Do it yourself Cloning
So, I noticed that I had some hardened, crusted skin on my feet due to a case of poorly named athlete's feet. It gave me an idea. Rather than cure the problem, what if I encouraged it to spread? Granted, it may take a while to completely cover my entire body with this flaky, crusted shell, but what if I could do it? If so, then I could carefully crack it open and climb out of the shell. If I didn't damage it too badly when making my escape, I could duct tape it back together. Think of it as the Ultimate Comb-Over.
I could take this copy of myself to work and place it at my desk. I doubt anyone would notice a difference. I'd be free to do whatever else I wanted! In fact, I could use it anytime I wanted to be off doing something else. Don't want to attend that meeting? No problem! Faux Bubba will do it. Don't want to go shopping? Fine! Bubbalternate can take my place.
What if my scheme is uncovered? What if, somehow, someone notices that Toe Crust Bubba is not me? No problem! I come out of hiding with a harrowing tale of alien abduction, pod people, and vampires. Every story has to have a vampire in it now in order to be believable. Everyone will be so relieved, they'll overlook the fact that my doppelganger is made entirely out of my dead skin, and some duct tape.
The only flaw in my plan is that there is a chance that Bubba 2.0 may be an improvement. My productivity at work may increase. Without my tendancy to say things that should remain echoing inside my head, co-workers may actually start to respect my clone. My wife would certainly be pleased with how I'd become a much better listener. With his new-found popularity, my skin-diseased shell may un-friend me on Facebook. It might steal my identity, virtually erasing me from society. Homeless, nameless, becanless, I would wander aimlessly through an alien world.
That wretched skin! It's taken everything from me! That's when it dawns on me. If I'm out of the way, there will be nothing to expose it's fraud. There's no way it can let me live. If I know my skin, and I think I do, it will stop at nothing to protect itself and its becan supply. I must flee, hunted by a horror of my own creation. Never will I find rest, security, or really good becan until that foul soulless shell finally rots. What a fool I was! How could I have been so stupid?
In my darkest despair, I notice something odd. There's duct tape running down my back. I wonder what that could mean...