"Cat got your tongue?" said Natasha. It was

"Cat got your tongue?" said Natasha. It was true. My Tabby Dmitry blew me a rasberry. Meanwhile I had his tongue. I felt the raspy prickly velcro-like texture of it & had an urge

-ncy incontinence flashed through me. My pants were soaking wet. Because it was horrible. Deathly horribly. Catching my cat's tongue had confirmed the most horrible thing

, but I wasn't ashamed. I got to the cat before he got to me. "No, cat AIN'T got my tongue, I've got HIS!" Funny, though. After a few weeks I realized that I was unable to speak!

That double-tongued cat! Sick of playing cat and mouse, I let him out of the bag again. He looked like he ate a canary, but perhaps it was my tongue after all… I was speechless!

Just as speechless as one of those sandbags we kept down at Guantanamo during the Iraqi Invasion. I still couldn't believe after all I'd done for him, General Arcade would cut my

stick inside a pot and boiled with a sweet cilantro mix. That vile bastard, Krabs, would get what was coming to him, but my superiors had been swayed by his butt-severing guile.

That was why they added his favourite cilantro. He was going to die, so why not have a delicious final meal? It beat the usual crap served at Hamburger Heaven on highway 62.

"Did angels even eat food?" he wondered. It seemed to him a major downer because he would miss the juiciness of an aged Kobe steak or a brie with a 1979 Pinot Noir on crushed ice.

An older angel winged to his side. "I know what you're thinking: will I ever get laid again?" "... Wel, I was-" "No, friend. Instead, we watch over the humans. We watch! ALWAYS."