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…"

002 was a banner year for news. As long as the banner said, “BO-RING!�

Yes, as we reach the beginning of a brand new news year, we look back on 2002 with more than a slight Elvis sneer of derision, like a party guest finally leaving with a heavy hangover and leaving our sofa and rug stained with vomit. 2002 may go down in the history books as, “The Year of ‘…Anyway…’�

Like a half-assed sitcom following Friends and preceding ER, much of 2002 felt squashed in-between two major news periods. Following hot on the heels of the events of Sept. 11^th and the bombing of Afghanistan that heralded the War on Terror, things settled down into a dreary boredom in 2002 as Americans waited for big news events that still have yet to come—the bombing of Iraq, a resolution to the North Korea situation, and any evidence Osama bin Laden is alive or dead. All original and fascinating news is being greedily reserved by the newsmakers, as if they’re holding out for a news sweeps week.

Early 2002 was host to the Winter Olympics, the globally-conceded most boring of all Olympics, in the globally-conceded most boring state in the union, Utah. Thank whatever you call a God for the much-covered flap when ice-skating Canadians David Pelletier and Jamie Salé were robbed of their rightful gold medal by a sly-footed French judge, or your only memories of it would be a gaggle of fruitcakes slapping a puck with a stick in the atrocity called “curling.�

Much of the early news year was limited to the images of Enron’s senior staff shrugging before a Senate sub-committee with a less-than-convincing “I dunno,� followed by footage of a shrapnel-filled site in downtown Israel as the violence that made the Middle East famous escalated to ludicrous heights, until an all-out assault on Yassir Arafat’s bunker broke the boredom very briefly. There was also Ray Brent Marsh, the Georgia crematorium owner who tossed the bodies in the lake and passed the savings on to you. Thanks to Marsh, along with multiple kidslaughter defendant Andrea Yates and the hockey dad who loved local sports a bit too much, the first few months of 2002 news were occasionally livened up by local heroes.

An historical Oscar win for Best Actor and Best Actress by African-Americans Denzel Washington and Halle Berry helped draw attention away from the fact the Hollywood community now considers Opie the Best Director in its midst. Even the biggest celebrity murderer of the year was only former Little Rascal Robert Blake, leaving Court-TV to wait patiently for the shoplifting trial of Winona Ryder.

Summer gave everyone a little hope for a brighter news year when nine miners faced certain doom, trapped in a mine shaft, and no one was happier when they were retrieved alive and healthy. Then the week ended and everyone went back to bitching about terrorism and the tumbling stock market.

As the rate of insane presidential utterances concerning Iraq increased, Americans hit the peak of the news year when a series of sniper attacks across America finally put an end to superfluous Elvis coverage. However, it wasn’t enough to save a pisser as a news year, and after the sniper suspects were arrested America quieted once again. Republicans received a boost from a record low-voter turnout off-year election and Trent Lott’s ill-conceived pro-segregationist remarks embarrassed the Bush administration, something that is truly hard to do.

News pundits have a great case for 21^st century to be the most boring yet, but the commune news is quick to remind everyone 1901-1910 was a pretty crappy decade for news and the 20^th century didn’t heat up until the sinking of the Titanic and World War I. We can make this one even better, just keep working at it.

Like any God-fearing man, Omar Bricks is careful to make a New Year's Resolution every year. Not that I'm all that religious, at least not since being banned from church for impersonating the Pope at a bake sale years ago. But the way I see it, it's best to stay on God's good side, in case he exists. So every year I resolve something.

One year it was to make a shitload of money. The next year it was to quit gambling and get out of debt, not to mention getting the mob off my back. Another year I resolved to be a Big Brother to some underprivileged kid, until I found out that was a different thing than living in a house with a bunch of hot bimbos and everything you do is on TV. One year I resolved to only eat things I like, but a few days later I accidentally ate at a White Castle when I was piss drunk, so that didn't last too long. Most of the resolutions don't turn out so well, to be perfectly honest, except for the year I resolved to quit smoking. I'd never smoked before, but I still went the whole year without starting up the habit. So I think that counts.

This year I've resolved to spend more time naked. This may seem similar to last year's resolution, which was to see Salma Hayek naked, but I figure it's different enough to qualify. After you die, they stuff you in some ridiculous monkey suit in a box for all of eternity; so really, you have to take advantage of your available naked time while you can. The way I look at it, I've already wasted too many of my prime naked years. Conservative parents, misguided high school teachers and small-minded local cops have kept this bod under wraps for far too long.

I realize this is a big resolution, bigger than most, so I've been making some dry runs at it these last few weeks that have been going pretty well. People are generally pretty cool about you being naked at the health club, though I did get some dirty looks on the treadmill. Most likely jealously, since most people can't run that fast when they're naked. It's a little trick I picked up while I was on vacation in Norway one year. I was taking a shower on the plane and the fuckers landed and cleared out all the luggage while I was in the bathroom. Granted, I was in there a while, but I'm not the one that designed those things so crazy, putting a toilet and trash can and all that shit in the shower. The least they could do would be to put a showerhead in there that's higher than nutsack level, it's not like that many midgets fly coach.

So I get out of the shower and all my bags with my clothes in them are gone, and there's just some cleaning lady on the plane who looks at me like she's never seen that much naked man before. As a matter of fact, I don't think the city of Oslo had ever seen that much naked man before, but I managed to sprint to a clothes store without too much incident and it was pretty cool to feel like I was in the movie Terminator with the Norwegian audio track on.

Other places are not so cool with you being naked, or at least they're able to make their disapproval heard in English. Toys 'R Us is downright fascist about not having any naked guys running around in their stores. I could understand them not wanting any naked little kids running around who don't know a Gamecube from a training toilet, but it's not like nudity is contagious. All they need is some cardboard sign of a naked giraffe saying you've got to be this tall to be naked in the store, problem solved.

Most restaurants are pretty weird about nudity, too. Maybe it's because they don't think you'll be able to pay if you don't have any obvious place to carry a wallet, I don't know. They might have been worried I was going to ass up the booth but if that's all it was I would have been more than happy to sit on a napkin or one of those toilet-seat horseshoes or something. Let that be a lesson, people, sometimes it pays just to ask.

To me, the weirdest nudity policy has got to be at the community swimming pool. It's like these people don't think the water is going to find a way to sneak around their bathing suits and touch all their junk anyway, they want to string me up for cutting out the middleman. I'm not sure why swimming and hypocrisy go hand in hand, but they do.

I think the success of my 2003 resolution is going to depend mainly on finding naked-friendly places and spending lots of time there. Thankfully the commune offices revoked their dress code long ago, after Ramrod Hurley sued over Lil Duncan not being able to wear things from the slutty end of her wardrobe. Which if you ask me is both ends and the middle, but that's not my business. Right now my business revolves squarely around finding some kind of fuzzy ass-friendly cover for this office chair, because this vinyl clings like a motherfucker.

Wish me luck, and warm weather. Bricks Out.

º Last Column: Shut-In and Shit On
º more columns