Lisa lifted the gooey cinnamon roll to her

Lisa lifted the gooey cinnamon roll to her mouth and took a bite. Todd laughed. "You know what they put in those things?" Lisa shrugged. "Well, I'll tell you. They put

flour, oil, sugar," -here he paused for dramatic effect- "and cinnamon!" She took another bite and said "Myeeah, so?" His eyes widened. "Don't you know where cinnamon comes from?!"

Didn't she understand that cinnamon was actually the bark of a tree? It was then he decided they had nothing in common. He knew she had no interest in cardamon seeds or allspice.

Not to mention nutmeg, the nectar of the gods. Oh, how he loved nutmeg, how a single spoonfull made him feel, how he danced and sang, how it helped him meet the love of his life,

all those years ago - it was strange, really, how nutmeg could bring two people together. He had been in the spice aisle of the grocery store, and she

had read somewhere that enough Nutmeg could make you "trip balls." So they made a date of it. They laid in bed, beautiful, tripping, and frozen--nutmeg is also a paralytic.

Now if you weren't paralyzed you could have returned it to the store to get your money back. You also could've written a letter to the Manufacturer and get a letter back containing

only traces of what we assume to be DNA. Using that DNA, we could physically clone the person, accelerate the way they age about 300% and produce an exact replica; eventually

we could have an exact copy of each person on the planet. Spare parts, as often as needed. Eternal life. But there would be a price, of course. The process itself was unstable, and

people might reject parts from time to time, perhaps even eject an organ at an inopportune moment. But etiquette would evolve as well, and even the clones would learn to make do.