One down. Twelve remaining.

I’ve done it. I’ve often thought about doing it, dreamt about doing it, even fantasized about doing it. But I’ve actually gone and done it. He’s lying in the next room. One of me, clone number 9 I think. Stone cold dead. Oh shit. Oh bugger, oh buggershit. What have I done? My fellow scientists of course will be shaking their head knowingly, having always warned me of the dangers of messing with cloning. And what can I say? They were right. But it was his fault, the stupid, bloody…me. It was one thing him frequently ‘meeting up’ with my ex-wife and doing Darwin knows what with her. As regular readers are aware, my relationship with that woman was never anything beyond futile. Any feelings of jealousy or anger stirred up by him being with her I can only pass off as a severe coincidence or momentary madness on my part.

But when I discovered he had been touching my laboratory apparatus, lighting my burners, dirtying my conicals…gah, I’m turning a bright shade of cochineal thinking about it. To exacerbate things, he proceeded to dance my original dance moves, prance around my house wearing nothing but my favourite waistcoat and then successfully charm my housekeeper using knowledge of her weaknesses (e.g. sherry) acquired by ME, to his coital advantage. But the final straw was him daring to threaten my unborn baby inside me – he left me with no choice. A primeval, deep-buried instinct to defend my bump awakened inside me and I became a dangerous killing machine. Visions of the manatee flashed before me once again. Clone 9 had pushed me into a corner and I had to take action putting his irresponsible ways to an end. But strangely I didn’t intend to kill him. Just warn him. But one thing led to another, bitch slapping led to eye poking, there was a violent struggle with myself that would give psychiatrists studying autophobia a field day. And the next thing I knew, I was lying on top of him at the bottom of my massive wooden staircase.

So, now I must be super cautious with my next move. Obviously I have to get rid of the evidence. But ironically, even though I am a supreme expert on the human body, I have no idea how to dispose of them. If any of you, my lovely readers, have any top tips or experience in this area, I’d be very grateful!

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