Don’t get ahead of me, but I think it’s true. There could be hundreds - even thousands – of clones of me running around, doing who knows what! It all started with a bike ride.
I was meeting a friend for lunch, but I wanted to squeeze in a little exercise beforehand so I hurriedly jumped on my bike and started out on my usual route. I rode most of the way without incident but I encountered a small problem on the home stretch.
There had been a car accident a few hours before at the intersection right by my apartment and the intersection was littered with little pieces of grille, headlight and taillight. One of the cars had also leaked antifreeze everyplace and there was a big patch of it that was soaking into the asphalt.
I didn’t know it at the time, but later I looked up the chemical formula for antifreeze (ehtylene glycol) and it is HOCH2CH2OH. Anyone who has taken Chem 101 can tell you that a substance that contains a lot of “H” means it can be scientifically classified as “wicked slippery.”
To make matters worse, the road back to my apartment is all downhill and my bike tires are bald, which means “good luck stopping, sucker!” Mathematically, my experience could be plotted out like this:
downhill + bald tires + accident debris + antifreeze = EPIC CRASH
That’s right. I ate it. Wiped out and sprawled all over the street. I didn’t really have any other options, you know? Here is a diagram of my injuries:
As you can see, it could have been worse. All of my man parts are intact, except for my ego. It was badly damaged in the accident because I crashed right in the middle of a busy intersection. No less than 20 drivers, five pedestrians and one poodle all saw me splatter all over the asphalt. And no less than 20 drivers, five pedestrians and one poodle all subsequently proceeded to laugh their respective heads off.
So I picked myself up and wobbled home to clean myself off. I scrubbed all the asphalt out with soap and water and then applied some rubbing alcohol, a process that always involves a lot of profanity. Afterward my knees looked like this:
As you can see I left a substantial chunk of my knees back at the intersection. I started to worry because that’s a bunch of my DNA right there on the pavement, ripe for the taking. Any evil organization could come by, scoop it up and use it to make clones of me, which they could use for all sort of sordid purposes. (I think I have a thing with clones.)
Right now my knee scrapings are simmering in a bunch of cloning vats that some evil corporation is using to turn out some Jesse-clone-assassins, or maybe an army of Jesse-super-soldiers. Why? Because with my killer physique and genius mind, I am the perfect candidate for cloning if an evil corporation or government agency wants to make top-notch assassins/soldiers/spies, that’s why! They’ve been waiting to get their filthy hands on my DNA for years, and now they’ve finally succeeded. Curse you, antifreeze! A clone could be writing this very blog for all I know.
So if you see me walking around, make sure it’s The Real Jesse before you tell me anything confidential. I would hate for one of my clones to spread it around.