Heavin’ ‘n ‘eel.

Unlike me George is going to heaven, if he asks God nicely, I’ll be allowed to visit and play with him, rolling around in the sweet sweet grass of the elysian fields.

George doesn’t even have to do anything special to go to heaven, all doggies do. Even doggies that chew on kiddies faces go to heaven.

It’s part of the deal.

You see, they put up with our bizarre two legged doings ("Why are you cooking that meat? Are you kerrraazzzy?!"), so they get a free pass. In heaven, the steaks fly through the air at perfect leaping height for a happy snapping grab. And they’re always allowed on God’s sofa without ever having to beg. Begging, they find, is demeaning – just look at their eyes when they do it, they’re not happy about this part of the deal, but they’re resigned to it, and look forward to basking in the radiant glow a Gabriel thrown kong bouncing up a hill for them for all time.

They’re like angels, really, only without all the wings and lies. And they get to sexx0r if they feel like it.

Cats are a different matter entirely. There are no cats in heaven (except when a doggie has a yearning for one, and that’s only briefly on special occasions) or hell, as cats have no soul.

They’re mindless automatons, much like Destiny Church members.

They’re built from clay with magic word placed in a capsule embedded in their bodies to animate them.

They run on tiny little steam engines, these heat their bodies and help fool us that they’re alive. When these overheat they activate a whistle which vents through their mouths with a yooowwwwwlll. They also power a very fast spinning gyroscope which helps give them their unreal sense of balance.

Don’t be fooled, they’ll eat your brains while you sleep. Look at the picture, don’t you see the evil deadness in her eyes? RUN!!! RUN YOU FOOLS!!! RUN!!!