Facsimile

The day that I met my clone was rather ordinary since I get used to weird sh*t like that these days even though 

she didn’t look like me or talk like me but I knew that she was the other me because we shared the same first

 name and she had the last name of that guy who wanted to marry me when I was a different me and her son 

was named the name that I wanted to name my son if I ever had one and she went to that same kind of  TV 

con-man church that the guy who wanted to marry me became a preacher at, but all I could think about was 

how he was such a cheap  and sleazy bastard that I wanted to hit him over the head with something lethal so I 

thought that I better not marry him because it’s not only wrong, but I didn’t really want to waste my life in the 

slammer because of him and my clone can have that life with that mess and that sleazebag even though she 

married someone else probably nicer who just shared that same last name and was nothing like that slimy slob 

who lived off other people’s emotions and pity while he polished those gold capped teeth and combed that 

wavy pompadour and waxed his ‘stache and put on that phony smile as he reached into your pocket and 

admired your wallet and I know all about that because he admired my wallet one too many times, so when I 

met my clone, I was just so happy that she was my clone and I was me.