Failed Experiment Produces Hideous Miniature Clone

enetic science took a step backward last week when the creation of a bald, chubby failed clone was revealed by members of the Raelian sect.

"They have attempted to play god, and they have failed," said someone in our newsroom.

The cloning was carried out by Clonaid, a terribly on-the-nose named company founded by members of the Raelian sect, who believe human beings were created by alien scientists years ago. In case you're wondering, yes, they are being completely sincere when they say that. Members of the socially unapproved religion announced their disappointment when the experiment yielded a clone one-eighth the size of the original, hairless, fatty, and with inhibited intelligence and language skills.

"Imagine our dismay when our optimistic attempts resulted in a hideous, miniature version of the DNA donor," said Clonaid spokesperson Brigitte Boisselier. "Perhaps we have exceeded the limits of human capability, but our intentions were good. And we are not giving up yet. The next clones we are producing are due for next week, and we are waiting to see if they are successful."

Though Clonaid revealed little of its methodology, they did speculate the process of incubating the clone in the DNA donor's body for nine months may have been a misstep in the procedure. According to outside calculations, simple physics dictate an exact duplicate could not be produced within the original since the amount of space needed to house a duplicate of equal size would have to be bigger than the original.

Clonaid scientists considered the possibility of the clone outgrowing the host and bursting right through the body, like that scene in Alien or Pras in that "Ghetto Supastar" video, and the scientists considered it had begun to happen, but instead the failed experiment escaped through an existing orifice after hours of laborious effort. It was then they realized the experiment had failed, producing a smallish, demonesque humanoid of sub-human intelligence.

"We have not given up hope that the creature may offer us some insight as to what went wrong, and we have continued attempts to communicate with it," said Boisselier at a press conference. "So far the monstrosity only emits ear-piercing screaming and claws at any who approach it. Our scientists are working to decode its screams and construct a common language, but the sounds are animalistic and will likely be a dead avenue. It is probably just crying out in pain, begging to be put out of its misery."

When asked if there were a chance the creature was unrelated to the clone experiment, Boisselier said the possibility was considered and rejected.

"It is quite clearly a clone of some form, though definitely not what we intended. We brought in the DNA donor for identification, and the creature definitely has the donor's eyes, as well as her cute little nose and dimples. We were going to risk contact between the donor and the creature, but then the small one made a boom boom."

The experiment may have other results as well, pushing lawmakers to create legislation in response to the first human clone, besides possible Tom Cruise clone Peter Facinelli, and evoking edicts from the world's religious leaders.

"Life is sacred, and it is not man's place to play God," said the Pope, mumbling in Latin. "I'm not one to say I told you so, but…"

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In ancient times, the land area that is now Iraq was famous as the birthplace of the donut. A romantic land rich in donut-making resources, Iraq was the envy of pastry-loving empires both far and wide. All was well until neighboring Iran developed the bagel, a less enjoyable but more religiously sanctioned round breakfast food. The ensuing bad blood led to several wars and snide remarks between the nations that have persisted to this day.

Originally, the land of Iraq was called Sumeria, because they didn't know yet that it was Iraq. Actually, originally it was just some primordial goop deep underwater, filled with little one-celled nasties having sex and eating each other, but that timeline is beyond the scope of our column today. In recognizable human terms, the land was originally Sumeria. The Sumers were a decent folk, which is exactly why they were conquered and raped to death by the Akkordians in 2300 BC. A vile and heartless people fond of inventing annoying musical instruments, the Akkordians took thousands of years of Sumerian agricultural and cultural development and cocked them all up, and after a few decades they had nothing left but a handful of stale beans and polka music.

Eventually the Babylonians came and kicked their strange asses out of town. Peace and prosperity returned to the region and the people lived in happiness. Which, understandably, bored them to tears. The prosperous Babylonians grew cocky, especially king Hummerabi, who reveled in putting the neighboring Assyrians in their place. One day Hummerabi went too far when he enraged the king of Assyria by sending him a plaque on his birthday that featured two gold walnuts over the inscription "Nuts to You."

People lived to conquer back in those days, since your arid desert kingdom and nagging wenches never seemed as appealing as the other guy's. So the birthday prank was all the invitation that Assyria needed to attack Babylonia and conquer it. This was all fine and good, since the people had seen it all before and frankly were bored of being conquered, until the Assyrians passed a law saying no cursing on Sundays. Now, the Babylonians were some cursing motherfuckers, and they weren't about to let some bitch-assed Assyrians come in and tell them what the fuck they could say and what they couldn't. So the people rose up and put the smackdown on Assyria, wishing the Assyrians a pleasant fucking voyage as they rode them out of town on a rail.

Eventually a man named Nebuchadnezzar (Babylonian for "naked at noon") rose to lead Babylonia to great heights of power and wealth. Known for stunning the enemy by appearing in battle stark raving naked, Nebuchadnezzar (known from here on out as "Neb" to prevent carpal-tunnel damage) led the Babylonians in conquering all of Assyria and destroying all of the wonderful culture and science the Assyrians had developed over hundreds of years. While the Babylonians were celebrating their victory, Neb also conquered Judea and Jerusalem without telling anyone. Before long, Neb's conquering became a serious problem and his friends had to hold an intervention, which was less than successful since he stormed out in the middle and conquered the Cassites.

Thankfully for the rest of the free world, Neb got ahold of a bad egg while conquering the Mitanni and died of salmonella. The world rejoiced a second time when Neb's son Nebuchadnezzar II turned out to be gay, and instead of conquering everything in sight he built the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, which he kept saying were for his "wife" but nobody bought that worn-out old chestnut.

Babylonia rose to unprecedented power and distinction under Neb II, since all of their resources weren't going toward ridding the planet of the scourge of non-Babylonians. After the death of Neb II, the land was conquered in succession by Cyrus the Great, Alexander the Great and Ted the Good Father. The Persians won the land in a promotional sweepstakes, and though they moved in they never stopped complaining about the sand on their nice rugs. Eventually the Muslims came to town and blew the shit out of everybody, even though there were only about three of them, but they meant business.

Thanks to a progressive "Muslim or die!" philosophy on the part of the region's new landlords, the area remained Muslim until Genghis Khan showed up in 1219. In the mean time, Baghdad had become the center of world power and higher learning, which meant it was about time for some asshole with a club to come and kill everyone. Sure enough, that's what Genghis did, pausing only briefly when he himself died in 1227. To the surprise of few, Genghis' son popped out of his father's corpse like some kind of insane matrioshka doll and continued the continent-wide rampage that was his father's dream for humanity.

Eventually the Mongols died off, or more accurately, ate each other, and Iraq was without leadership. Several different gangs ruled Iraq at one time or another, including the Ding Dong Daddies and the Sand Badgers. Leather jacket motorcycle rumbles in the street were common, or at least their camel-based equivalents.

Eventually the Ottomans took over, ruling the land fairly and with exceptional foot comfort. Of course the Ottomans got greedy when they made a play for the whole couch in WWII and were ordered to go piss off and die. The British then ruled Iraq until the 1960's, when they were so into the Beatles they forgot about the Middle East entirely and Iraq snuck out after curfew and declared its independence.

The rest of the story has been pretty well covered by Tom Clancy and on Entertainment Tonight. It's the usual story: ineffectual leaders and kings are blown up left and right, and Saddam becomes president after shiving some dude in the shower. Iraq attacks Iran in 1980, still pissed about the bagel thing. Iraq attacks Kuwait in 1990 because they won't stop touching Iraq's border, and the US steps in to intervene, figuring it'll be good for a few bear claws and pink donuts with sprinkles. That brings us to the present day, as Iraqis wait out the US hamburger-bombing of their country, waiting out this latest conquering in hopes that they'll come out of the deal with a Hard Rock Café in the end.

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Let the word come down from the Mountaintops, which is Red Bagel's nickname for the commune offices: Clarissa Coleman needs work. Sure, anyone who knows me knows I want work, but now I need work. My legal troubles are finished now, you may have seen the segment on Court TV or read about the out-of-court settlement in the paper, or The Guinness Book of World Records, the page on outrageous payoffs. Damn Jerry Nascar, that's all I'm saying. As for you-know-who, the nice lady who filed the lawsuit, I'm not legally allowed to mention her name ever again. So let's pretend I'm referring to someone else whenever I use the word Skankabitch.

Getting back to work, which is what I'm here for, let's just say the settlement is bad enough, but I've got legal fees by the buttload. Before all this, work was just some way to have fun and a shortcut to fame. Now it's do-or-die. I'm not having luck finding too many high-profile film and television roles to pay the bills—of course, that was the story before Skankabitch sued. So now I have to shorten the list of stuff I won't do even more. It's a talent clearance sale—every one must go.

It's a great sale for producers of weird shows. C.S.I., you listening? I'll even play a dead body. Bullets fly through my head, shatter brain and bone and crap—it looks like it hurts, but I'll try anything once. Any shows where I have to wear a prosthetic piece or a mask or anything, I'll do it. Put me in a gorilla suit, who cares? I don't even need any speaking lines. I'm eager to work. None of it can be any more humiliating than playing the ukelele with Taco on Conan O'Brien.

I turned down a reality series last year, before this bullshit came along. If you're one of those producers of Help! I'm a Celebrity, Don't Give Me a Sexually-Transmitted Disease I'm ready to talk contract terms now. Maybe you'll get on the air this year if you get bigger star power than Willie Tyler and Lester. So put me on the show. I'll call house meetings and everything, pretend like my feelings are hurt and stuff. I watch all those freak shows.

Not everybody's a producer, I know. Some people aren't involved with the wonderland that is television, not officially, but that shouldn't stop you. You want to make a funny home video? Have your kid swing a croquet hammer, hit me in the nuts—I don't have nuts, of course, but for a good-size paycheck I'll act like I have nuts. Rig a house to fall in, I'll make it look like it all happened by accident, I'll even make the funny noise so the video people don't have to do that. Or we'll sing some duet like Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond, I'll make them really believe you don't bring me flowers no more. Hell, I'm not picky. Don't send the video in, let's just make it for your own entertainment, you and your friends. We'll recreate all your favorite episodes of Who's Your Daddy?.

It's not limited to shows either. I can do the stage. We'll put on a burlesque act, like they used to do in France when it was classy and cool, or like they do now in Alabama. I do tame shit, too. I'll sing the Fabulous Thunderbirds at your daughter's Bat Mitzvah. I can do birthday parties, private Labor Day telethons, whatever your big deal is. Have a friend who's in the hospital and think it would be funny for a celebrity to visit them? Let's do it. Let's make it happen.

What I'm trying to say is, I need money, and I'm not picky. Just in case I didn't make it obvious. And just to save anybody else the troubles I've gone through, don't ever hire Jerry Nascar as an attorney. He knows dick about the law, like the judge says, and his "Thirty Minutes or it's Not Free" offer is trickier than it sounds.

I have to go over to Nascar's office right now. I'm doing a commercial for him to help pay off the legal bills.

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