Three's a Crowd!

By Wil Forbis
I was sitting around the Acid Logic offices last weekend and couldn't help notice that things seemed quiet. "It hasn't been the same since the layoffs," I thought and poured a glass of whiskey from one of the nearby Jim Bean bottles that had been piling up around my desk. I was having an inner debate with myself as to whether I could summon the lung power to inflate, Susie, the blow up doll my mother had given me for Christmas when a knock came on the door.

"Yes?" I asked as I swung open the office door to be greeted by... myself? Standing before me was an individual who looked exactly like me, down to the distinguished gray turtleneck, brown corduroy pants, and timid good looks that would give George Cloony a run for his money.

"Y-Y-You're me!" I stammered out, aghast.
"No, you're me," the Wil duplicate replied.
"No, you're me!" I angrily replied.
"Nope, you're me," He responded.
"You're me!"
"Nope, you're me"
"You're me!"
"Nope, you're me"
"Dude!"
"Sweet!"
"Dude!"
"Sweet!"
"Dude!"
"Sweet!"

Finally, I put and end to the travesty by saying "Okay, already, you're me…but how can this be? Are you the long lost twin brother my mother always bemoaned the loss of… The one without the attention deficit disorder?"

"Not at all," the duplicate me replied. "I'm your clone. I've traveled from the future to visit you."

"Ahhh," I replied. "Of course."

"You see," the clone continued. "I come from the year 2345. In the future the concept of your "acid logic" is realized to be the most fundamentally profound philosophy of all time and it was decided that our scientists should create clones of you from existing hair samples in order to bask in your perfection."

"Well, that seems reasonable enough," I offered. "But cloning? In my day, the concept of cloning is something most people find objectionable at best, and they talk of doomsday scenarios where the world is run by a thousand Adolph Hitlers running around exterminating everyone."

"Yes, the people of your time are indeed a savage and misguided group" my clone replied, verifying my own beliefs. "Your primitive objections to scientific breakthroughs such as cloning or the use of aborted fetuses for genetic research are quite foolish."

"Hold on," I queried. "You approve of aborted fetus research?"

"Absolutely" said the Wil-Clone. "My host father's cancers were defeated through knowledge gained via aborted fetus research. We love aborted fetuses in the future. They also make great sushi."

"Wow," I said, my brain reeling in an attempt to take it all in. "Now you said that your scientists have created clones of me. There's more than just you?"

"Absolutely! In fact Wil Forbis, there's someone I'd like you to meet." My clone gestured to a shadowy figure in the hallway and that figure came forth, revealing himself to be yet another spectacular rendition of my trim and stylishly dressed form.

"Wil Forbis," the first clone said, "I'd like you to meet Wil-Clone #2, or as I call him, 'Bob'"

"Another clone!" I exclaimed. "Do you know what this means?"

"Absolutely," the first clone replied. "Seeing duplicates of yourself must require a profound adjustment of your world view and shake your deepest concepts of …"

"It means that at long last my girlfriend can finally have sex with me three times in one night" I boasted.

"Uhh, actually, I don't know about that," Clone #1 explained. "I happen to be celibate and Bob isn't an exact duplicate of you. He has a tendency to swing the other way if you know what I mean…?"

"Swing the other…?" I repeated, a befuddled look crossing my face "You mean he dances to swing music?"

"No, no," Clone #1 replied. "He… you know, marches to the beat of a different drummer."

"Oh, I gotcha" I said as the epiphany hit me. "He plays drums in a swing band! Great, I love Glen Miller and the sharp sounds of Archie…"

"NO, YOU IDIOT!" Clone #1 exploded. "HE'S QUEER!"

"Jesus, you don't have to yell," I said, genuinely wounded.

"He is a big meany, isn't he, "Clone #2 said, putting a reassuring arm around me. "But you're kind of a cutie. Let's ditch him and go to the nearest Hamburger Mary's. I've got a hankering for their chicken wings and mustard sauce"

"Uncanny…" I said while stepping back to avoid the amorous advances of… myself. "I love their chicken wings too. But this opens up so many questions. Is cloning in the future safe? Don't people wonder if you have souls?"

"It's absolutely safe" Clone #1 replied. "And we have just as much soul as you…"

"I love to dance!" Clone #2 interrupted

"Of course," Clone #1 continued, "We happen to know plenty of people have accused you of being a soulless heathen who regularly mocks the misery of others for his own loutish enjoyment… so maybe claiming that we have as much soul as you isn't saying a whole lot."

"Ahhh, don't listen to my mother's blatherings." I argued. "I'm a big ol' fuzzball. Listen, it seems to me I'd be much happier in this future world where all my work is finally recognized for the vast genius that it is. Can you take me back to the future in your time machine?"

"Absolutely," both clones enthused. "In our world you will be worshipped like a king. Your wit, geek-like sense of style and love affair with inane celebrity trivia are all understood and enjoyed in the future. Plus, we have robot prostitutes! It'll be the time of your life!"

"I can't wait," I said "A world where everyone appreciates a baked salmon dinner, the films of Woody Allen, the comedy of Stan Freberg, the writing of Lester Bangs, and the music of Gilby Clarke's oft ignored album, "Pawnshop Guitars.""

"Certainly," Clone #1 said. "Waitasec… did you say Gilby Clarke?"

"Of course," I replied. "You have to admit that his merging of Rolling Stone-esque songwriting with a nineties pop sensibility produced one of the greatest albums of…"

"GILBY CLARKE SUCKS!" chimed in Clone #2. "I thought you liked Devo!"

"Well, sure, Devo's great," I stated. "But hey, I wanted to expand my horizons. You can't listen to Devo forever."

"Sure you can!" Clone #1 exploded again, showcasing a violent, poorly controlled rage that seemed strangely familiar. "In the future, anything to do with Guns-n-Roses is universally diagnosed as crap. We're not taking you anywhere. You're an embarrassment to our genes."

"Oh yeah!" I pitchawed. "I'm not the one eating fetus sushi!"

"We're so oughtta here, Bob," Clone #1 said, grabbing his brother. "I think we'll do some sightseeing in this Neanderthal time period, then head back to our future. Let's leave our primitive forbearer behind."

"Wait!" I called out to them as they walked down to the hallway. "Take me with you! I need to go somewhere where I'm respected, even loved. Because here I'm so…so… alone."

Three days later my girlfriend called me up to tell me that she was breaking up with me. She said she'd run into my long lost twin brothers and that they were great in the sack and not opposed to doing a little bi-action.

 

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Wil Forbis is a well known international playboy who lives a fast paced life attending chic parties, performing feats of derring-do and making love to the world's most beautiful women. Together with his partner, Scrotum-Boy, he is making the world safe for democracy. Email - acidlogic@hotmail.com

Visit Wil's web log, My So-Called Penis, and receive complete enlightenment.