I’m a fan of the TV show Dexter. He’s a Forensic Blood Spatter analyst for the Miami Dade Metro Police by day. By night he is the “Dark Avenger” – a serial killer with a near insatiable lust for murder (of those who deserve it).
Every time he lets loose the “dark passenger” inside him he inevitably has to clean up the mess (bet the fucking “dark passenger” doesn’t hang about for that bit, prick). The show, and the entertaining books, provide some details of how he goes about this.
The key points are thus:
1. Prepare your Death Room by lining the walls, floor, ceiling, windows and doors with copious amounts of plastic/polythene sheeting and heavy duty duct tape.
2. Post murder, cut your victim up into manageable chunks.
3. Wrap each manageable chunk in heavy duty black bin liners, taped closed with heavy duty duct tape.
4. Recover the, now heavily bloodstained, plastic/polythene sheeting from the Death Room and also wrap same up as per manageable chunks of human.
5. Finally, dispose of manageable chunks/plastic sheeting by taking out your motor boat a good distance into the Atlantic and throw over the side.
Knowing the above it makes you wonder how in the fuck the check out girl at B&Q didn’t suss him out? I mean he carried out a ridiculous amount of murder and cleaned it all up the same way! Pay peanuts you get unobservant, slack-jawed monkeys, I suppose.
Anyway, I digress.
Why do I bring up Dexter‘s methods of disposal? I bring it up as this was the position I found myself in immediately after my triumph over my evil doppelgänger…
As I looked down at the corpse of my clone on the bedroom floor I was besieged by a mixture of feelings. That of triumph and joy at victory combined with feelings of dread and panic over what to do with the body before the missus arrived home.
I thought back to episodes of Dexter and my own training as a CSI but decided there was no help to be gained there. Not with the time I had for disposal.
Then, suddenly, I was hit with an epiphany! The next most obvious means to dispose of a corpse of your very own evil twinner…freezing in carbonite!
I let a small, smug grin play out over my face, delighted that once again my genius level intellect could save my bacon by breaking the boundaries of accepted physical and natural laws.
I collected my hammer, chisel and #2 pencil, licked the tip (of the pencil) and got to work. 10 minutes later and my newly minted carbon freezing chamber was complete.
Without bothering to wash my hands after the build I heaved the heavy corpse of my clone to the operations deck of the the freezing apparatus. I balanced the corpse upright, as if standing under its on volition and meandered to the control terminal.
As my finger hovered over the big red “Freeze” button, I looked towards the clone, eyes watering slightly. “I love you” I said, and then, quietly, under my breath, whispered “I know” imagining it to have been said by the clone as it once was, many moons ago, by a charming rouge at the mining facility on Bespin Cloud City.
I thumbed the button and the Carbon Freezing Chamber began to work. The whole process took less than a few minutes to complete and, with an almighty clang, the carbonite encased body of my doppelgänger lay flat on the floor of the operations deck of my freshly built, and fully operational, carbon freezing chamber.
Next began the simple clean up. I manoeuvred the carbonite block (quite easily since it had anti-gravity generators installed into the underside of the casing) to the garden shed where I propped it upright and draped a sheet over it. Then, I quickly dismantled the freezing chamber mere moments before the return of the missus.
Result. Clone taken care of and no one any the wiser of my activities.
All was well for the next 7 days until, once again, I found myself alone in the house with nothing to do. I resisted for about an hour of solitude before I was again staring at the carbonite encased corpse of my clone.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I had to unfreeze it, even if just to exam the consequences of carbon freezing a dead body.
I punched in the commands to the control panel on the block and stepped back. The block melted away in a fusion of light, heat and rapturous music to reveal…
…my clone, shrunken to size that would allow it, if still alive, to take Kenny Baker’s place inside R2-D2! It seems as though the process that causes temporary blindness in living subjects serves to shrink the body of a decased subject. Fascinating.
I lifted up the diminutive reproduction and examined it. It was a perfect and oh-so cute (as most little things are) and I knew then exactly what to do with it.
You may, dear reader, remember that a few episodes back I described the business of creating an image to advertise t-shirts from Darkbunnytees (and the events thereafter that led directly to the creation of the Carbon Freezing Chamber).
Well, I had received word that the judges on the competition had been bribed and that my entry would not be the victor as it should so obviously be. This put in a bit of a bad mood and angry at this usurping I tasked my superior mind to come up with a new competition for me to show my prowess and ultimately win and, as I gazed at the miniature clone, I now knew what that competition would be…
…I was to perform as a ventriloquist on Britain’s Got Talent.
I got work, deftly slicing and dicing at the clone’s face in order to give him the required ventriloquist dummy style mouth. A dab of make up here and there to hide the grey pallor and highlight the cheeks and nose and I was ready to go.
Fast forward 2 days and I was preparing to go on stage towards my new destiny. Lubed up to the max I got the clone/dummy into position, squeezing and manoeuvring until I was wearing it firmly, like a glove and I took to the stage.
I performed my act, throwing my voice around like a ninja launching throwing stars at a samurai. The crowd were cheering, screaming my name. I could see Ant & Dec off-stage tearing up with joy and expectation. This was my moment.
I sensed Simon Cowell pulling his trousers up a few more inches in respect of my act. I witnessed (along with the entire crowd) Amanda Holden wiping herself down post-orgasm. Then I looked towards Piers Morgan.
But Piers wasn’t there. It was someone else. Someone…familiar.
Then realisation dawned.
It was the same man that I had discovered had bribed the judges in the Darkbunnytees competition. He was here now, as one of the judges on Britain’s Got Talent.
I narrowed my eyes at him and he responded in kind and winked. The bastard! He must’ve set up another bribe situation. I thought to myself that, surely, any bribe would not stop Holden voting yes (not after the power of that orgasm she had just had watching my act) but Cowell, he was the weak link.
I waited, with baited breath as the result was proferred to me.
I was not to progress to the next round. Damn you Cowell and damn you unknown stranger.
I stood, as the crowd gasped at the result, and pointed, with my left arm, toward the judges and exclaimed:
“I will have my revenge, stranger. Oh, yes. I will have my revenge!”
The stranger stared at me saying nothing as I stalked from the stage to cries from Amanda Holden to come back as she had “never experienced an orgasm like that before” and must have one again. I stopped, looked at the Holden, removed the clone from my left arm and threw it to the ground.
“There,” I said, “that will do the trick for you Holden as it is probably just the right size to fill the gaping void that is your vadge” and continued my exit.
I knew, as I stalked along the road and away from the Britain’s Got Talent studio, that my fleeting experimentation with cloning was over. Now all my energies and superior genius brain would be put to use finding out who this mysterious, competition ruining, stranger was and ultimately, to find a way to destroy him.
Here ends The Clone Saga. A tale of unusually creative scientific breakthroughs and abominable sexual conquest.
A tale possibly best forgotten…
…as most tales are.
In the end.