“Say it isn’t so,” I murmured to myself, overcome by fear. “Can this be happening?”
I realized they’re right; cloning must be stopped before it mushrooms out of control.
I came to this conclusion the other week when I read about “CopyCat,” the feline clone produced by researchers at Texas A&M University. I hoped this was a sick joke, but I soon realized it was the real deal, and I began to imagine the horrific outcome of this evil experiment: More cats, and worse, more cats from Texas.
Although I’m a firm believer in the doctrine of One Love, I admit that there are two life forms I have come to despise during my time on this earth: cats and Texans. I mean, who besides a bunch of Texans could be belligerent enough to actually want to clone cats? What’s next, mosquitoes?
If they have the technology and utter lack of morals to plague the world with more pesky cats, what’s to stop them from cloning more Texans; after all, there’s nothing a red-blooded Texan likes more than a Texan. I can see it now: America gets taken over by hootin’ and hollerin’, slick talkin’, tall-tale tellin’ oil farmers who use their army of hypnotic pussies and high school football player clones to make annoying accents and those pathetic, skinny little neckties Constitutional requirements. Hell, a Texan could even be elected president.
Texans, much like conniving cats, can’t be trusted. This is the state that gave us Enron, Lee Harvey Oswald and Juneteenth. But unlike cats, my disgust toward Texans did not develop until my high school began to be infiltrated with this mesmerizing and crafty breed of American. Not only were these people high school football talkin’, steer wrestlin’ and queer-bashin’ rednecks – but they wouldn’t stop talking about how proud they were of it.
To be fair, there are plenty of fine folks who live in the beautiful cities of San Antonio and Austin, but they are outnumbered like Crockett and Boone at the Alamo.
As you read this, cats and Texans are multiplying by the who-knows-how many, but I’m determined to halt this wicked cloning before it’s too late – that’s right, I’ve got a plan.
I will recruit my own team of genetic researchers, funded by the Humane Society and headed by my friend Phil so he doesn’t have to take a job with the FDA in Dallas, to genetically reproduce a clone of my childhood golden retriever, Cody.
To understand this plan, you must realize that Cody was the roughest, baddest dog you never wanted to mess with – dig? During his brief but productive life, Cody ridded my neighborhood of three, count ’em, three cats – enough to get him banned from the city, seriously. Cody understood the perils of allowing too many cats to roam free, and he accepted it as his calling to keep the south Longmont feline population in check.
As far as preventing the eerie possibility of cloned Texans, I will simply recruit Pat Buchanan to produce an anti-Texan immigration campaign. This will close the Lone Star State’s borders (except for high school football recruits), and leave American a smaller, yet more respected country.
Zeb’s column appears in the Collegian every Tuesday. He would apologize to any Texans or cats that found this column offensive, but he won’t because he knows what a good sense of humor they have.