A/N: Hey, anonymous flamer, you're the only one that's crying, hun. I laughed so hard that I was on the verge of tears, but none were shed on your behalf. Sorry. Are you going to be the next, and when I say 'next,' I mean seventh, person to create a troll account dedicated to flaming me and only me? And if you think my stories suck, you should see my stats page. MAYBE IF I WROTE ALL OF MY 'SUMMERIES' IN CAPITAL LETTERS LIKE THIS WITH NO PUNCTUATION LIKE A SECOND GRADER YOU'D THINK MY STORIES WERE GOOD TOO.

Queen Islanzadi, you were right. I know it's not the same kind of doctor, though.

The title of the story is meant as a joke, seeing as I don't like John Cena at all, but it's a serious story. And for those who claimed this to be original, thank you. But that only means it has a short life span before the trolls eat it alive.

"Baby, are you sure you're going to want to go through with this?" John's girlfriend, Brittany, asked.

"Baby girl, we've discussed this. You were okay with it. I'm okay with it. Besides, who couldn't use a little more John Cena in their lives?" John grinned.

"Everyone couldn't, John," Brittany laughed. "Especially me. I can't even handle you now, let alone if there are two of you."

"But just think, Brit. You'd get double Cena all the time. Isn't that what you want?"

"No, John, not really."

"Why do you have to shoot me down like that? You're really a nice confidence boost," John joked, laughing and tossing an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders.

"How long are you going to be in there?" Brittany asked as John opened the door to the doctor's building. He had an appointment with Dr. Moscovitz. Today was the day that he would be giving his DNA sample to the doctors to send to the scientists so they could clone "perfection."

"I don't think taking the DNA sample will take very long. I mean, it's not like I'm donating a finger or anything. It's probably just going to be a mouth swab like they do on Maury for the paternity testing," John explained.

"Well, just remember that I'm here waiting for you," Brittany said after John checked in at the receptionist's desk. "Don't take forever."

"I'll try, babe. I'll try."

"You're not nervous or anything, are you?" Dr. Moscovitz asked, finishing up the last bits of paperwork before the procedure would take place.

"Nah, I think my girl is more nervous than I am. She just doesn't want this to take forever," John said.

"Oh, we should only be here for half an hour. The actual talking of the DNA sample takes barely ten minutes. The buff of the time is spent yapping on about nonsense and finishing up paperwork. My wife, Mia, is also nervous about this. She thinks cloning physical perfection is a dumb idea."

"Isn't the whole point of human existence scientifically supposed to be to achieve perfection?"

"Hm, I've never really thought of it like that, John. Ever thought of being a scientist?"

"Nah, I can't really think about science as something fun. No offense."

"None taken," Dr. Moscovitz said, straightening up the papers on his desk. "Ready to take on this sucker?"

"I was born ready."

Six months later

"What the hell?" John mumbled.

"What is it, babe?" Brittany grumbled from beside him. It was currently five in the morning. They were woken up by John's phone ringing haphazardly on the bedside table.

"Hello?" John answered, rubbing his eyes.

"John, it's Dr. Moscovitz. Would you like to meet your clone?"