I braced myself to leave the house, hoping

I braced myself to leave the house, hoping I would not encounter my busybody neighbor. We had exchanged a few hellos in passing, but she seemed to take that as an invitation to

investigate my genome sequence. Stupid nosy neighbor. The next time she points that scanner at me I am going through a Platypus into the beam and confuse her. Or my in-bred cousin

Roy, who has webbed fingers and a tail... I'd like to see her decode his DNA. That should be an interesting challenge. Oh no, here she comes with that stupid machine again... I'm

bluer than blue...sadder than sad. Seeing her with that sewing machine, wasting her DNA decoding talent, really made my heart ice over. So did

the fact that she was missing one arm. They told her a one-armed DNA decoder would never make it in the fashion world, but her patented double helix dress design proved them wrong.

Miss C genetically reengineered her legs to corkscrew around one another & wore bits of fabric strung 'tween her legs as bases. Her lover G said, "Poly C lets recombine.We basepair

s need to stick together." Just then, Mr. Aden Ine and Mrs. Thym Ine strolled in, attached at the hip as usual. They were bound together as if life depended on it. It began to get

ugly when they prowled out on the dance floor. And then a thought hit us. How could they be married and joined at the hip? They explained the operation they had. Cosmetic. Not

I wrote thousands of letters to businesses and government departments asking inane questions about how they used petty cash and what is the best colour to paint my dog house.