[The previous account of Stevie and his clones can be found in Me and My Nineteen (Remaining) Clones]
18 November 2025 – These have been some dark times for me and my eighteen clones. No, not because Fredward’s aorta went up like the Challenger – it’s November, and these jerk clones never let one pass without reminding me how I can’t grow facial hair worth a damn! Try as I might, after all these years, I still can only manage an ugly, inconsistent patchwork of clumps. I don’t even bother anymore, but these sons of bitches go all out for this Movember thing, just to jam it to me! Dicks! Even Hensonite! We figured he couldn’t possibly grow anything on his Muppety face – and look at that argyle beard of his! It’s amazing!
(seated, from left: #35 Tedward, Stevie, #4 Hensonite, #9 Tomfoolery; standing, from left: #14 Kevincible, #46 Delano, #48 Magnus, #17 Matrick; wall: #40 Junior; table: #18 Georange)
(standing, from left – Clone #46 Delano, #20 Vitoadie, #48 Magnus, #23 Bobtail, #40 Junior, #14 Kevincible, seated from left #18 Georange, Stevie, #2 Jackwagon, floor #5 Dantopia)
Everyone thinks it must be so cool, having a bunch of clones. That’s what they always tell me. You’ve got this big pack of friends, you can play crazy tricks on girlfriends and neighbors, and you can test drive different hair lengths and styles without messing up your own head. Also (the way it was described to me early on) you’ve got a huge supply of spare organs, an enormous wardrobe, and multiple doppelgangers means high unlikelihood of assassination. It’s been a weird life.
The clinical story has been recounted by the press and biographers hundreds if not thousands of times, but here it is right from Patient X. I’m Stevie and I’ve got nineteen (remaining) clones. Continue reading