We're all Doomed

"And nigh the end is near and so we face the final curt-tain."
"Five days to go and counting!" yelled Tommy my cat, as he frantically searched the phone book for Dr Kevorkian's phone number.
I threw a bar of soap at a dirty rat and cried,
"Put the phone book down and back away! Spread your legs and put both hands on the retired circus clown. We don't need Dr Death. Michael McGimpsey's health service will finish us off soon enough."
"DOOMED!" yelled Tommy. "We're all-doomed. Soon Mr Coyle will be killing us softly with his song."
I gulped, gasped and spluttered,
"We could always listen to--Frank Mitchell."
"Are you MAD?" screamed Tommy.
"Yes," I said, producing the necessary paper work.
"There's only one thing to do," yelled Tommy. "We must dig two holes and crouch in them for the month of August."
"Could we not both crouch in the same hole?" I asked,
Tommy looked at me like I was mad, which I am, and said.
"If we did that, we would have to dig the hole twice as deep."
I gazed in awe at my feline friend. A genius. That's what Tommy is. A genuine, generic, gentile, gender-bender, 24 caret, 100%-genius. And you don't have to take my word for it. Tommy will tell you the same thing himself!
While Tommy was making five gallon of Bird's Angel Delight in an oil drum, he looked over his shoulder and said,
"I saw a horrible sight on the Donegall road yesterday."
"I saw it too," I yelled. "Tubby Nolan bent over in the canon position."
Tommy stirred the Bird's Angel Delight with a wooden leg and said,
"No. What I saw was a street performer, twisting small dogs into the shape of balloons."
"That's horrible," I squeaked. "Did you phone the RSCPA?"
"I did," said Tommy, "but they told me to keep my nose out, or they would send someone to pee on my geraniums."
"So that's who's been doing it," I yelled. "And all the time I thought it was ME!"
The sun set in the West. Darkness spread its jet black cloak and the little hoodies appeared from the shadows like grey, mindless zombies.
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
Please put my false teeth in my bake.
Goodnight Gerry. Goodnight Janet. Goodnight Emma. Goodnight Sean boy!