Corky, the Clone | News | Salt Lake City | Salt Lake City Weekly

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Corky, the Clone

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This thing called stem-cell research has everybody up in arms … or eggs, whatever. See, it’s like this: Some people can’t get pregnant the regular way—this, of course, is no reference to the missionary position—and opt for a procedure called “in vitro fertilization.”

That’s where egg and sperm are united outside the human body using various laboratory techniques. The fertilized egg soon begins to divide and becomes what scientists call a blastocyst. It is then frozen until it can be implanted in the mother’s uterine wall, where it will develop further into an embryo and ultimately be born into this world as an American, with all the shopping privileges that go with citizenship.

Once the pregnancy takes, the remainder of the frozen fertilized eggs that were prepared for the procedure are discarded. Some folks would like to use them for research instead of throwing them away. But the Pope and even some Protestants don’t like that idea. They say it’s playing with human life. It’s got everybody in a dither because it could lead to ungodly things, they say.

The U.S. House of Representatives passed a bill recently that would make it illegal to clone human beings, much like Michael Keaton’s character did in the movie Multiplicity. As you’ll recall, Keaton was so busy that he couldn’t be in all the places he needed to be. So he had three clones of himself made, in order for him to work on the house, go to the office, play golf and spend time with his family.

Here at SmartBomb, we got to thinking that the ban on human cloning might be shortsighted. For example, Salt Lake City Mayor Rocky Anderson could use a clone or two. The poor guy works 23 hours a day and has only one hour for sleeping, eating, showering and dating.

Imagine a Rocky clone—let’s call him Corky—who could be dressed up in suits and ties to make appearances at boring City Council meetings and chuck wagon pancake breakfasts and all that other mindless stuff where the mayor has to be in attendance. That would free Rocky up to pursue the real problems in the city—like coordinating the damn traffic lights—and go on a date every once in a while, too. Perfect.

• Gov. Mike Leavitt, no doubt, could use a clone, particularly for his monthly televised news conference on KUED. That way, if he gets caught in any little fibs, his press secretary could just blame it on the clone. Since we’re cloning Mike, we’ll give him a nice head of real hair. That should cut down on some of the Hair Club for Men bills.

We would suggest a clone for Mitt Romney, too, but that might not be practical. Like the Fonz in Happy Days peering into the mirror in the men’s room at the malt shop and deciding not to comb his hair because it’s already perfect, a clone would only be in Mitt’s way. After all, you can’t improve on perfection.

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