Scientists are desperately trying to be the first to clone humans, but they're wasting their time because advertising has beaten them to it.
Everywhere I go, I see clones of the same ignorant people. People with no imagination or ideas of their own, who are happy to exist in the narrow spectrum of shit fed to them by tabloid newspapers. They all watch the same shit television programmes and listen to the same piss-poor pop music and go to see the same shit films without even thinking about whether they like any of this absolute drivel. This is the same reason that ugly, pointless non-entities that appear on "reality" TV shows become what is now termed "celebrities". It's on telly, or on an advert, so the thick lazy British public worship it. Simple as that.
It would seem that there's no need for egg-headed, socially inept spods (such as Lionel) to try to clone humans, because they're unlikely to be able to make people any more similar than they already are now. Indeed, the public seems to be more sheep-like, blissfully ignorant and susceptible to brainwashing by advertising or propaganda than ever before.
A rather more crude way of putting this, which borrows from the Americans, is that "people are suckers for bullshit". Bullshit is the most potent force in the (human) universe, and science can never hope to compete.
This is why Tony Blair keeps getting away with taking the piss, because he knows he can, because back in the mid-nineties, he recognised how easy this could be. He saw how the power of advertising can be a more effective way to clone people than a handful of four-eyed swots in lab-coats can ever hope to achieve by look through a microscope at some water and cells in a test tube.
Grrr! I am angry readers, ANGRY. Surrounded by imbeciles. Yesterday a woman sat opposite me on the tube, shamelessly engrossed in a copy of Dan Brown's shit book, The Da Vinci Code. When the train reached my stop, I couldn't stop myself giving her chunky and rather vulgar handbag a firm but discreet punt as I passed by. It shot across the carriage floor, hitting the far end of the carriage with a satisfying thump scattering pens, coins, receipts, lipsticks and tampons all over the floor. At the same time my foot struck the bag, I distracted her by flipping the shit book from her grasp and onto the seat next to her. Much to my surprise, the few other people in the carriage looked at me as if I was the one in the wrong. Just before the doors of the train closed, I managed to get a foot on the arse of an old man who had bent over to try and help pick up the handbag, knocking him face first into the seats. My triumph was complete as I stood with my middle finger raised at the gawping, shocked faces staring at me from the rapidly accelerating train.