memories, separate from yours. By virtue of the very fact that he knows
he's a clone should tell you that you're already different people. He's in the room with you experiencing life in a completely different way, interpreting the surroundings in a way that's specific to him
. After even a few seconds of being alive, he's no longer your clone, he's got his own memories and experiences and opinions and everything else that informs someone's unique personality. He looks exactly like you, yes, and shares all of your previous
memories, but he's not you,
not anymore. He's just
And you're fucking him.
Clone-Fighting and You
I like the New York Giants. Sometimes they lose. (Off the top of my head, like the last four consecutive games, for example.) However, even when they do
lose (four straight games, Manning), I'm often happy if the game is close, or if it's a good match up. If the game's compelling to watch. Sure, it'd be great if the Giants won every game (or even if they just beat the goddamned Eagles), but as long as it's an exciting and entertaining game, I can consider it worth my time.
To put it in boxing terms, I don't want to watch Tyson mow down opponents a quarter of the way into the first round. Or, to put it in late 90s World Championship Wrestling terms, I'd rather watch Dean Malenko and Chris Benoit grapple and wristlock for 85 minutes than Goldberg spear through the competition in 13 seconds.
I'm a person who likes close, even matches, is my point.
Now, there is no closer, more evenly matched fight imaginable than the one you fight against yourself.
knows your intricate fighting style4
better than you; no one knows your weaknesses5
better than you; and no one
is as intimately familiar with all of the shitty things you've done in your life --anything that might warrant a punch in the mouth-- as you are. And I'm a competitive guy as, I imagine, my clone would be, so this would just be a high-octane, non-stop, hate-fueled-thrill-ride of knuckles and cursewords that rocks all hour long. This would be the best fight ever. We might spend the entire time expertly blocking each other's moves like a couple of well-trained ninjas, or maybe we'll spend it alternating between groin kicks and recovering (from groin kicks), like a couple of really bad ninjas. I don't have to worry about the cops being called, or his friends showing up; we're just a couple of Daniels, doing some fucking deathmatching.
And, at the end of the hour, I ultimately win, because he disappears. (Also because I'm so much stronger.)
Also, like clone-fucking, clone-fighting is a terrific learning experience, if you want to improve as a fighter. You'll spot all of your flaws and the weaknesses in your attacks and you'll learn what to avoid in future fights.
Further, the clone-version of you is basically a crash-test dummy. All of the anger that you bottle up inside --whether the anger is directed at you or the government or your Editor or whomever-- all of that anger is just boiling
inside you, and you can't let it out day-to-day because man is a socialized animal. Well, here's your chance. Work out all of your aggressions, the door's open. No consequences, let loose and resort to common, street-rat savagery, guilt -free. It's been a while since I ignored Philosophy, but I'm almost positive there's nothing morally, ethically or legally wrong with murdering your clone that's going to be dead in an hour anyway. So, really, you know. Go to town. This could be the most well-fought and satisfying moment of your entire life. Plus, I think that motherfucker just looked at you funny.
What are you waiting for, take him down!
Of course, while you're fighting him, I would
like to call one quick thing to your attention. He's a clone and is in as good physical condition as you are, so you're a match there. But here's the glaring problem: He
he's a clone. He knows it's only a matter of time until he disappears. You know how action movies make a big deal out of the tough hero "with nothing to lose"? That's your clone. He's the guy with nothing to lose. He's you, but with no strings, no concern for the future, and with a death sentence dangling right above his head. He's you at maximum capacity, accessing the kind of emergency reserve strength and speed that makes itself visible when the adrenaline that only accompanies desperation kicks in. He's you at your most brutal, thoughtless and primal.
Can you take that guy? Subquestion: Wouldn't it be easier just to fuck him?
The conclusion isn't mine to write, it's yours. What do you do? In all of my studies with this hypothetical, women are overwhelmingly more likely to have sex with their clone than men are, a statistic that is as interesting as it is totally fucking hot.
I'd be curious to see if that holds true with our audience, or if I just happen to surround myself with the coolest women on the planet.
So how about it? You're locked in a room with your clone, who, if he's anything like my clone, is smirking like an asshole.
Do you fuck or fight yourself?
1Interesting sidebar: Whenever I bring this hypothetical up in real life, if someone's on the fence, their deciding factor is always wrapped up in the same-sex aspect of the situation. In fact, the people who wouldn't have sex with a clone almost invariably WOULD if the clone was, somehow, the opposite sex. Exactly like you, but the opposite gender. No one, without exception, gives any pause to the fact that they're fucking an exact replica of themselves, the whole freak-of-nature aspect never registers as a possible concern.
2Having sex with a breathing human.
4Punching, not getting punched.
I'll be taking next Friday's column off but, instead of leaving you with nothing, I'm thrilled to announce that Soren Bowie, (Agents of Cracked's
own "T-Bone!") will be filling in for me. He's terrific, and I trust you'll treat him with the same total-absence-of-respect with which you treat me.
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