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Gilbert Gottfried Cloned in Stem Cell Mishap June 10, 2002 |
Dual Gottfrieds two too many? cow implanted with cells taken from a cloned bovine embryo didnât 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 Natureâs 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 w...
cow implanted with cells taken from a cloned bovine embryo didnât 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 Natureâs 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. âWhile more work needs to be done, this demonstrates the potential use of this technology,â said Dr. Lorenzo Mead, director of tissue engineering at Childrenâs 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. âThousands of Americans die every day from diseases that could be cured using stem cells,â 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 âbig, sexy uddersâ as was claimed by the Gottfried clone. Hours after the studyâs 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 cowâs eye. Asked if he was shocked by the inadvertent creation of the Gottfried clone, fellow researcher Dr. Cameron Angelos disagreed. âNot really. We accidentally created a clone of Tom Sizemore last week. I think heâs still working back in the stock room somewhere⌠Yo, Tom-o! I think he went home. Anyway, weâre still not sure if weâre 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 âWarning from Godâ theory.â âCloning is a spectacular and beautiful thing,â said Dr. Mead, while thumbing through job listings in the paper. the commune news is strong enough for a man, but has not yet been approved for testing on the fairer sex. Truman Prudy was recently discovered under a couch in the commune offices, where heâd apparently been living in fear since witnessing Ted Tedâs vicious de-jamming of the old fax machine a year ago.
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Border Patrol Agents Recruited for Iraq, Since Border Patrol Worked So Well New Adams Dollar Coin Already Worth 75 Cents Australian Al-Qaedas Accent Makes Osama Bin Laden Sound Hilarious Use of Term Gaydar Most Effective Means of Telling Someones Gay |
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 February 7, 2005
Finger in Love51. 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 allâcan 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 wifeâWyfe. 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 togetherâhe's even started locking his bedroom door so we won't wake him up in the...
º Last Column: Charity and Ginger Baker º more columns
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 allâcan 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 wifeâWyfe. 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 togetherâhe'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 heyâI'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 namesâI 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 amâlifts, 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"âgetting 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 greatâwe're both altos.
If you never hear from me again, don't fret, good peopleâI 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 Bakerº more columns
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|  February 1, 2000
Fortune 2"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...
º Last Column: Fortune 1 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 1º more columns
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Quote of the Day“If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it must be Microsoft's new Futuretron 3000 Duck Simulator. That's almost a duck!”
-Rodney CheesesteakFortune 500 CookieWhen kicking out at opponents this week, aim for the nutsâalways a good strategy. It's time to let that baby shark go home to its mama; it's been two years and you've got to take a bath sometime. Look forward this week to a final showdown with your mortal nemesis, Weezer. But watch out for the Rentals to intervene.
Try again later.Top 5 News-Filler Stories| 1. | Idaho Kitten Says Swear Word | | 2. | Exercise May Be Good for You | | 3. | People Pay Top Dollar for Name-Brand Shoes | | 4. | Movies Really Suck Lately | | 5. | Little-Known Website the commune Offends Lone Nut | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Douglas Canterwick 9/16/2002 GorzillaToucan Sam was a ham-eating son of a bitch. I'm not kidding, he could put it away like he was trying to sneak a pig through customs in lunchmeat form. It would make you sick just to watch this ham hound operate. This guy's bedroom smelled like a fuckin' Hormel factory, and that was just the bedroom. Nobody liked him, not even in a "he's a sick bastard, but what a character" kind of way, but few would argue that he wasn't the best plastic explosives man this side of Mozambique. True, few would argue that he was, but this was generally a pretty passive group who didn't like to rock the boat too much in either direction.
What they were, however, was experts. Were experts. Was. Is. Are still. If you needed an elite group to travel deep into the jungles of Vietnam to track down...
Toucan Sam was a ham-eating son of a bitch. I'm not kidding, he could put it away like he was trying to sneak a pig through customs in lunchmeat form. It would make you sick just to watch this ham hound operate. This guy's bedroom smelled like a fuckin' Hormel factory, and that was just the bedroom. Nobody liked him, not even in a "he's a sick bastard, but what a character" kind of way, but few would argue that he wasn't the best plastic explosives man this side of Mozambique. True, few would argue that he was, but this was generally a pretty passive group who didn't like to rock the boat too much in either direction.
What they were, however, was experts. Were experts. Was. Is. Are still. If you needed an elite group to travel deep into the jungles of Vietnam to track down and capture a mysterious gorilla-thing with swords for arms and the head of a great white shark, these were your men. And luckily for billionaire collector R. Hyram Mozzle, this is exactly what he hired them for. Because they were lousy at soccer and didn't get along all that well, and they weren't much to look at. Assholes, all of them. Their hygiene was also questionable. One of them was hideously fat. But they were brave, probably, and they were experts who carried around all kinds of high-tech gadgets and guns so improbably huge they would make your head spin, should you be shot in the head with one of them.
And most importantly, they all believed in mysterious gorilla-things with swords for arms and a head like a great white shark. Some would call them gullible. Others, undereducated. Still others would suggest that they didn't read the contracts and just thought that Vietnam sounded like a good place to get laid. They were all right.
Seated next to Toucan Sam on the dank and poorly lit cargo plane was Blisters McGee, the group's chef and personal trainer. Since McGee was the only one who ever sat near Toucan, some implied that they were friends. In actuality, Blisters had lost his sense of smell in a sulfur mining accident as a boy and he had no idea just how disgusting Toucan Sam was. He just liked to sit where there wasn't a bunch of guys crowding around, farting and telling sex jokes.
On the flight over to Vietnam, the men spent most of their time crowded around, farting and telling sex jokes, as all men do shortly before they die. The joking lent an air of congenital levity and camaraderie to the scene, which few thought would hang in the air like a nifty irony later when they're all laying in their own entrails and trying to crawl screaming away from the shark-headed gorilla thing that the locals all warned them about but they weren't scared because Jesus Christ are their guns big.
Sanchez was the technology expert, which is funny because he's Mexican. Most of the guys just figured he was there to be the first guy to be killed by the shark-headed gorilla thing, so that everybody else could start to think, "maybe this gorilla thing means business." They were pretty spot-on about that, since as it turns out technology doesn't do you a whole hell of a lot of good against a frenzied shark-headed gorilla that's nine feet tall and has eight rows of teeth. You eventually just have to club its stupid head in with a rock after everybody else is dead and all of your weapons are exhausted, but I'm getting way ahead of myself here.   |