people on the Internet spreading rumors about the Olson Twins. Yet today in 2021 clones have become as much a part of everyday life as robot TV news anchors, public stoning of losing reality television show contestants and sidewalk liposuction stations.

I admit that when cloning first became widely available, I was nearly as excited about the possibility of having another version of myself as President Trump. With a clone, I figured, there would always be someone around to laugh at my jokes, get me into the carpool lane, take my place for jury duty and at family reunions and, if necessary, provide me with a much-needed vital organ.

But the reality of having a clone has been a series of disappointments. Instead of laughing at my jokes, he always cuts me off just as I get to the punch line with a curt, "Yeah, I've heard that one already." And talk about being a drag to hang out with - any time we're at a party and I knock back a couple of alco-shooters, he gives me a nasty look and says, "That's enough drinking for you. Remember, we have to keep that liver of yours healthy."

The worst disappointment has been how little help my clone offers around the lifespace unit. I remember imagining how useful a clone would be with modern household chores like laser-cinerating the garbage, vapo-scrubbing the waste expulsion chamber, downloading our weekly energy rations or taking the andro-dog in for his annual virus scan. But instead, my clone just sits around the house all day drinking vita-juice, popping starch pellets and watching "Live with Regis-bot and Britney" on my new high-definition virtual reality telegoggles. Hello! I already do all of that myself!

Cloning even complicates otherwise simple social situations. For example, has this ever happened to you? You're out shopping and you spot your friend, Bob, so you walk over and strike up a conversation. But a few sentences in, "Bob" starts giving you that world-weary look and snaps, "I'm not Bob. I'm his clone." You're left awkwardly stammering and muttering apologies. And all because Bob couldn't be bothered to send out a simple clone announcement.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying that all clones are bad. Lord knows everyone loves the Oprah clones, although I attribute that to the fact that all they do is travel the country giving away free stuff with their now familiar calls of "You get a jetpack! You get a jetpack! You get a jetpack!"

Still, I can't help but feel that where we once believed that cloning could solve all sorts of societal problems, these days clones have become little more than status symbols for the rich and famous to flaunt. Frankly, I'm sick of the spectacle at every Hollywood awards show of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt floating past in their hoverboots, inches above the red carpet, trailed by their 86 children, a dozen Brangelina clones, and then clones of all their children, too. I know we're now legally required to watch the entire Oscar broadcast, this past year I finally threw my telegoggles on the floor in disgust after hearing Melissa Rivers ask the fifteenth celebrity in a row, "And who is your clone wearing?"

But with any luck the clone craze will soon pass, much like such recent fads as pet tattoos, speed date skydiving and nude Fridays at work. In the meantime, I've made a point to quit exercising and eat nothing but fat-infused food pellets, so it's probably just a matter of time before I'll be needing a replacement heart. And when that happens, well, I guess my clone will finally get the chance to be useful after all.


Readers are encouraged to share their own clone stories with Malcolm by psy-message or, for you fogies, old-fashioned e-mail at Malcolm@CultureShlock.com.