Oh, yes. Hello. Bwah-ha-ha and all that. Freak out with frightfulness at my scary whatever, you know the drill. Look, the Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem is just not feeling all that nefarious today. I had a little backfire with my latest experiment. . I know, you’re all thinking, Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem, you should be used to your experiments backfiring, after the utter failure of my Insta-Wheelie bike which exploded around my pants and gave me a mild concussion, and the Sheep Desheepulator, which somehow made all the sheep even more sheepish instead of less sheepulated. Yes, those were pretty disastrous disasters, but this one really took the calamity cake and burned it to a crisp. What’s more, it left me pretty disheartened with the whole mad science biz. Blue, even. In fact, I wrote a folk pop song about the whole experience. Let me play it for you, and you’ll see what I mean. Try and keep up with the abstract imagery.
Crows and flows of serpent hair, and volcano castles in the air,
And laser cannons everywhere, I cloned myself yesterday.
I thought I could be twice as bad, I’d be the son I never had,
But he just turned out weird and sad, like Uncle Steve’s toupee.
I’ve looked at clones from both sides now,
The stern and prow, from head to tow,
I’ve learned, like beets and tetanus shots,
I really dislike clones a lot.
Applause, applause, applause. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. I just needed to get that off my chest, and what better way than in the style of mellow sixties singer-songwriters from Los Angeles? I mean, I thought the cloning idea would be perfect. I could complete my evil experiments in half the time, with a lackey I knew better than anyone else- me! I could be my own boss! It was to be the American dream. Instead, I’m stuck with a weirdo version of myself that stares at the wall all day making motorcycle noises. That’s when I don’t catch him in the Game Room making the chess pieces kiss each other. Who does that? My clone, that’s who! Turns out, deep down inside, I’m a real freak burger with a side creepy fries. It’s the American nightmare!
So yes, my cloning efforts left much to be desired, and that stinks like a dairy farm. What’s worse is that I’m stuck with my clone, and I am driving me crazy! I just can’t live with myself anymore. I mean, the clone eats all of my favorite foods, so there are no crackers and Braunschweiger left for me, no Twizzlers to bite the ends off of and use as straws for my Mello Yello. Plus, he’s always getting up in my business, like, let me attach that diode, or grabbing my highly expensive shrink ray and making pew-pew noises while aiming it at me. Back off, Other Me, this is my life’s work, and besides, lasers don’t go pew-pew, they go zap-zap.
Oh! Speak of the devil! Clone Me; I thought you were in the refrigerator, alphabetizing the puddings. Wait, Clone Me, what are you doing with that USB cord? Put it down, you’re going to disconnect me from Cotton Candy Be-
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!BEGONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunsets
Sunrises
V-Neck Sweaters
Latin Expresssions
Et Cetera
And thus, my list of what means the Most in the Whole Entire World to Me
Endeth.
And my Epic Monthlong Poem concludeth.
Thank you all for reading.
Thank me all for writing.
Thanks.
Thanks.
Thanks.
Cotton Candy Beard 