Dear Utonium,
I believe I should congratulate you on your discovery—no, that's not quite right. Not your discovery, your creations. Never did I imagine such a thing conceived from such simple means possible. Every ounce of logic fails me. Me! Oh, if you could see me now old friend, pondering and pondering. You must tell me how. It mustn't be from some freak accident, that would be too easy. Yet it feels almost as natural as Newton and his apple. Yes, you are something, creating life, and from what you have told me, the trice ubermensch. Do they breathe as we do? Are there more aspects that divide and separate them from our basic tier? I am curious. Greatly, I let curiosity overwhelm me. If not curiosity then Envy would rear her lime skin, and you know how much I hate negative thoughts. But please, if you can, if you may be so kind as to elaborate more on the process of conception, most notably on the make up of this mysterious Chemical X. Such an ambrosia must be known only to those who would us it for just means— Please, a sample would do, allow me to study it. You have bested me, I'll admit that. If humility is what you want then lobotomize my pride. If that is what it takes for just a small fraction of that substance that leaves the yoni and phallus obsolete. Wait… You are not lying are you? A silly joke to agitate me? Knowing I sought to create the dwarf in the flask, to mold flesh and brain and bone at the expense of my own—You play horrible tricks my friend if that is the case.
From,
Dr. –