try to imagine – if you will – that you are the researcher who knows in your heart of hearts you’re going to get published in science because you’re doing the killer experiment that proves that cloning isn’t associated with premature aging. you’ve worked hard. you’ve eaten your wheaties. you’re beating the odds and getting generation after generation of clones. you’ve stayed up late for months. your kids don’t care that you’re doing cool shit. [i mean, it is cloning for crying out loud.] you come in early one morning. you’ve run out of coffee. [you spilled what coffee you could squeeze out of yesterday’s grounds all over your new [well, new to you] shirt. and you find out your magnificent bit part at playing god has come to a sudden end:

“Researchers have cloned six successive generations of mice in an experiment that gives new insights into ageing. The sequentially cloned mice showed no signs of growing old prematurely and appeared mentally and physically normal.

However, the experiment came to a sudden end when the single, sixth-generation mouse clone was eaten by her foster mother.”

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