Ted (merovingian) wrote,

Non-Recurring Me

"Time for your seven-year replacement," said the man at the door, carrying a big box twice as big as me, on wheels, laden with funny-looking tubes and machinery.

"Uh, what?" I said.

"Oh, we need to replace every cell and tissue of your body with new matter. Your last trade up was June 11, 2000, so you're due," he said, "It's part of our alien masters' plan."

"Um, no," I said.

"Oh, don't worry. You won't remember a thing. " Then he checked his notepad, "Oh, wait. Sorry, wrong address! Please don't tell anyone about this."

"Um, okay," I said.
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