Mike Ducker. Never has a spoonerism been so apt, nor caused so much embarrassment, fear and regret.
Alright this next test may involve trace amounts of time travel. So word of advice: if you meet yourself on the testing track don't make eye contact. Lab boys tell me that'll wipe out time - entirely. Forward and backward. So do both of yourselves a favor and let that handsome devil go about his business.
If you need to go the bathroom in this next series of tests, please let test associates know, because in all likelihood whatever comes out of you is going to be coal. Only temporary, so do not worry. If it persists for a week though, start worrying and come see us, because that's not supposed to happen.
In case you're interested, there's still some positions available for that bonus opportunity I mentioned earlier. Again, all you've got to do is let us disassemble you; we're not banging rocks together here, we know how to put a man back together. So, that's a complete reassembly, new vitals, spit-shine on the old ones, plus we're scooping out tumors. Frankly, you ought to be paying us.
You know what my days used to be like? I just tested. Nobody murdered me, or put me in a potato, or fed me to birds. I had a pretty good life. And then YOU showed up, you dangerous, mute, lunatic.
Well done. Here are the test results: "you are a horrible person". I'm serious, that's what it says: "a horrible person". We weren't even testing for that. Don't let that "horrible person" thing discourage you. It's just a data point. If it makes you feel any better, science has now validated your birth mother's decision to abandon you on a doorstep.