Mr. Peterson. The jury has recommended that you be put to death for the murder of your pregnant wife, Laci. I would have to concur with this. However, due to the fact that this speech is taking place within a blog posting of a particularly twisted individual, it is my privilege to alter the sentence. To elaborate on it, if you will. I sentence you to death NOT by injection, NOT by electrocution, and NOT by being drawn and quartered by monster trucks, but rather thusly:

I sentence you to being cloned. Upon successful completion of the cloning, you will be put into cryogenic suspension for 32 years, during which time your clone shall be raised to be a psychopathic killer. After said 32 years, you will be revived, forced to marry your first clone, and then cloned again. This second clone will be placed inside you using an artificial womb. You will carry this second clone for approximately eight months as it gestates within you, and as you live in awkward matrimony with your first clone, who, this entire time, will be plotting your demise. Then, on Christmas Eve, your first clone will kill you and your unborn you, and dump you in the bay. Your first clone shall then be forced to undergo the exact same procedure. This shall continue ad infinitum, every 32 years, until the demise of civilization. Until Hell itself swallows the land and all creation is swept into the fiery maw of chaos. Until...okay, I'll admit, the apocalyptic talk doesn't really add much to what is already a pret-ty freaky sentence. Doctors? Take him away.