Texas Scientist Regrets Cloning Cat

cientists at Texas A&M University received international attention last month when it was announced that they had successfully cloned a domestic cat, the first successful cloning of its kind. The cloned animal was a beloved lab cat named “Mr. Fluffers,� who had met an untimely end in an acid-bath accident weeks earlier.

The research program, known as CopyCat, is rumored to be centered on the possible replication of household pets and the lucrative market this breakthrough could create. However, head researcher Mark Fuerbarker insisted that this first cloning was purely personal.

“Sure, it’s truly a great day for science and for Texas A&M. But personally, I think we’re all just glad to have Mr. Fluffers back,� stated Fuerbarker.

Well, maybe not all of them. One scientist in the lab has gone on record stating that he thinks that they may have made a mistake, and perhaps not for the expected ethical reasons. According to Marty Lomas, who refers to the original cat as “Mr. Fucker,� the cat “was an obnoxious kitty primadonna who they never should have strained out of the acid bath for purposes of DNA collection. That cat was an asshole.�

Lomas admits that his viewpoint is a controversial one in the Texas A&M labs, but scientists from around the world share his concerns. “I’ve seen pictures of that cat they cloned,� confided Norwegian geneticist Olaf Sproutzel. “And it looks an awful lot like this hellspawn lab cat I had once, Blitzen. I swear, that thing could crap its body weight in a day and it always got into my lunch. I hated that cat.�

Lomas expressed equal sorrow at the cloning that didn’t happen.

“They had a $20 million dollar grant to spend on cloning research. They could have tried to bring back any kind of amazing asset to humanity, like Lincoln or MLK, or even Marilyn Monroe, so what do they do? They clone this douchebag cat that likes to leave hairs all over my keyboard and thinks it has the run of the research lab, getting all pissy when we invade its ‘territory’. Fuckin’ knobs. Alright Mr. Fluffers, if you want to talk about territory, we’ll settle this nature’s way with a little ‘survival of the fittest.’ I’ll be right back, I’ve got a claw hammer in my car.�

Lomas chuckled bitterly at the irony of the situation, his grief-stricken coworkers breaking new ground in cloning research in an effort to bring the cat back. He hints that the original cat “didn’t exactly meet a natural end, if you know what I mean. Where were these guys when Gandhi was shot? That might have been worth artificially inseminating some eggs over. But this vain, worthless puffball of a cat? Give me a break. How many times am I going to have to kill this damn cat, anyway? Maybe if I force-feed it enough asbestos these guys will cure cancer.�

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Exuberant salutations, commune Clubbers! Founder, President, and Acting-Motivational Speaker Emil Zender present and accounted for. Where are you?
I could not be happier to deliver the minutes from the long-awaited first meeting of the commune Enthusiasts Club, even if we didn't get the turn out we had originally hoped for. To be completely blunt, me and Vice-President Sandy were more than a little disappointed in the number of people who showed up. It doesn't take a mathematical genius to figure out that if 36 people say they're going to show up and only 2 of those 36 people actually do show up, 1 of whom is yourself… well, that's just lousy, mathematically-speaking.
What happened to everyone? I assured you membership dues could be paid later in the year, completely refundable if the Club was not to your liking, and everybody seemed perfectly happy with that. I gave everyone the commune website address. Did you not check it out? Sure, some potential commune-istas didn't seem as sincere when they said they'd show up, but a few of you sure had me fooled. Those two giggling teen-age girls, now that I think about it, they didn't land on the sincere side.
Just to clarify, we'll be meeting at the number 4 gazebo in Pawtucket Park in Shanesly, Vermont, next Sunday. We'll wait for at least four hours, so if you're late, don't sweat it. And again, we realize that not everyone can make it to Vermont if you don't live in the area, but please e-mail me at Zenderphenia@hotmail.com if you want to become a "Friends & Family" commune Club member. And please, fellas, let's lay off the offers for pornographic video and pictures, there are ladies accessing the account, too.
Well, without further delay, I present the minutes from the first meeting, edited for space concerns. With your support I'm sure the next round will be even better.
Emil Zender: commune Club Founder and Acting-President Emil Zender present and accounted for. Announcing the recording of the first Club meeting minutes. Please announce yourself for the sake of the minutes.
Sandy Meckler: *inaudible*.
EZ: I'm sorry, please repeat that louder, for the record?
SM: Sandy Meckler, Emil. You know who it is.
EZ: Then let the record show two present at the meeting's inception, at 4:05 p.m.
SM: You said more people were going to be here. I made sandwiches.
EZ: More people are coming. There were two girls I talked to yesterday who said they wouldn't miss it for the world. I told them there would be sandwiches.
SM: You're such a *expletive deleted*.
EZ: C'mon, there's no need for that. What if children access these minutes in the future?
SM: Why would anybody want to access these minutes? Nobody even wants to be in your stupid club, Emil.
EZ: That's not a very motivational attitude for our Motivational Speaker.
SM: *Expletive deleted* you, Emil. You can *expletive deleted* yourself until your *expletive deleted* explodes. Your club is stupid and you're a *expletive deleted* dip*expletive deleted*.
EZ: Let the record show by a vote of 1-1 Motivational Speaker Sandy Meckler is stripped of her Motivational Speaker status. So enacted by President, Founder, and Acting-Recorder Emil Zender.
SM: Well, I'm not going to be in your stupid communist club if you don't let me have a title. You said I could.
EZ: It would be gross negligence to let you serve in a capacity where you could damage morale. How about Vice-President?
SM: Is that higher?
EZ: You'd be second only to the President, myself.
SM: I'm that anyway. It's only us, you *expletive deleted*. Whatever. I don't care anymore.
As you can see, a lot of details will have to be worked out at the next meeting. We've already hit some rough spots, but even America had to fight a revolution before they could become the country they did. Keep high hopes for the next commune Club meeting!º more columns

Every year when Christmas rolls around, kids everywhere are treated to the months of anticipation and hours of fun that only a really awesome Christmas present can bring. Unless they get a robot dog that's retarded.

Last year for Christmas I got a retarded robot dog. It doesn't do anything cool. I was hoping that my robot dog would have heat vision or at least be able to curse in French, but all it does is eat puppy food and pee on the couch. I told my mom and dad that we should check the instructions, because they probably put the batteries in backwards. That happened one year when I got the Hot Wheels Detailing Shop for Christmas and it started smoking and caught the drapes on fire. That wasn't such a big deal though since Billy Doogan down the street got the same thing and his Hot Wheels always looked lame after that, he could never get the paint to go on smooth and all of his cars looked like they were fresh out of a burn ward. But last year I was excited about the robot dog so I thought we should check the directions. My mom and dad said that Santa hadn't brought any directions but I think they were just afraid of being wrong again, like the year I wanted the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers video and it turned out dad got confused and got me Nightly Muff'n Pussy Rangers instead. Dad thought we should just keep it but mom made him take it back and get the right one.

So last year I was stuck with a retarded robot dog that probably had the batteries in backwards. Or maybe it's just deflective from the factory, but something's definitely wrong. My friend Carl Washbaum got a deflective Poo-Chi for his birthday one time and all it would do was rub it's butt on the floor while it made the noise from electronic battleship, and mine is at least ten times more screwed up than his. I even think that mine's getting bigger, which is definitely not supposed to happen. If it keeps this up, pretty soon I won't be able to close the lid on my toybox.

At least Carl's deflective Poo-Chi was fun for a while. We used to hide it under his older sister's bed and she would run around, looking for her cell phone every time it went off. Mine just makes whining noises and chews on an old tennis shoe. And if you thought a Tamagotchi had to be fed a lot, you obviously have never owned a retarded robot dog.

My parents thought I might have fun with my robot dog if I taught it to do some tricks. Billy Doogan has a robot parrot that he taught to say "Fuck You Asshole" just like in Terminator so I thought my robot dog might be able to do some cool tricks too. But unless you consider crapping on the kitchen floor to be a real special trick, my robot dog just plain sucks at tricks. No "Simon Says", no adapter to connect to my Nintendo 64, nothing. I did see him eat a potato beetle over by the pantry one time but I'm having a hard time figuring out how to impress my friends with that one.

It's hard not getting your butt kicked at school when you're missing a front tooth and you whistle when you say "Miss Spankenauber" in class. Everybody thinks you have a crush on the teacher and that means serious underwear violations. Richie Turner really does have a crush on Miss Spankenauber, but his dad brought him a GameCube from Japan last month so he's pretty much untouchable.

If you think a lousy retarded robot dog is going to keep me from coming home with snapped underwear elastic and that it's going to restore my status among my classmates, you're sorely mistaken. At this point, there's only one thing that's going to set things right: a robot dinosaur.

A robot dinosaur would be bound to do some awesome tricks, and probably could eat other kids' robot pets alive. Maybe even other kids. And I bet it could do my homework, too, or at least scare Miss Spankenauber into giving me less workbook pages to do every night. And I'm sure it's got some kind of flashcard mode or some kind of educational thing going on somewhere in there, easily making it a better choice than that lame-o "LearnCo Systems Tutoring Funputer" that I know my parents have been looking at. And I'd be willing to bet you never have to mash up a heartworm pill into a robot dinosaur's food every night.

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