Do you want some pie, boy? - Pigdog Journal




Yeah, that was big news MONTHS AGO.
-- Crack Monkey


Clones in Guelph (cont'd)

Clone culture began with security for the President of the United States. The President needed a look-alike to fill in for him during public occasions in case he was assassinated. The existence of the look-alike was kept secret for security reasons, and he was known only to top officials at the White House. While he had no official status, and no official identity and in effect did not exist as a person in his own right, he carried a great amount of power. He was so close in appearance to the President that it was possible for him to take some of the Presidential responsibilities into his own hands.

Some of the chief security people for the White House had connections with top business people and organized crime people around the world. It became known that the President was really more than one person. Extremely rich people with many responsibilities began to emulate the President and hire clones for themselves. They did this for three reasons: 1) One person could not do as much as several people. 2) If the head of a corporation was assassinated another figurehead could seamlessly step in and take his place. 3) It became a status symbol among the top echelons of world power to have more than one self.

Plastic surgery was expensive, and a secret new breed of medical people began to exist to create clones. Surgical techniques were developed for making clones which far exceeded medical science available to the normal population. There were a few gurus of plastic surgery who were valued by the top echelons of world power in the realms of business, organized crime, and politics who lived secretly in Guelph. Guelph General Hospital was in fact a haven for the clone doctors.

Clone culture was not entirely legal. Clones would have one identity, one driver's licence, and one social security number. Clone life was dangerous. If a clone was murdered, there was no way of proving it since clones had no official existence. Clone society was closed and entirely secretive, because clones felt that they would never be accepted nor understood by normal society. To live in Guelph one must be either totally oblivious to clone culture, or one must be sympathetic to it.

I asked the Lennys to confide in me. I wanted to know them as individuals. But Lenny insisted that he was only one person. I could never get him to admit that he was a clone. I began to be plagued by jealousies. I wondered where some of him were while he was with me. I was always with one of him, I was never alone. But what did the rest of him do while I was with one of him? Did they truly love me? I tried not to ask about his other selves because he seemed bothered by my questions. I could see that his loyalty to his selves exceeded his confidence in me.

I realized that Erin's murder was hushed up because Erin was involved with clones. I had never known her to have other selves, but while I was in boarding school with her I had not had the benefit of the secret radio and television broadcasts to enlighten me as to clone culture. If Erin was in fact a clone, then public knowledge of her murder would endanger the existence of her clones. If she was known to be dead, then they would have no image to live for.

What I now knew about clones made some distressing details about my life make sense. I had noticed that my parents changed several times as I was growing up. Sometimes my father had blue eyes, and sometimes he had green eyes. The temperaments of both my parents seemed to radically change at different points during my life. It was obvious to me now that I had been raised by a series of clones.

But why had I been raised by clones? Who would go to such expense to raise me? Surely my clone parents were security people, with rotating assignments. I vaguely remembered being told that my parents had been killed in a car crash while they were on holidays in Montreal. Then identical parents were brought in to replace them. Perhaps someone did not want me to be upset about losing my parents, so they were replaced? But what was I doing with a set of clone parents in the first place?

I began to remember being very small, and living in a different place. My father was a spy. I had heard secrets that I was not supposed to hear, so I had to be guarded to make sure I did not mention those secrets to the wrong people. That must be why I had a series of clone parents as I was growing up. Clones were a secret but well established practice in the security industry.

Since I was living with clones and was in love with them, and my whole life seemed to have gravitated around clones, I was very curious about how they thought. It must be an unusual experience for there to be several people who looked exactly like you who shared your identity. Secrecy would become a second nature. All of Guelph seemed to share in this secrecy, and its people seemed to have a tacit shared understanding.

I thought about clone love. The bond among clones seemed stronger than anything I could imagine. It seemed an ultimate form of narcissism. I wished to know what it was like. One day the television told me to go to the store and get some milk. I believe that I was hypnotized by the secret broadcasts, as a gift, to be able to understand what it was like to love as a clone. As I was walking down the street beside the river, I felt my stride change to become more masculine. I felt my hair become short and brown, and my mouth become wider. As I paused at the corner for a red light, I saw him. A man in my image. I felt a joy that exceeded every pleasure I had ever felt before. He was on the opposite corner, waiting to cross the street. He had brown hair and a wide mouth. The light changed and we began to cross the street. He smiled glowingly at me, and I knew that he recognized himself in me as I recognized myself in him. As we passed in the street we nodded at each other, and then the illusion vanished. I was left with a new appreciation for what the Lennys must feel for each other.

Another plane flew overhead as I was entering the store. I wondered why I was being kept under such heavy surveillance. All of Guelph seemed to be full of security people. I was learning to pick up their subtle cues to each other. The store seemed full of quietly serious people, all hyper-aware and wired for sound. I passed by them towards the big refrigerators at the back of the store where I reached for the milk, politely trying to avoid letting on that I knew they were security people. I went to pay for the milk. The woman behind the counter seemed strange. She was immensely corpulent, with beautiful skin. So much beautiful skin. Then I realized something which scared me. She was growing skin to be used by the plastic surgeons. She was being fat farmed for the clones.



Over.  End of Story.  Go home now.

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