Bio-engineered pets are totally creepy

So naturally I was completely alarmed when I came across Genpets online. Can you even imagine owning one of those things? Thankfully, they're not real. They're artworks created by Adam Brandejs.

But before I knew this, I read the frequently asked questions on the Web site, along with my co-workers, and we all freaked the eff out. Some sample questions: "Do they feel pain?" Answer: Yes. However the Genpets have limited vocal chords so they will not create a large amount of noise when disturbed. Aughh! That's so horrifying. It's completely like, a starter kit for little serial killing children. "No one hears your cries, GENPET!" Timmy's mother wondered why he had gone through seventeen Genpets in 4 months, but he was so eager for a pet ...

So yeah, those things totally look like they will cut you in your sleep. It was only when I saw that crazy picture of the kid on Christmas morning that I knew these things had to be fake. Kind of scary that the idea of a human/animal hybrid packaged and sold as a household pet (which you can purchase in two versions - one-year lifespan, or three-year lifespan) did not seem that impossible to me. I think it could in theory be done, and that some scientists are unethical enough (or sufficiently blinded by their love of experimentation) to do it.

Once I calmed down and scrapped plans for a force field around my home that would be impenetrable by GenPets, I thought about cloning (genetic mixing, cloning ... all scary manipulations of genes, you know). While the idea does frighten me, a clone could be dead useful, you know? If I were to receive an adult clone of myself, (who would want a baby clone? BORING) here is what I would do:

1. Name the clone. I thought about naming it Shaggy 2 Dope, but that name is already taken by a member of the Insane Clown Posse, so juggaNO to that one. I think I would call it Clone Kristin, to avoid confusion. That way, if you ever need to kill my clone, you won't accidentally kill me instead, because I won't answer to "Clone Kristin."
2. Once the clone is named and settled in, I would then have her try on pants to see how I look in them from all angles. We would then go shopping and replace all my pants, because undoubtedly this exercise would make me hate all of them.
3. While at the mall, I would get my clone a weave. I have wondered how I would look with a weave. I might also make my clone dress like a tramp, just to see what kind of reaction she gets.

4. When we got home, I would have my clone speak and record what she says, then play it back, just to prove that I really DON'T sound like recordings of my voice.
5. I would use my clone as a scapegoat. Anytime she or I did anything embarrassing (ask out a boy, fall down, get caught with my Fabio scrapbook ...) I would blame Clone Kristin. Clone Kristin will understand because if she is like me she will have a very forgiving nature. Plus, the daily reminders of how she is only here in case I need an organ will help her to toe the line.

I am sure there are more things I will do with Clone Kristin, but I can't really think of them right now.

Keep on a Rock-in Me, Baby

So if you own a television or have been to the movies at least once in the past month, chances are you've seen the commercial for the new The Rock movie Gridiron Gang. It's being marketed as one of those feel-good, tough-love-coach-inspires-rebellious-little-shits-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks-with-motivational-you-can-do-it-and-don't-ever-let-anyone-tell-you-that-you-can't-now-drop-and-give-me-20 type speeches movies in the vein of Remember the Titans and Dangerous Minds.

Yes, from what I can tell, the dialogue is tired and the plot is contrived. The tag line on the promotional posters is "One goal. A second chance." Which is only slightly better than Dangerous Minds' "She broke the rules...And changed their lives." Good god. If my life has gotten so pathetic that I need Michelle Pfeiffer to help me turn things around, just stab me in the face and put me out of me misery.

But ANYWAY...my point is that despite all of this, I still secretly (well, I guess not secretly anymore) want to see this movie really badly. The commercials manage to make me get a little misty-eyed watching these kids try to make it against all odds while simultaneously making me want to jump on The Rock and have my way with him. Is it wrong that in the span of a 30-second commercial, I get both sad and turned on?

I would be ashamed by all of this, except I suspect that there is at least one other slightly sad soul out there who kind of wants to go see this movie this weekend, too, who also wants to smell what The Rock is cookin' (in bed--fortune cookie rules apply). If you're that person, let me know: I'll buy the popcorn.

Snickers bars are from Mars

So, this may be played out but I haven’t seen much about it, just discussed it a few times. Snickers has a new ad campaign, with billboards that say “Hungerectomy” in the same style as a Snickers bar. On the one hand, pretty impressive that their brand recognition is such that they no longer need to put the name of the product on the billboards. They’re the best-selling candy bar of all time. Well played. On the other hand … what in the Sam Hill are they thinking?

The word hungerectomy just sounds unpleasant and overly clinical. And any sort of medical procedure is decidedly not something I want to think about when eating peanuts, caramel and delicious nougat coated in a fine layer of chocolate with a mysteriously satisfying swirly layer pattern on top. Mmm. I get it, I get it. There’s a “hunger inside me” and Snickers is removing it by filling my stomach with sugar and fat. Except change “ung” to “yst” and hunger to “lady business” and you get an entirely different connotation. Yes, Snickers. I do not, in fact, want to think about my reproductive organs being ripped from my midsection while enjoying your confectionary concoction. In fact, it makes me a little nauseated.

No, I don’t want to catch a fever of flavor from your bars of heavenly delight. No, no, I do not want to come down with savor pox when eating your multi-layered candies. Heaven forbid I contract pustules of deliciousness, hemerrhoids of scrumptiousness, delirium tremens of taste, a dangerously high heart rate due to a sugar rush of sweetness … I do not want my mouth to be overly watered, my taste buds too overloaded, my tooths to grow too some, my body to grow weary of the incessance of ambrosia … leave me be, Snickers! Stop trying to kill me with your nectareous taste of epic, nay, God-like proportions! Why?!

This isn’t the first ridiculous ad campaign Snickers has dreamed up, either. I recall one that featured athletes with a “hunger inside them” who desperately needed Snickers to satisfy them after or during their sporting activities. Because nothing helps with your workout than white-sugar laden candy.

Undoubtedly, this will prove itself to be a brilliant ad campaign (it got my attention). What do I know? My ad campaign idea for Snickers (or any candy) would just be this - Snickers: Just one won’t make you fat. Probably.