Genetic engineering is a pretty popular thing these days. Now, its not for me to debate whether this is healthy trend or an abomination on gods own handy work.

Having said that, I did used to dabble in the old genetics way back in the early 90s. I started out with a simple goal: I wanted to make a cow with a beak thats meat tasted like bacon. Imagine a cow that can lay delicious eggs, produce creamy milk and whose meat would be suitable for consumption at any breakfast table. I need never shop for breakfast food stuffs again! The thought of the money I would save on these everyday items had my manhood at a stiffness of about 20% so I set to work building a ramshackle laboratory in a small garden shed which lay betwixt a monolithic lemon tree and the fence line of my parents modest rural property. The lemon tree produced lemons the size of basket balls year round on account of all of the urine cast upon its roots. The men of my family were oft known to enjoy the earthly delights of ale and cider and wine in our backyard. On many occasion they would work themselves into a splendid stupor and be caught unawares when the time came to make their water. The only solution would be to project a powerful stream of steaming piss on to the base of the lemon tree. As such the tree prospered and produced bumper crop after bumper crop of its citrus children.

My first attempt at making the beaked cow was a flaming failure. I wont go into the method behind the initial experiment in too much detail (I basically put a back pack filled with stem cells and a chicken on the cows back and wrapped the whole thing up in glad wrap, then I just sort of left them in a paddock for 3 weeks to see what would happen) but suffice to say that the results were unexpected. When I unwrapped the bovine from its polymer garb I had two things:

1. A sweaty cow

and 2. a backpack filled with slime and a dead chicken (the chicken had drowned in the stem cells. Something I had not expected to happen. Obviously not the most desired of results but genetics were in their early days back then and the learning curve was a steep one.)

The lesson I took away from this initial experiment was this: chickens can’t breath in a back pack filled with stem cells. A harsh lesson to learn. Especially for the chicken as she had only 4 weeks left until retirement. Aside from this, I hadn’t learned anything that would get me closer to my goal. I needed to enlist some help.

But where would I get the aid I so desperately need? I had already taken out a high interest loan to pay for all of the expensive lab equipment I needed for the early phases of the project (later on I would need more equipment for the mass production of my beasts. This much I knew but I had a plan. I would make my loan repayments and buy all the equipment I would need with the money I saved from not buying eggs, milk or bacon. Once the loan was repaid and manufacturing was on schedule, the money I save would be all profit!) The first group I approached was a group of scantly clad, comely women who operated under the name PETA. I had heard they liked animals so I asked whether they would be interested in helping me on my quest to produce, what I was now calling, “the breakfast beast”. The lady I spoke with, a young lass by the name of Alicia Silverstone, had seemed interested at first but then became appalled for some reason. I remembered that I had seen her on a documentary about slutty teens called “Clueless” earlier that year. She came across as such an ambitious young lady in the doco which was why I was surprised when she knocked back my offer to join me. And when she went as far as calling me a monster I knew that I would find no assistance with these naked ladies (I later learned that my decision to wear my leopard print pants may have undone me, which, although not actually made from fur, gave the impression of wearing fur. Apparently, they would rather go naked than wear fur. Which I’m not complaining about because I like seeing titties and would rather see them naked than garbed in any style of clothing.)

The rejection from this encounter hit my confidence hard. It was almost as if Alicia Silverstone had kick me straight in my confidences nads. An unpleasant feeling as Im sure any man can attest. So I put my dreams of mass producing the breakfast beast on the back burner and concentrated on other things for a while. I figured that if I waited for a years genetic engineering would mature as a scientific endeavor. That way there would be more scientists willing to back my ambitions with their technical know how. This turned out to be a good move because a few years late I saw a picture of a mouse with a human ear on its back. I emailed the man responsible for this creation to see if he could help me.

He is yet to get back to me…