Perfect Man

Perfect Man hatched from his purple egg. He sniffed the air then began to scratch his genitals gingerly

“Behold!” cried the Scientist. “Perfect Man, perfect in every way!”

“Will it do the dishes?” asked the Scientist’s Wife.

“Perfect by nature, my dear! He needs perfect education, perfect upbringing and socialization!”

Perfect Man sucked on his big toe.

“Don’t mind that. Just one of the quirks of creating Perfect Man instead of Perfect Baby.”

“You shouldn't have been so hasty,” said the Scientist’s Wife. “Why doesn’t he look like Robert Redford in his prime?”

The Scientist scowled. “I thought he would look more like me.”

Perfect Man screeched then relieved himself on the carpet.

“What perfect vocal cords! What a perfect bowel movement!”

The Scientist’s Wife frowned. “Does it do any tricks?”

The Scientist shrugged.

“What about a wife? A Perfect Woman to propagate the perfect race?”

Perfect Man hooted and rolled about in his excrement.

“Don't talk about propagation. You’re getting him too excited.”

“What a perfectly useless creature,” said the Scientist’s Wife. “I suppose I could just teach it to wash the dishes.”

“But my dear, you already have a perfectly good dishwasher.”

“I bet it’s a good listener.”

“I already gave you the perfect houseplant.”

The Scientist’s Wife snubbed her nose at the Perfect Man. He, in reply, stuck out his tongue. The two giggled and continued making faces.

“Hey!” shouted the Scientist, stomping and waving his arms in the air. “You’re going to ruin him!”

The Scientist's Wife rolled her eyes. “What else can you do with a Perfect Man?”

The End

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