The Perils (or Perks) of Living with a Geneticist by Big Kahuna BE, Lac,
**The Perils (or Perks) of Living with a Geneticist by Big Kahuna**
Voicemail transcription begins / Dee Dee
"Morning, Carl. Just keeping you updated on what's happening on my end. I'm sure you've guessed that I'm still working from home. For obvious reasons, coming into the lab is not a good idea right now. Also, forgive me if I tend to ramble. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night.
First off, as expected, my wife Beverly, er…shit, what was her code name again? Elsie! Elsie underwent more changes during the night. I estimate that her breasts, um, *udders*, have quadrupled in size. We both knew this would probably happen, but what neither of us could have foreseen was that the lower pair of udders that began forming on her upper abdomen last night would show such astonishing growth. They now match the subject's primary set, both in size and output.
I don’t know what to tell you, Carl, this is either the biggest fuckup of my career, or it will get me the Nobel Prize. I should never have brought BGH-68/C home with me, and I guess, in hindsight, putting it in my kitchen refrigerator was probably a bad idea as well. Note to Purchasing: we really must get more suitable containers for our experimental serums, rather than ones that resemble gallon milk jugs.
Anyway, Beverly’s, er, *Elsie's* output is now roughly half that of a fully grown Guernsey, which for being only two days since ingestion is pretty remarkable. It appears that BGH-68/C works even better on, um, non-bovine subjects, making them more efficient at producing milk than actual dairy cows. This could be a real boon to the dairy industry should there be an outbreak of a bovine equivalent to the avian flu of 2015, or a cut in government dairy subsidies.
Physically, Elsie seems to be adjusting well to the changes in her body, although due to the increased weight on her front side she is no longer able to walk upright. She gets around well enough on her hands and knees, but has begun using her hind legs instead, which is probably more comfortable for her since we have hardwood floors throughout the house rather than carpeting.
Mentally, however, I’m not so sure. All she cares about now is being milked, and eating. She has developed a fondness for oatmeal cookies, which she eats to the exclusion of anything else. I would anticipate that this diet would make her milk sweeter than normal cow milk, but I’m not about to test it myself. Aren’t there some convicts in the state prison we can use for conducting taste tests?
Also, in the name of being thorough—and I’ll kill you if this ever makes it into an official report, Carl—Elsie's sex drive has shot through the roof. Whenever she isn’t eating, sleeping, or being milked, she wants to be, um, mounted. I swear there isn’t enough Viagra to help me keep up with her. If she gets any worse, I may have to ask you to send over some of the guys from Janitorial. I doubt that she'd notice the difference, and Lord knows I could use the rest.
I’m sorry I can’t give you a better mental picture of her, Carl. The truth is she isn't speaking to me right now. She was pissed off at me for leaving the serum in the fridge. She even accused me of doing it on purpose, which I swear to God I didn’t. So now she’s fucking with me by acting all cow-like. If I say anything to her, she just gives me an oblivious sort of look, like she can’t understand what I’m saying, and then noses around in her bag of cookies, or else swishes her tail up in invitation for me to fuck her.
Shit, I left that part out, didn’t I? Yeah, it seems that a tail began growing in sometime late last night. I only noticed it this morning, hardly surprising since I've been paying so much attention to her front half. Maybe it's the the fatigue talking, but it does look kind of cute.
I suppose I'm sugar-coating this report, trying to put the best possible spin on what is undoubtedly the most epic science fail since Piltdown Man. Best case scenario: Beverly's—er, Elsie's—body will ultimately reject the EEF1D gene, and we can just surgically remove the extra breasts and tail, and pretend that none of this ever happened.
Worst case scenario: I don't even want to think about the worst case, Carl, but can you imagine what would happen if BGH-68/C ever made it into the hands of eco-terrorists? They’ve picketed us in the past; broke in twice; hell, they could even have a spy in our offices. It wouldn’t take much to introduce a dilute form of the serum into the country’s milk supply. The effects wouldn't be noticed for months, by which time the gene would be fully entrenched. Obviously we wouldn’t have to worry about the male half of the population, since anyone with the XY chromosome would be unaffected. But the female half, Carl, the ones with the tits, would not thank us for turning them into full-time production livestock.
That's all I've got for now, Carl. I’m dead tired, and Elsie’s giving me that look, which means that she needs to be milked again. Either that, or she…hey, stop that! Get your head out of my crotch, you stupid cow! Shit, I gotta go, Carl. Fuck it, send Hector and Jesus over, would you? And have ‘em bring that goat milker we keep down in storage. I’m getting one fuck of a case of carpal tunnel syndrome."
Voicemail transcription ends / Dee Dee
[Photo attachment 1](http://orig03.deviantart.net/cf19/f/2015/180/9/8/the_perils__or_perks__of_living_with_a_geneticist_by_bigkahuna69-d8z3u44.png) [Photo attachment 2](http://orig02.deviantart.net/dbcd/f/2015/238/1/c/elsie___day_2_by_bigkahuna69-d979w0w.png) [Photo attachment 3](http://orig04.deviantart.net/1b60/f/2015/241/a/5/elsie_enjoys_a_bath_by_bigkahuna69-d97lc3i.png)