Captain ILL attended an annual Day of the Dead celebration Saturday evening in his secret identity. It started out as an enjoyable evening, with lots of skulls, food, and alcohol (which the Captain only pretended to imbibe, since he never drinks). Unfortunately the event quickly turned tragic when the drunken host attempted to jump over the bonfire, tripped, and set himself on fire. Captain ILL, not realizing that this was not part of the evenings entertainment, did not immediately rush to his aid and the poor fellow expired in an ironic Day of the Dead twist. Needless to say, the Captain felt pretty bad about this as the widow seemed a bit upset, so he phoned a mad scientist friend of his who has a cloning lab set up in his Winnebago. The mad scientist rushed over, took a quick DNA sample from the crisped corpse and flash grew a clone in the RV while everyone waited anxiously. After a quick brain transplant, the patient was good as new except for a slight lump on his head where the newly installed scalp-hinge was installed to make it easier to switch brains in the future in case something like this ever happened again. Meanwhile, Captain ILL phoned up a telepathic mutant friend of his who rushed over and wiped out everyone's memories of the disaster to preserve the Captain's secret identity. It was a very exciting evening, but Captain ILL can't help but think that there's a lesson of some sort to be learned from it ...
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This morning, while enjoying a cuppa joe (no relation I'm sure) and catching up on some long overdue blog reading, I was shocked to discover that I was in fact a clone. I should have known something was wrong when I got out of the shower and noticed that I no longer had a belly button. I was going to chalk it up to just another drunken Day of the Dead, but then I read this.
I would love to be able to say that the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated, but I guess that wouldn't be accurate. Now I'm so confused I don't know how I'm going to be able to carry on. I'll have to start questioning my own existence all over again, and I can't stop fiddling with this annoying latch on my scalp.
I guess I have unwillingly become a member of a very unique club. Like Dolly the Sheep and those things from Star Wars. I just hope there's some sort of clone support group out there for me.
Try not to fiddle with the latch too much. Mad scientists aren't exactly noted for quality workmanship, and if your brains spill out all over the floor, there's no warranty coverage.
Also, you'll need to watch out for telomere shortening which could lead to cellular senescence. Look on the bright side though, you'll no longer have to clean lint out of your navel!
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