The Actual Dangers of CRISPR/Cas9
I was in work one Monday. I worked in one of those big open plan offices in a wee team of about 10 of us. I got on with some better than others, you know how it is. Anyway, it was lunchtime and a few of us were sitting around a table in the cafeteria. It was the usual shite. Talking about what we had been up to at the weekend. Me and this one guy Dave, however, were having a bit of a disagreement over the football. With me being a life-long Cellic boy and him being, lets just say a Rangers fan, to be nice shall we? Things were getting a bit heated. There was a bit of back and forth and to be honest, I kind of felt that he was taking it a bit too far, as was Dave’s tendency. I’d had quite enough and tried to put him in his place by bringing up the whole tax thing and Rangers being relegated. I laid it on quite fuckin thick and I was having fun in doing so. It wasn’t until I was in full flow about the demise of Rangers Footbal Club that I realised everycunt sitting at the table was a fuckin blue nose and they were all starting to turn on me and gang up. That put me on the defensive a wee bit. I’m going to have to take these cunts out one by one, I thought to myself
I started with Auld Agnes, a woman in her 50’s. She was saying something about Celtic being shite since Martin O’Neil left but I cut her off with a comment about her fanny being stinking. She went bright red and shut the hell up. Wee Andy came to her rescue and started spouting some shite about Henrick Larsson being over rated but a slick one liner about his divorce silenced him. Larsson was a fuckin legend was wee Andy fuckin mental? Next thing, Dave turns to me and he just goes like that “Aw shut up ya fat ginger prick” laughing as he said it as well.
I swear to fuck, see if it was a film. The camera would have slowly zoomed into my rigid barely concealed rage of a face, dead close, while discordant violent music played. I tried to show I wasn’t bothered of course but I’m sure everybody sensed that he’d hit a nerve even though he was seemingly oblivious, the cunt. Somebody else started talking to change the subject and fill the silence with some noise about this and that but my mind was far away. Already plotting my revenge.
Here’s the thing. I knew exactly how I was going to get this cunt back the moment the insult left his mouth. I had been reading a lot about this new DNA technology CRISPR/Cas9, you see. CRISPR/Cas9 they say, is a powerful gene editing technology that had the potential to change the world. Scientists were already trying to try and cure all sorts of genetic diseases. That’s fuckin brilliant, I thought but here’s the thing what if I stuck the genes for gingerism and the genes for fatness into that arrogant cunt Dave. What then? Well, I was going to find out.
The mad thing about CRISPR was that you could buy all the stuff for it online. It came with step by step manuals and you didn’t have to be a fuckin rocket scientist to understand it. You just followed each step like you were making a fuckin curry. There was tonnes of stuff on youtube as well, showing you how it all worked. It cost me a few grand but it was going to be so fuckin worth to see the look on Dave’s face when he was all fat and ginger.
Polymerase Chain Reaction machine £1, 843
GeneArt™ Precision gRNA Synthesis Kit £300
Seeing big Dave’s confused and horrified face when he doesn’t know why he’s turned into a big fat ginger cunt? PRICELESS
So I set to work putting my genes into the adeno associated viral vectors and all the rest of it. In no time at all I had my all my wee viruses full of fatness and gingeritis ready for administration. This would potentially be the most difficult part because obviously I had to get them inside Dave without Dave realising. It turned out to be easy as pie in the end. I got him pished and when he passed out I jagged his pimply arse full of my diabolical CRISPR. In the mean time I had another wee idea. If I could transform Dave into a big orange boy then why not transform myself? So that’s what I did. Using CRISPR on myself I got rid of my growth differentiation factor 8. In other words, I made myself muscly as fuck. I didn’t stop there though. I made my hair black, courtesy of the MC1R gene. So, with the body of a Greek statue and thick Elvis hair I could really lay it on thick when I next saw Dave once he had fully transformed.
The hair didn’t quite work out as planned though. It went a bit weird, actually. Like, too black, you know? Like, Vanta black. And when something is vanta black it actually absorbs 99% of light. I just looked fuckin weird as fuck. Like my hair didn’t exist but something was there. I’d be talking to people and they just couldn’t concentrate on what I was saying. They’d just be staring at my mad infinite void hairdo. It meant I had to shave as well, lest half my face look like it was lost in another dimension. I started wearing hats a lot. I couldn’t do anything about the eyebrows though which now looked like two holes in an empty head. Still it was better than being ginger.
The muscles though. Holy fuck, the muscles! I. Fuckin. Grew. A wee bit too much, though. As the weeks went by I sort of expanded in all direction, perfectly and symmetrically. If I stood the right way I was almost a geometric cube. I couldn’t keep up with my own strength either. After a month I’d ripped all the doors in my house off the hinges, , crushed the T.V remote, crushed my mobile phone, crushed this, crushed that, crushed fuckin everything! It was a fuckin nightmare. I had to relearn how I moved. Eventually, after endless hours of concentration and practice I managed to regain the dexterity and control over my substantial musculature.
I hadn’t seen or heard of Dave since I’d rendered him a mutant. At least I’d hoped he had mutated. The problem with CRISPR is it can just kind of kill you. It can cause cancer or there can be an autoimmune reaction to all the wee viruses. Don’t get me wrong I was fuckin ragin at Dave for whatever it was he said but I don’t think I wanted him to die.
Then one day, as was walking through the town centre I noticed what I thought was an actual monster. You know, like from a film or something. A big fuckin giant monster. But there was something not quite right. Because if it was a monster, it was also wearing a Rangers football top and nothing else. Fuck me! I thought. That’s fuckin Dave! Dave looked a barely human mess. He was shuffling along the pavement at a slugs pace. A shapeless mass of bulging doughy pink flesh. And to my absolute delight. His hair was ginger as fuck. What I’d at first thought was a Rangers top. Was actually, upon closer inspection, about 30 Rangers tops all stitched together that just about fit over his lipid abundance.
I burst out laughing. Even though I was on the other side of the street he must have heard me. He stopped. His eyes shifted over at me. I didn’t waste another second. I regained my composure, took a big deep breath and at the top of my voice I shouted “HA HA HA. LOOK AT THE STATE OF YOU. YA FAT GINGER PRICK”