Barbra Streisand In “A Clone Again (Unnaturally)

barbra_streisand-variety-cover-story-2

Two are clones, and the other two are something else. Source

A happy birthday shout out to Barbra Streisand. Congratulations on being 77 years young. For those of you who don’t have moms, Barbra Streisand is an EGOT recipient celebrity (Not to be confused with energy, growth, opportunity and talent.). If you are anything like me, you may have fallen asleep to one of her performances. Another personal side note, I must admit that I like the song, “Woman In Love” written by Barry Gibb.


In a recent extensive interview with “Variety” magazine, Streisand revealed that two of her puppies, Miss Violet and Miss Scarlett were clones of her previous dog, Samantha. Grief stricken over the possible loss of her precious Samantha, Streisand was informed of ViaGen Pets™ in Texas. They had been successfully cloning animals for “more than fifteen years”. Streisand retrieved cells from Samantha’s “cheek and tummy” just before she died. Cloning was the only option because she could not find another curly haired Coton.

Lots of science and 50,000 dollars later, the process took and produced four puppies, five if you include the deceased runt. Stuff happened, and Streisand ended up with two puppies. Without once referencing Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein”, the whole affair can still best summed up in Streisand’s words. “You can clone the look of a dog, but you can’t clone the soul. Still, every time I look at their faces, I think of my Samantha… and smile.”

We now resume our regularly scheduled program, already in progress.

A trail of blood dripped from Miss Violet’s snarl. She stopped to assume an attack pose. Where her eyes should have been, empty sockets lined and encrusted with fruit flies, some still living. Meanwhile, Miss Scarlett was digging up Streisand’s face with her bloody paws. Skin, collagen, eyes, and lips strewn about like so much face. Streisand’s prescribed blood thinners made it all messier and redder.

And somewhere, at the bottom of a heap of festering garbage, the half-gnarled corpse of a runt is twitching, returning to life, and it is pissed off.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s