Send in the Clones!

I cloned myself to pay off my debts. That's a thing now.

DNA's property. I own the patent, trademark, and registration certificates. To make a me, I must grant permission. And absolutely mandatory is a "non-compete clause" — you can't have your clone cloning himself to pay off his debt (viz., your debt and his).

Cloning's expensive. You also have to provide clone-support. But I'm no worse off than some slob paying for children until they're 18. Speaking of, my clone has come of age and can be put to work. Debt relief, finally!

My clone's uneducated, because education is what got me into debt. I've three degrees, but no job, no income, and no self-esteem. This is why I had to figure in the diminishing returns that dissuaded me from matriculating him anywhere beyond high school.

Since he is a high school graduate, however, he can follow the math:

Minimum wage without further debt pays off my debt faster than the possibility (possibility, mind you) of a better salary from the double-edged sword of education and its greater debt.

He loves me. Not like a son loves a father or a brother loves a brother. It's a new kind of love: love between a donor and his clone. It's somewhere between love between two romantic parnters and love of a pet. (It's above love of a pet, but below that of two lovers.)

I set my clone up with a job at a convenience store. He makes better than minimum wage, so he has enough to make the payments and have somewhat of a life, too. Did you know he even invites me over to dinner at his place every week?

Still, there are two things I don't like about him, to be perfectly transparent:

First, he bought the winning lottery ticket from the store where he works, so my debt isn't even a bother. Second, he'll outlive me and get to have all my stuff. In other words, he'll live a better life as me than I could, ever.

Losing my timing this late in my career isn't fair, but you don't need a degree to know that. Who's the clone, who's the clown?