There Can Be Only Moo

[artemisdart]

Dear people,

So I assume you've all heard the alarming news about the latest advance in cloning technology. First they cloned Dolly the sheep, only it turns out that although she's only two years old, her cells think they're six years old. Dolly will probably die before her time, a victim of confused genes.

Now however they've done something worse... far, far worse. They've cloned immortal cows.

Oh, the media doesn't call them "immortal" cows. The media doesn't want people to start taking the law into their own hands (killing cows they suspect of being tainted, or trying to drink gallons of milk in case it turns out to be a fountain of youth). No, the media merely reports that there's a new batch of freshly cloned cows, over a year old, only (this is the important part) their cells think they're still newborn calves.

This is the problem with cells: Cells are dumb. If given half a chance, your cells will forget everything they ever knew: the dates of the French Revolution, the vice president under Franklin Pierce, the theory behind "supply-side economics," your own name-- everything.

The fact remains that now, scientists have cloned cows, potentially dangerous cows, which have not aged in the past year. Who knows if they'll ever age? We could have undying cows running around, releasing great clouds of methane into the air, chewing up everything into cud-- relentless, unstoppable cows!

No one in the so-called "media" has seen where this is all inevitably going to lead...

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(Shot of wide, rolling moors. Desolate wind in background. Camera pans left. Female voice voiceover, vaguely British accent:)

"In other times they bore other names:
Jerseys, Herefords, Limousins, Guernseys, Holsteins, Holy Cows...
In our time they are called the Immortals. They are still with us."

(Camera pans left, past more desolate, rolling moors, and comes to rest on the majestic, silhouetted figure of a cow. Voiceover:)

"I am Duncan MacCow, born over a year ago in a test-tube in the highlands of Scotland. I am Immortal, and I am not alone."

(Cow blinks its big, chocolatey brown eyes, seeming to sense the approach of another, reddish brown cow. The cows stare at each other in a mute challenge, knowing that one of them will be hamburger before the hour is over. Suddenly: The attack!)

(Exciting battle scenes of the cows, armed with ancient katanas, trying to decapitate each other. The haunting dying "Mooo!" of a loser sends goosebumps up one's spine.)

(Voiceover, continuing:)

"For centuries we have waited for the time of the Gathering, when the stroke of a sword and the fall of a head will release the power of the Nestle Quik-ening. In the end, there can be only one."

(Lightning zips about the cow, imbuing it with an otherworldly glow. As if burdened with the weight of a thousand years of sorrow, the cow gazes into the middle distance with gritty pathos. Music ends on a crashing chord.)

(Words on the screen: "The Highlandcow.")

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Heaven help us. Heaven help us all.