Imagine this; you wake up in the morning, put on your furry slippers, stumble down the stairs, wipe the crust from your eyes, before finally arriving in your kitchen. Using all energy you have to hit ‘start’ on the coffee maker you suddenly notice something, something different.
The coffee has already been brewed.
You rub your eyes again to focus.
Did my significant other do this? Is it on auto-start? Is Mr. Coffee real?
Out of your peripheral you finally see it.
Well, sort of…
It’s looking right at you. Staring.
It sounds like you. Smells like you. Looks like you as well, but a slightly better, cleaner version of you. It is dressed nicely, smiling, even the hair is perfect. In fact, every which way your clone turns looks great because it’s ‘your good angle.’
You’re perplexed and you ask, “Who are you? How did you get in my house?”
It turns its head, stares right at you, forms a plastic smile and says,
“I’m cranky if I don’t get my morning coffee! LOL”
“I hope the bozo drivers on the way to work stay out of my way! LMAO!”
What the hell is it saying? Stop talking like that, speak like a normal person. Slowly backing away from this robotic doppelganger, it focuses on you and pulls a wallet from its pocket. Inside is a photo sleeve, your new-found friend hands it to you.
The plastic sleeve contains these 3 pictures…
What am I supposed to do with these?
“Do you like them? Feel free to share them if you want to, I won’t be upset.”
You’re fucking nuts, clone.
“Have you gotten the paper today yet? Don’t worry about walking to the driveway to get it, I already cherry-picked an article off yahoo for you.”
I just want my coffee. I could really go for some breakfast actually…
It’s already done, your clone checked in at: Kitchen.
“Get in my tummy, Reese’s Puffs! LOL!”
You bolt out the front door. It doesn’t matter to you that you’re wearing a robe and furry slippers, that was creepy. It was annoying. You almost start to think, “Do I do that?” Your pondering gets interrupted as you make your way to the end of the driveway only to see….you.
However, this one is different than the last one. It’s not as pretty, not as groomed, doesn’t care what angle you see it as. It’s almost as if this one isn’t relying on its looks. Then it speaks:
“Jews. There the bestest!” -A sentence that grammar nazis and real nazis would dislike.”
“Drunk sex with me must look like when a kid can’t quite get the straw in their Capri Sun…#JustSayin”
Wait a second, hash tags? Sentences trying too hard to be amusing that are less than 140 characters? Oh shit, please go away. Just go, please, shut up. If you speak too loud your mom will hear it!
“If I met the chicks from 2 girls 1 cup, I’d tell them to wipe that shit eating grin off their faces…#gross”
Oh my god, stop! You can’t have the neighbors and not-so-close friends knowing that you talk that way!
“The power glove would’ve been much more of a success if Nintendo would’ve released the game, Dr. Mario OBGYN.”
Your boss calls your cell phone at that exact moment, of course you are missing an important meeting today. You have to answer and try to talk over your clone, but it doesn’t do any good, it is speaking too loud. You can’t hear over it. Do I always talk this much?
“I hear Cars 2 is so much of a wreck you’d think Ryan Dunn was the driver.”
Shut up! Shut the fuck up! If my work ever knew about you I could get fired! Fuck!
You run further down the street, hoping to get away from your…selves. It’s not helping though. You immediately run into a version of yourself holding a camera. You scream out, “Help me! Please! Help! I don’t know what’s going on!”
But this version isn’t helping you.
It won’t stop taking pictures of ridiculous, inanimate objects at horrible, blurry angles.
You scream, “Hey, are you fucking listening to me?! Put the camera away and help me beat…um, myself!”
It looks at you, then says,
“Hmm, maybe this would be better in sepia.”
As you try to get its attention your other selves arrive.
“Hey, I brought you some food! LOL! DM me if you want some! #RunningWontSaveYou”
You try to get your camera-wielding clone to help you, but all it does is start taking ridiculous photos of the food your other clone brought. Who the fuck takes pictures of food? What the fuck is wrong with you?! Stop that!
“Hey, look how many of us there is? I’m thinking 3-some?! I call power-top! #NotGayIfItsYourself”
Will this clone keep his voice down! Hope the neighbors never run into him, this is so embarrassing! Why can’t you just find a normal version of yourself? One that speaks in full, correct sentences. One that engages in long conversations with friends, one-on-one, eye to eye. One that is…a fucking person.
More clones arrive, they are engulfing you like zombies.
Another version of yourself grabs you by the shoulders and says:
“We need mood.”
“I mean mold”
“MILK! We need milk. Fucking auto-correct.”
As you back away you trip over a lifeless, dead clone that is laying in the middle of the street. For a moment your mind fumbles as to what social network would have a dead version of you, but you are to distracted.
You can’t escape. You’re trapped. The neighbors start coming out to see what’s going on, your boss arrives in his car after you hung up on him, family starts showing up in a van to make sure you’re okay.
They see it all.
They see what you and your clones really are.
You’re now fully exposed.
You want to tell them not to judge, because you aren’t a text. You aren’t a status update. You aren’t a picture. You don’t finish sentences with a hash tag.
You were known and liked before anyone saw these versions of you.
You were you.
You were normal.
You want them to meet the clone that plays at the park with your child. The clone who pays their bills on time. The clone who holds the door open for strangers. The clone who waves after someone lets them cut into bumper-to-bumper traffic. The clone who told a really funny story to all their friends over dinner, you should’ve been there. It was a great time.
My clone and your clone should have a beer sometime, phones down.
Put your life to vibrate. I know that I’m more guilty of this than anyone. It’s finally getting old.
Dumb phone your life.
Written by: My blogging clone.