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"Sorry if this kills you," you tell him.
"You got no one to blame but yourself," Other You jokes. A familiar feeling rises from your loins. Other You takes notice first. "Don't know what that means."
"Eheh, yeah." You knew you were hard because whether or not he survived, you'd get a second head. If the procedure didn't work, you'd have something else in mind anyway, courtesy of your old enabler, the Internet. Really, then, it couldn't not work. But if the procedure didn't kill him right then and there, you didn't know who you wanted rubbed off first: him or yourself.
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