"What are you doing?" Jeanine asked Bob.

"What are you doing?" Jeanine asked Bob. "I'm howling silently like you told me to, of course!" Bob was growing puce & Jeanine worried that his already high triglycerides would clu

-mp into clogging clods in his arteries, causing cardiac congestion. He looked like he was pooping a prizewinner. "I have so much to say without speaking," strained Bob. Jeanine

bit her lip cautiously while smoking a Lady Slim with it carefully poised at the other side of her mouth. They had been out for a quiet night on the veranda, Momma fluffing her pu-

-ffy updo, Papa taking a smoke too. She'd always reminded me of a Lauren Bacall, Great Gatsby type character with her bullshit radar and irreverent sex appeal. I went to join them

, pulling up a chair to the solid oak table, and asked their opinions on the day's events,

then he coughed into his. The hubba-bubba gum flew into his palm and he stuck it under the solid oak table.

I hubba-bubba was really C4 with a nanodetonator inside. When I walked clear of the oak table I used my smartphone to detonate it. The oak table knocked out the Government goons &

I, hubba-bubba became a mouse and escaped. My phone was with me. Whew! I was free and could breathe.

I felt like singing but all that came out was a squeak. I used to dream of being a Mousketeer, but as a real mouse, I couldn't sing that song. I sadly strolled by the cat tower

where I was attacked by the cat and eaten. The last thing I saw in this life was my reflection in the cat's name tag as she lunged. Turns out I was wrong. I was a ratconteur.