Wouldn’t it be awesome if, when angels died, they burst into light and you heard songs of glory that transcended language and caused the world to be a little happier just for a moment?
Instead, they just crackle and fall and then all these puppies and kittens burst out of their chests and run up to you and then you have to shoot all those cute animals because otherwise the critters start biting you and tearing you to shreds.
And I have to deal with that every fucking week, just because those angels won’t die like I want them to.
I mean, it’s all nice and good to promise a land of sunshine, but when you don’t bloody deliver, and then we come to collect, you gotta be graceful, man.
Instead, they went into hiding and they come over all sinister when they die. But for me, it’s a living, and good money at that.
And I’ve got this nice little code for when I call my employer to tell him the job is done. I say … get this, I say, “The subject is ‘having kittens’.”
I know. I kill myself.