The Clone Bores

(Our alarms have gone off. My fiancée, who has to go to work, and I are awake, but I’m still rather sleepy and talking all childish/cutesy. I’m also handicapped.)

Me: “You have to geddup. Geddup… and go… to pony.”

Fiancée: “To pony, huh?”

Me: “Yeah. And when you get home, your [my name]s will be waiting for you.”

Fiancée: “[My name]s? You’re plural, now?”

Me: “Yeah. I finally got the cloning machine to work. I was able to filter out all the medical problems with the first one, but he was stupid.”

Fiancée: “Okay.”

Me: “The next one, I was able to filter out the stupid, but he had the medical problems again.”

Fiancée: “Oh, that’s too bad.”

Me: “Yeah. So, the third one? I was able to filter out the stupid and the medical problems, but he had boobs, and I can’t get him to do anything.”

Fiancée: “Oh?”

Me: “Yeah…hHe just sits and plays with his boobs all day.”

Fiancée: “I think you should go back to sleep, nutcase.”

Me: “I would, but it’s getting crowded with all these clones.”