To Clone a Horse or Two

Bored billionaire wife plus abject desires to hold on to a prize stallion = legacy media reporting™ at its (expectable) worst

A few days ago, Norwegian state broadcaster NRK ran a very long exposé™ about a billionaire’s wife wishing to clone her favourite breeding stallion.

Thus we travel down, by way of a multi-part series, a very particular rabbit-hole relating issues—rather: concerns—about technology, the billionaire class’ eugenicist fetishes, and, of course, the eternally sunny, spotless minds of those who cosplay as journos™.

Translation, emphases, and snark mine.

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The Cloning of Donkey Boy

By Maren Kvamme Hagen, Patrick Da Silva Sæther, and Caroline Utti, NRK, 12 July 2025 [source; archived]

On an ordinary day in 2023, the wife of billionaire Kristin G. Andresen sends an unusual email:

I would like to clone my beloved Donkey Boy. What will that cost me? And, while we’re at it, may I get two or three [clones]…

Cloning is banned in Norway, but private companies around the world are creating thousands of animals these days.

Can Kristin become the first Norwegian to clone a horse?

We followed her into the fascinating and secretive cloning industry.

‘I promise this [the cloning] to you’, says Kristin G. Andresen as she drives towards the stables in Denmark where the stallion Donkey Boy is kept.

There are so many things that can go wrong.

She turns onto a narrow gravel road, it goes fast. The woman who never takes no for an answer has a crazy project in her luggage that is reminiscent of ‘Jurassic Park’ [ah, in case anyone needs a reminder how that novel-turned-blockbuster movie ends: with the freak dinos breaking free and eating the humans; also, that’s the association NRK’s journos™ go with to make a billionaire wife ‘who never takes no for an answer’ more…sympathetic to Joe Q. Public?].

Behind the gates of Katrinelund Stallion Centre, Donkey Boy, worth NOK 25 million [about US$ 2.5m], is waiting for her.

It’s an ordinary day in the stables. Except that Donkey Boy is about to be cloned.

The Idea

Cloning means making a genetic copy of an individual.

For a long time, cloning was something that people dreamed about, feared and made films about, but in 1996 the breakthrough came.

The clone Dolly was born [here’s the Wikipedia entry; I’m all for sheep, you know, and you can follow my own Norwegian Short Tails (Gammal Norsk Spælsau)¹, if you wish to do so, but just ponder what’s happening in terms of story-telling (spin): that entire ‘Dolly’ episode—which occurred shortly before the commercialisation of the internet—created a shitstorm before that term existed, and it led to many ethical concerns, none of which have receded: yet that is the reference chosen by these journos™…you can’t make this up].

Many were critical of this [brave] new world, others enthusiastic.

Should man tamper with nature in this way? What about animal welfare? Was mankind next? [all good™ questions, eh? I suppose the answers are nope, no way (it would also do away with a good deal of what it means to be human: mortal); really, you’re TF concerned™ about ‘animal welfare’ here? And, lastly, the ‘Dolly’ incident occurred almost 30 years ago, and if I’m sure of anything, it’s that this is done with humans, too].

Kristin was curious, but it would be many years before she thought about cloning again.

When Donkey Boy was suddenly injured in 2022, the need [orig. behovet] for cloning became real. The injury was of the type that premium stallions rarely come back from. None of the other horses that Kristin owned were as good as Donkey Boy.

He was irreplaceable. But what if she could clone him? [ah, the US$ 64m question; what’s next, some bored gazillionaire’s pet chihuahua or dying child? I mean, where or what is the limit?]

She read up on research and discovered that countries such as the USA, Argentina, and South Korea allowed commercial cloning of animals. She investigated various clinics.

‘We clone the animals you love’, Kristin read on the website of the American cloning clinic ViaGen. ‘We build you an identical twin born many years after the original’, they wrote [below is a screenshot of said website, which I’ll encourage you to explore on your own: it’s mind-blowing].

So she sent an email to ViaGen asking for three copies of Donkey Boy.

Kristin quickly received a reply from Managing Director Blake Russell:

Thank you for getting in touch. We are happy to take on this assignment.

The price of one cloned foal is $85,000, a second foal is $75,000 and a third is $65,000 [ah, but they’re all of equal™ value to Kristin, right? There’s but one snippet of insight Karl Marx was kinda correct about: the distinction between use value, or Nutzwert vs. exchange value, or Tauschwert, but note that with like, you know, literally everything in Marxian thought (sic), these concepts were around since the ancient Greeks, i.e., Marx merely borrowed™ them, commie-style)].

The director of the cloning company added that it was possible for the clinic to produce an extra foal in the process, which she could get a quantity discount on [of course that’s gonna happen, and I’m sure the billionaire’s wife would love all three or four equally…].

Kristin signed a contract for three clones. Everything seemed very straightforward on the website, but she was left wondering:

Could it be that simple?

To ensure that the clones would be as good as the original, she decided to stay as close to the cloning process as she could [as if that would help this fetish-focused woman’s endeavour; my kids aren’t that pathetically moronic].

To Clone a Horse

A typical day for the breeding stallion Donkey Boy looks like this: he dreams of a resilient Danish mare while mating with a wooden buck and being tapped for semen.

The cloning process, on the other hand, starts with four flesh wounds [well, isn’t that pseudo-biblical?].

Inside the stables in Denmark, two hours outside Aalborg, a couple of employees, two veterinarians, and the main character himself, Donkey Boy, are waiting for Kristin:

‘Hi horsey! Hi there.’ She puts her forehead to Donkey Boy and pulls out a bunch of carrots. The horse’s donkey ears stand straight up while his muscles glisten in the sunshine.

At the same time, a vet unpacks a pair of blue gloves, a syringe, and two pairs of scissors.

This is done in Denmark as Donkey Boy spends half the year there [and the remainder, presumably, in Norway], and Denmark has an export agreement for skin samples with the USA, the cloning process starts there [I bet that what’s described in the following ins’t exactly, well, legal, but, hey, if you’re a billionaire’s wife, you gotta do what you gotta do…].

The atmosphere in the stable is tense, because commercial cloning is not legal in Denmark either […see what I mean? The ‘woman who never takes no for an answer’ breaks the law and makes the above-related two stable employees plus the vet her accessories: a conspiracy to commit a crime, if there ever was one, with one remaining question being—aren’t the NRK journos™ also accessories now?].

Kristin has been sent step-by-step instructions by the cloning clinic. The first instruction is to be like a detective on a case [note the inversion of what a police investigator actually should be doing: getting to the bottom of a crime—here, the metaphor is used to relate the committing of a crime]. She has to collect skin and hair samples from Donkey Boy, because inside the skin and hair roots is the horse’s DNA.

Veterinarian Marie, who works in the stables, puts a syringe on the side of Donkey Boy's neck [I suppose since we’re building, kinda, a rap sheet here, this is violence against an animal in the process of breaking the law isn’t, well, a nothingburger either…].

‘He's been anaesthetised, so now he's a bit tired,’ she explains.

The vet then shaves small squares on Donkey Boy’s neck, thigh muscle, and buttocks.

She drills a tube into his neck and picks out a piece of skin with a pair of tweezers, before doing the same to his thigh, heel, and tail.

Donkey Boy twitches a little more.

The blood trickles, before the wound is stitched [the above images accompany the flow of events, and I think it’s relevant to show them here, too, as gruesome and objectionable as this is (esp. if you’re a horse owner yourself)].

‘Poor little boy,’ says Kristin, patting Donkey Boy.

The samples of Donkey Boy are placed in small glasses. They will be sent by courier to the laboratory in the USA [I suppose the export of illegally obtained skin samples isn’t exactly not a crime either…].

After a couple of phone calls and some confusion about how the skin pieces for cloning should actually be packaged, the shipment is ready. The courier picks up the parcel.

Kristin is already on her way back to the airport. She has mares giving birth in Norway and a daughter ready for marriage in Italy [in case you’re wondering about the emissions footprint of crazy-eyed Kristin’s absurd and, frankly, eugenicist dreams, that one question never pops up—but try to keep track of these notions in what follows].

In the stables, Donkey Boy is groggy again, hanging his head as his genes make their way across the Atlantic.

‘It’s gotta be o.k. to be a little crazy’

‘He's a fantastic horse. That’s why we’re cloning him’, says Kristin.

Kristin Gamlemshaug Andresen (67) grew up on horseback in Os, with a father who was a savings bank manager and a mother who volunteered for the Norwegian Association for the Blind. She studied hotel management, law, and economics, and worked for a long time as a flight attendant at SAS.

She got the surname Andresen in 1994 when she married fifth-generation tobacco heir Johan H. Andresen [now you know how and why Kristin has both these amounts of f***-around money and why she’s doing this].

The bride and groom ended up on the front page of VG [Norway’s leading tabloid] and Kristin was called a modern-day Cinderella [flight attendant-turned trophy wife, what a stellar career].

Today, her husband and their two daughters are owners of the investment company Ferd.

Kristin fills her days and the family chronicle with her own projects [see, she’s been kept busy as a queen bee]: she builds schools in India, looks after the family’s many properties, and trains horses with international ambitions [there’s some bullshit bingo-worthy trifecta of very important things™ billionaire wives do…].

At the Evje manor outside Moss, Kristin has created an equestrian paradise together with her daughter Alexandra, Norway’s third richest person.

There, the horses run around like groomed ballerinas, before softening up tired muscles in the solarium. The very best earn millions as breeding and dressage horses.

And the king is 13-year-old Donkey Boy. So much so that he has his own bronze statue on the farm [speaking, once more, of biblical allusions, shall we talk about golden calves now? I’m sorry not sorry about the running commentary, but these descriptions make Kristin and her ilk sound like scripted Hollywood élites, and I kinda can’t shake that sense of fakery].

After all, he earns two million kroner a year from the sale of semen alone.

Kristin G. Andresen is now sitting in the office building at the horse farm, reflecting on the first part of the cloning process [well, if that’s what you gotta do as a billionaire wife, it’s what you gotta do].

She felt a little sorry for Donkey Boy where he stood in the stable in Denmark. The procedure was more extensive than she first realised:

I’m used to him being big and handsome, and there was this poor feller…these were but small biopsies.

When Kristin posted a picture of the sampling on her Facebook page [what is wrong with these billionaires? I mean, they all seem to have the burning desire, if not compulsory pathology, of wanting to be admired and complimented], she received a backlash in the comments section. Some reacted from an animal welfare point of view. Others thought she was tampering with God’s creation [needless to say, this is the end of Kristin’s engagement with John Q. Public, as any self-respecting journo™ working for the state broadcaster should do: the hoi polloi has been mentioned, let’s indulge the billionaire class a bit more, shall we?]

But Kristin has no plans to stop the cloning process. She wants to continue using Donkey Boy in breeding, while at the same time making money from the clones through competition, breeding, or sales [so much for her emotions concerning the animal related above]. She believes that the cloning procedure is no worse than what is normally done in horse breeding [justification by proxy, another hallmark of a more, shall we say, pathological condition?]:

I want to preserve Donkey Boy’s genetic material. People can say what they like about it.

When some people say it’s nonsense to spend money on cloning, she replies:

It’s gotta be o.k. to be a little crazy.

Multiple Cloning

After a week, Kristin is informed that Donkey Boy’s tissue samples have arrived at the lab in Texas, USA.

There, a lab technician extracts cells and places them in sterile petri dishes.

Nutrients are then added to the cells, a bit like a plant receiving fertiliser. The cells are placed in a heating cabinet.

The heating cabinet is set to the body’s temperature so that the cells have it cosy and can grow.

Then it goes quiet. Do things happen inside the heating cabinet?

Yes, they are!

The cells are alive and multiplying! The manager gives Kristin the good news via email:

Kristin, on behalf of ViaGen, I am pleased to report that the cell culture process for the following horse has been completed with great success:

Horse: Donkey Boy.

Approximately 2.7 million viable cells have been preserved in ten ampoules.

The point is to use the cells to create a horse, but that is easier said than done. To create a clone, a lab is not enough.

You also need live animals.

Then put a Donkey Boy nucleus into the egg cell. This gives the egg the genetic material of the horse to be cloned.

A Mare’s Problem

The progress of Donkey Boy’s cloning process is now governed by the menstrual cycle of a group of mares.

The clinic must first retrieve egg cells from rutting mares.

Then they have to remove the nucleus, which has DNA in it.

Then they put a Donkey Boy nucleus into the egg cell. In this way, the egg receives the genetic material of a single horse.

To initiate the development of life, the egg cell is shocked. Exactly how is an industry secret.

The egg cell and the cell nucleus fuse together. After a while, an embryo emerges.

The embryo is then inserted into a surrogate mare that will produce the clone [now think once more about, say, surrogacy among humans; note the absurd terminology, such as ‘produce’].

Kristin is very concerned about which mares the clinic uses.

Even though a clone is a genetic copy, the environment in the mare’s egg cell and uterus can affect the size and colour of the clones [so, if the rich and famous (ab)use poor women in far-away countries to get their very own (sic) child merely carried to term by someone else, you can quickly see how fast this shitshow of an industry—which I deem a form of human trafficking plus chattel slavery—this entire line of business actually is].

Kristin suggests travelling to the USA to select the mares herself [sure, what’s such a pleasure/business trip for a bunch of clones?], but the clinic replies that it is difficult to schedule the cloning process around a visit. Instead, she should visit when the mares are in foal.

In the meantime, extreme heat hits the clinic in Texas. They have to postpone the procedure, because the mares can miscarry in such hot weather.

As a result, the cloning project comes to a standstill during the summer.

Meanwhile, Kristin is in India building schools. She is travelling with influencer Isabel Raad, who is contributing a new wing to one of the schools [well, I had no idea who that is, and after I looked around, here’s a bio website (she looks like a wannabe copy of a Kardashian, and that’s not a compliment), her Instragram (if you care enough about it), here’s her slightly dated weblog (she’s not been posting much since 2021), and here’s here way more active Eviltube channel, which, as can be expected is a bit of a train wreck (plus she’s showing so much skin I’d consider her not a role model but a harlot); yeah, she’s an Iraqi refugee, hence the extra-Nordic billionaire Kristin, of course, picked the politically correct™ influencer to come along…]

But Kristin has to be flown home abruptly because a huge dog runs straight into her knee.

In September, she returns home on crutches to a full inbox. There, a reply from the clinic is waiting for her.

ViaGen is now finally ready to harvest eggs from mares, clone and insert embryos into surrogate mares.

But this is a crisis! [this is pearl necklace-clutching anxiety, folks]

Kristin is counting on her fingers. September, October, November…

A mare is eleven months pregnant. If the clinic inserts embryos into the surrogate mares now, the clones will be born in August next year. That’s far too late in the year.

Horses compete in cohorts. Foals born in August will be less competitive than foals born in January or February.

There’s no point in ordering clones that can’t compete.

‘Cloning must be pushed to early next year’, Kristin tells the clinic.

Cryptic Messages

Time passes again. The cloning process feels further and further away. Donkey Boy is in his stable in Denmark, spraying sperm, while Kristin G. Andresen is flying around the world.

She is in Davos with the world’s richest people, listening to Volodymyr Zelenskyj and other famous [sic; also, I’m so sick of this nouveau riche behaviour] people speak. She’s renovating a house in France, and she drives a mare to and from hip surgery in Germany [you know, just a regular day at the office…]

Is someone pushing a button in the laboratory?

No, winter has created problems at the cloning clinic in Texas. Clinic manager Blake reports that major temperature fluctuations have disrupted the mares’ cycles. They are still waiting to insert cloned embryos.

Is it really that difficult?

Kristin is tired of sending emails back and forth. She wants to see what it’s all about, she wants to go to the cloning clinic, and she starts planning a trip to the USA. As soon as Blake confirms that the mares are pregnant, she wants to go over for a visit.

On the last day of March 2025, the clinic suddenly announces that they have placed the embryos in the mares:

We are waiting for the first round of pregnancy checks to determine the status. We will update you as soon as we have information about the pregnancy.

The news is promising, but then it goes quiet again.

Just before the Easter holidays, Kristin writes impatiently:

Hi from Norway! Have there been any foals? And if so, how many? Happy Easter!

Blake Russell, director of the cloning clinic, finally writes the words Kristin has been waiting for:

Hello from Texas! Yes, we have mares that are pregnant with Donkey Boy clones.

Kristin gets excited. She notices that he writes ‘mares’ in plural.

A little further down in the email, he confirms that they have ‘more than two pregnancies’.

But. More than two?

What does that mean?

Russell says he doesn’t usually tell clients how many clones are on the way, because they might lose some along the way. ‘Then the client is more likely to mourn the loss of a clone than to rejoice in the clones being delivered in the end.’

Kristin is happy, but wonders a lot.

She’s having three clones. What if there are five? What will they do with the other two?

Blake Russell, the clone company manager, promises more information, but it has to happen at his mysterious clone ranch. Now he will finally show Kristin how clones are made.

Not even major American news magazines such as The Atlantic and The New Yorker have learnt as much as she will now.

But first Kristin wants to visit a rich friend and her five clones in a place where cloning is as commonplace as a yacht trip [you are the company you keep, I suppose].

Cloning is Like Shopping on Amazon [that’s an actual sub-header]

‘Oh my God, how are you? It’s so great to see you’, says Charlotte Jorst, throwing herself around Kristin’s neck.

When Jorst moved from Denmark to the US in the 1980s, it was as Miss Carlsberg, a kind of missionary ambassador for the beer brand. She then built up the Skagen watch brand, sold it for NOK 1.3 billion and became a successful show jumper [here’s a fawning ‘a day in the life of…’ piece, if you’d like to learn ‘more’ about Ms. Jorst].

Jorst loves to win.

Today she lives in the venerable Palm Beach Polo & Country Club in Florida, a gated community with a clubhouse, immaculate lawns, and security. Bill Gates and Bruce Springsteen also have houses nearby [once more, you’re the company you keep: Branch Covidian evil-doers do what evil-doers do].

She herself has had three horses cloned.

First the stallion Nintendo, which has become Nintendo Switch, Super Nintendo, and Nintendo 64 [this tells you about her hobbies, methinks].

Then the stallion Zhaplin, who has become Led Zhaplin and Stairway to Heaven.

And more recently, her daughter’s showjumping horse [that tells you even more about Ms. Jorst and her world].

[here is another one of these odd pictures accompanying the piece: Kristin is taking a picture of a happy billionaire friend with—a clone, or replicant]

She’s cloning them because she’s tired of spending years training foals with huge potential that turn into nothing [more proof of these loony billionaires and their technocratic-materialist cult believes, if you ever needed ‘more’ of that]. These investment rarely pays off, no matter how good the foal’s pedigree [which should tell you everything you’d need to know about eugenics, isn’t it? But that’s a thought that can’t be permitted as cloning™ will merely arrest evolution while everything and everyone around the replicant continues to evolve—eventually, nature will find a way to out-compete the clones, and then these loony billionaires will learn the hard way about the insanity (and futility) of their techno-fetishism].

With cloning, she can reproduce her favourite horse and know that he will most likely become a champion.

‘I'm all about living my best life’, says Charlotte as she shows off her brand new house.

One of the best things she knows about horses is that they are not prejudiced: ‘You are never judged by a horse.’ [don’t be that sure]

Kristin nods with interest. It was Charlotte who advised Kristin to take advantage of the ViaGen cloning clinic back in the day. Now the conversation between the two friends quickly turns to Kristin’s cloning process and what ‘more than two’ can mean.

It can mean zero, two, or three. Or as Charlotte says: ‘More than two can mean twelve.’

‘Then I need a bigger container’, says Kristin.

They have a good laugh [it’s always the crazy eyes…].

Charlotte Jorst claims that it wasn’t difficult at-all when she cloned her prize stallions:

It’s like shopping on Amazon.

She placed an order, and just over a year later the clones turned up in the shopping centre in a hanger:

Everyone should clone. It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever done! [this tells you everything you ever needed to know about the decrepit and, frankly, outlandishly disgusting mental state of these billionaires]

On the other hand, she can also tell you about friends who weren’t successful with cloning. They have lost foetuses along the way, or had stillborn foals.

‘Oh, really’, says Kristin, who’s been thinking that her cloning is pretty well done now that the clinic has revealed that ‘more than two’ are pregnant with clones.

A pensive expression settles over her face: is the project going to fail here? Will she even be able to have a clone? [(no further comment)].

Cloning in Kentucky

Before entering the epicentre of the cloning world, Kristin takes a detour to meet Charlotte’s clones. They live in the horse capital of the USA: Lexington, Kentucky [which also means that the Florida-dwelling Charlotte Jorst frequently travels there—presumably by private jet].

The first thing Kristin sees at the airport is a statue of a horse. The city is gearing up for the annual Kentucky Derby, the world’s most famous horse race, and you do get the impression that there are more horses than people in Lexington.

‘I like that’, says Kristin [who likes horse clones™ more than human beings, and let’s just remind everyone about her Davos friends™, like Bill Gates].

She wonders what it’s like to look into the eyes of a clone [replicant]. Now she’s about to get the answer. Through a gate and up a hill lies the stallion farm with her friend’s clones.

The woman responsible for training the clones, Stacy Brass, takes Kristin into the stables. The three-year-old clones are lined up in rows, each placed in their own box.

Nintendo Switch, Super Nintendo, Nintendo 64.

‘Hi, hi boy’, says Kristin, looking up admiringly at the Super Nintendo clone as she blows him a kiss affectionately.

He stares back like a normal horse [you simply can’t beat legacy media reporting™ like that, can you?]

Ideally, she would like to see the clones running together outside, but she is told that the clones rarely hang out together.

They are too similar. They quickly start to fight [imagine a world in which cloning is done for procreation: wouldn’t that be a wonderful, paradise-like state of affairs (/sarcastic irony)?].

So the groom instead takes the clones out one by one, and Kristin goes into judgement mode. She pats their muscles before moving a little further away and studying the tubes. She compares the horses with each other.

Is it possible to see some kind of difference?

Yes, in a way.

Some have white spots, others do not.

Super Nintendo is slightly longer than the others.

Nintendo 64 is the smallest.

Nintendo Switch, he’s a tad more reserved.

He stares blankly into space, a bit like a kid who has been playing computer games for four hours straight.

Is there something in there? A soul? A brain like the original horse?

Charlotte Jorst claims that the clones recognised her the first time she met them. Kristin has received advice from her: ‘Don’t treat clones like ordinary foals, because they carry phantom memories from the original horse.’ [more revelatory insights from a clone pro™].

There is no scientific evidence for this theory. The brain of a clone has the same genetic architecture as the original, but clones must also learn to run and jump over obstacles. Still. [Among the most thought-provoking theories I’ve seen is Robert Epstein’s Neural Transduction Theory, which squarely posits that each brain is unique (and can’t be cloned): highly recommended reading].

‘They don’t feel like three-year-olds’, says Stacy Brass, who is responsible for training the clones.

‘Yeah, you’re like an old boy’, says Kristin cheerfully to the one Nintendo and pats him on the back.

At the end of the stable stands the original, popularly known as O.G. Nintendo.

The 21-year-old pensioner was once a US national team horse. Today, his genes live on in the clones.

Clone pair number two, Led Zhaplin and Stairway to Heaven, are more difficult to distinguish from each other. They have the same gestures and Kristin has to turn her head this way, then that way, and then this way again, in her quest to find a difference.

The two clones have an important characteristic that distinguishes them from the original, Zhaplin. He is kept at Charlotte’s in Florida and is neutered, while the clones are sexually mature.

In this way, his [the original O.G. Nintendo’s] genes can be bred on [that’s a whole other can of worms to be opened: is that a good idea (likely not)? What about the problems is you mate, say, special replicants with each other? I mean, if history is any guide, given the small gene pool of aristocrats and monarchs, gene and other defects will break trough before too long]

‘You can get a second chance. Who doesn’t want a second chance?, Charlotte had asked cheerfully the day before.

She thinks that cloning is a way of correcting old mistakes [also, it’s engaging in God’s doing, which has, since time immemorial and in all cultures alike, been mankind’s original fall from grace].

Kristin has learnt a lot [like, what, exactly?] from her visit to the clones, and it has given her new energy. She is fascinated by how different clones can be, and she is beginning to dream of showing the original Donkey Boy and his clones in a show at the Evje farm [I don’t know if I find these notions more absurd or horrifyingly mind-blowing].

At the same time, the words from her friend about abortions and stillborn foals continue to haunt her.

Just before travelling to the clinic in Texas to find out how many clones she will get, she is most interested in finding out what could be the reason for anomalies in clone pregnancies:

Is there anything in the process that can help increase the likelihood of successful clones? I find this type of question interesting.

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Bottom Lines (for now)

This is all so absurd, it boggles the mind. We’ll leave that utterly, and pathetically so, tone-deaf, mute, and blind billionaire’s wive for a moment.

Isn’t it amazing that Kristin Andresen kinda fulfils virtually all stereotypes about the billionaire class’ trophy wife?

Then there’s the breathless (and clueless) referencing of other Very Much Acceptable™ people, such as Bruce Springsteen (a frenetic Branch Covidian) and, of course, Bill Gates, as if these were regular joes. To say nothing about the weird Davos reference, as if this was something people should cheer.

Finally for now, mention shall be made of the ethical and other, related concerns brushed away by Kristin and her fellow billionaire friend Charlotte: for them, cloning living beings is tantamount to online shopping at Amazon.

If you ever needed any more evidence of the disgustingly decadent globalist billionaire class, there you go. The notions of cloning being illegal in both Denmark and Norway, as well as rendering paid helpers—including the totally amoral vet—accessories to these (allegedly) criminal activities is merely an after-thought (if it ever crossed Kristin Andresen’s mind at-all, which appears highly doubtful).

No-one knows how many such clones, or replicants, are among us. First, they came for pets and trophy horses, as well as other ‘endangered’ animals.

The core metaphor used is Michael Crichton’s DinoPark novel from 1990, mostly in its 1993 movie adaptation ‘Jurassic Park’ directed by Steven Spielberg.

It doesn’t take a genius to consider the implications of this technology for the creation of human clones, or replicants. The core message here being, in Spielberg’s vivid telling (showing)—mankind being destroyed (eaten) by its own creation (T Rex):

And in this scene, all of the above aspects are related in one 25 seconds-long segment.

To be continued…

1. I’m running a little socio-anthropological experiment here with my sheep, and I’d like you to consider joining in. On ‘my’ BlueSky profile, entitled ‘Ramses & the Gang’, I’m posting pictures and less-than-witty comments in an attempt to gain more followers than those intrepid journos™ who, last autumn around November, in a hissy fit (temper tantrum) pretended to leave X/Twitter because Musk and Trump were BFFs: as they did so, their follower count was reduced from hundreds of thousands to tens to thousands, hence the experimental character of my (sheeps’) social media profile.