Gilbert Gottfried Cloned in Stem Cell Mishap

cow implanted with cells taken from a cloned bovine embryo didn’t reject the tissue, scientists report, though the cow did give birth to a full-grown clone of comedian Gilbert Gottfried seven hours later. While still far from human use, experts say the bovine advance demonstrates the potential for much-debated therapeutic cloning to correct many of the common ills that affect humans, while the unexpected side effect demonstrates the terrifying danger of screwing with Mother Nature’s cookbook.

The study proved that laboratory-engineered tissues created from heart, skeletal and renal cells cloned from cows, then transplanted back into the animals, could develop into both functional tissues and a live clone of the 45 year-old comedian turned actor who sometimes does voice work for cartoons.

“While more work needs to be done, this demonstrates the potential use of this technology,� said Dr. Lorenzo Mead, director of tissue engineering at Children’s Hospital Boston. When asked about the unexpected Gottfried clone side effect, Dr. Mead bit his lower lip and stared at the floor in a non-committal fashion.

Cloning technology is controversial and opposed by many, including President Bush and Pope John Paul II, because it involves creating and destroying embryos and requires more than a high-school level understanding of science to comprehend.

“Thousands of Americans die every day from diseases that could be cured using stem cells,� Mead said while the clone of Gilbert Gottfried mimicked him in a high-pitched singsong voice.

Stopping repeatedly to ask the Gottfried clone not to touch the equipment, Mead demonstrated how the nucleus from a cow egg was removed and replaced with a skin cell from another cow, which developed into a healthy embryo. Dr. Mead told the commune that the embryo did not, however, have “big, sexy udders� as was claimed by the Gottfried clone.

Hours after the study’s results were reported to the media, the original Gilbert Gottfried arrived at the research labs brandishing a large rubber crucifix and demanded to meet his clone. Researchers felt obligated to comply, but soon regretted their decision as Gottfried and his clone began yelling loudly in stereo and eventually were kicked out of the building for playing ping-pong with a cow’s eye.

Asked if he was shocked by the inadvertent creation of the Gottfried clone, fellow researcher Dr. Cameron Angelos disagreed. “Not really. We accidentally created a clone of Tom Sizemore last week. I think he’s still working back in the stock room somewhere… Yo, Tom-o! I think he went home. Anyway, we’re still not sure if we’re getting contaminated DNA samples or if this is a warning from God. Though after we had both of the Gottfrieds in here earlier I started leaning toward the ‘Warning from God’ theory.�

“Cloning is a spectacular and beautiful thing,� said Dr. Mead, while thumbing through job listings in the paper.

Border Patrol Agents Recruited for Iraq, Since Border Patrol Worked So Well

New Adams Dollar Coin Already Worth 75 Cents

Australian Al-Qaeda’s Accent Makes “Osama Bin Laden” Sound Hilarious

Use of Term “Gaydar” Most Effective Means of Telling Someone’s Gay

51. 2? That's what constitutes a rating from you, my loyal readers? I would say "go to hell," but I'm bigger than that. Not much bigger… that unwashed rabble Omar Bricks receives more readers than me? I would cry recount, if I were not staunchly conservative. But forget the injustice… I already am. Let's forget my poor readership and likelihood of losing my job forever.

Not much can clothesline my good mood today (though 51.2 came awfully close). I am in love, good people! An event that happens very rarely for me, every three or four months at the most. The moon goes crescent more often than I fall in love. And I think this is the real deal. Ginger Baker is loud, opinionated, and not very tall at all—can you think of a more perfect match for yours truly? Or myself? I think not.

Good people, love is like the pollen that keeps flowers and bees doing obscene things to each other. It is a sweet nectar, the very blood of life itself, except you can get it out of carpets. And I am so in love I'm ready to throw up. No joking. She is like the wife I've been married to twice before. A little more like Arvelyn, my second wife, than my first wife—Wyfe. And boy, does she have a hot body. Built like a brick ship.

Perhaps I've become a little arrogant with my hip new relationship. We keep kissing in front of Camembert, holding hands, rubbing our noses together—he's even started locking his bedroom door so we won't wake him up in the middle of the night just to do that stuff in front of him. His girlfriend Elvis isn't very happy about it either, and threatened to put the karate to us. But our love is stronger than karate. Melee attacks, that's another question. I'll have to evaluate it in closed conditions.

You're probably thinking, "But Rok," as all 51.2 of you is apt to say quite a lot, "Don't move too fast. I've had my heart broken by a Bangkok hooker, who also stole my wallet, and I don't want that to happen to you." To which I say: That's a little more information than I needed! And then I laugh in a forced manner. But I assure you, I'm moving at my usual cautious romantic speed. I have yet to even book the place for the wedding, I'm still shopping around. Heartbreak won't catch hold of me again.

This is the most unusual relationship I've ever been in, not quite "traditional," but hey—I'm mod. I know for whom the bell tolls, cat. So what if Ginger makes more money than I do. I'm cool with that. I've even taken an interest in her career, as a veterinary talent agent. I've been scouting several local stray dogs, who all seem to have a pretty impressive screen presence, judging by my novice eye. I'm also in negotiations with a math-savvy peacock. Not that I'm naming names—I don't think it even has a name, and I'm not entirely sure it's anything more than a lawn ornament. But cut me a break, I'm not doing this to get rich (but if it happens, I won't complain). This is all in the name of love, as any number of songs might say.

She's into all the same things I am—lifts, non-professional wrestling, home ownership, chasing new interests with maniacal fury, complaining, and not paying a lot of money for things. In the short time we've been going out, we've already done all the "relationship things"—getting drunk at family reunions, accusing each other of infidelity, arguing about having kids, and of course, miniature golf. She is quite the lady, and looks less like a man than any woman I have ever dated. And it goes without saying the sax is great—we're both altos.

If you never hear from me again, don't fret, good people—I am being bound and gagged and abducted by the greatest of all terrorists… love! And it shouldn't surprise you, with low numbers like 51.2. You complete shits.

º Last Column: Charity and Ginger Baker
º more columns

"Day to day gyrations are a sign of a good performing Georgi," said The Wise Men about Clifford's cunning. Clifford retorted: "Bark. Bark. Bark." ("The Buck is Bruised"). He tended to confuse Vietnam with reality. Because of Regan he ended up in the same motorcycle gang as Miss America and finally blah blah blah. The hills bragged about their alcoholic dog population, which had been deregulated and redegradated. Clifford had a plan to systematically steal Nixon's eyes. It was as personal as it was unprecidented. Luckily for Nixon, two of his four engine mounts were liquid-filled. Heh, dumb fucking dog.

You will find love in a new pastry drawer. Try again later.

º Last Column: Fortune 1
º more columns