"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!

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

ass off and mount it over his fireplace. That vile Mr. Krabs had been putting evil ideas like this in the heads of my superiors and I knew that the killer crustacean had to be

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."