Clones are just like us. This is quite possibly the most oxymoronic sentence I’ve ever written. Perhaps it’s not an oxymoron, but is rather an elegant example of irony; I will be sure my clone has a better grasp of the finer points of literary devices than I do.
My clone being just like me worries me no end. Few admit they think about some of these things, but I know I am not unique. My clone would prove this beyond a doubt.
I’m not sure why I think it would be fun to have a clone; it might be a pain in the butt, and if I changed my mind, and took the sucker out with some weapon which is neatly at hand while I was chopping veggies and had to listen to it whine about what’s for dinner, would I be charged with murder?
I might be arrested for suicide, but since I would still be here, walking and talking, I quite obviously have not committed it. And since the clone is composed of my genetic material, it is I whom I have dispatched, and I would still be here.
If ever there was material for a sonnet, this is it. Shakespeare would have had a blast in this day and age, with such scope for Renaissance Rants. ‘Murder most foul, when dost thou dispatch thyself back to the ether of thy parents mating.’ Or some such.
What if you cloned yourself for companionship, because who would be better to hang out with than someone who likes everything you like? Someone who understands your jokes, and thinks they’re funny anyway? What if I my clone didn’t even like me? Like I have to win a popularity contest with myself.
Would that be a self-esteem issue, or a sociological issue? Would I need a psychologist for me, or my clone? Who’s in the wrong? If my clone is in the wrong for not liking me, then it would still follow that there is something wrong with me, if I didn’t like myself.
This conundrum starts getting as snarled as a fishing net catching detritus from a fleet of boats. You can probably get away with murdering your clone, especially if no one knows about its existence, but when you start getting into self-esteem issues and psychologists, you queer the universe.
There are other things to consider. For instance, if you clone yourself to help with housework, your clone may not want to do it. If you don’t want to do it, it’s quite possible You Squared won’t want to do it, either.
What if it wants to sleep with your hubby? Should you be mad at yourself or your two-timing spouse, especially when he kisses YOU good morning, and says he’s never had it better?
A friend told me that there is a gay angle here; if we have sex with our clone, would it be incest or just masturbatory narcissism? It would be an opportunity to learn about your technique, but you may never clone alone again, if you prove to be a Don Juan extraordinaire. Holy Fifty Shades of Clones, Batman!
If you don’t want to commit a possible violence upon your faithless self, you will be stuck with a permanent freeloading house guest hanging around all day, wanting to talk when you want to read.
Here’s a solution: Drop U-2 off at your parents’ house.
Yes. Your clone is your genetic material, which is from your parent’s gene pool, and they are the biological parents of the Jerk Who Came To Dinner. So, if you ever wanted to get even with your mom for making you eat Brussels sprouts, here’s your chance for ultimate revenge.
She will try to get your clone to eat them, too, and have to fight the Vegetable Wars all over again.
It’s always possible she will decide to do things differently this time around, and let your clone eat whatever it wants. In which case, she will still have to listen to you whine about how YOU had to eat Brussels sprouts, how come your clone doesn’t have to?
This will really screw up your parent’s retirement, and they will have to embark on a permanent world cruise to get away from You and You. The potential for endless griping will follow them to the ends of the ocean and beyond:
“How come my clone gets to stay out past midnight? How come my clone gets a computer? How come my clone doesn’t have to do chores? How come you let you let my clone go on that school trip to Europe? How come you don’t make my clone practice piano every day? How come my clone gets to watch The Untouchables?”
You will get the poet’s wish, which is to see yourself as others see you. You will no longer get to say there’s nothing wrong with you; that everyone else is at fault. You will know for sure that you are truly an ass-hat.
You will need to put in couch time with a therapist, and you will be paying for two.
If your clone should find the internal wherewithal to rise above its proclivities, and be better than itself, which is better than YOU, it will be torn spiritually and emotionally by your nagging that it should be more like you. It will have to listen to your existentialist bitching about how you think you’re better than you.
I thought the fun part might be saying what a chip off the old block my clone is. Or telling people that it has brown eyes just like its mom. Getting to be in two places at once, and the Hollywood hilarity that would ensue.
Maybe even rob a bank and have an airtight alibi. Getting it to do the things you are sure you would have been famous for, if you’d had the right amount of discipline and support.
Turns out, your clone may not even look like you! That’s right. In the crap shoot of nature and its tendency to gamble and stay out late, its possible your clone will not inherit your brown eyes or capacity for eating a half gallon of ice cream at one sitting.
Your clone may be the mirror of what you could have been if you hadn’t eaten that ice cream, making you feel that much more murderous.
If you don’t want to spend all your spare time in Small Clones Court, I suggest you just do all the housework yourself, after which you can eat a half gallon of Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip ice cream as a reward.
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