Dear Nick

Ever since the hot wife got pregnant, I have to admit that our sex life has been a bit lighter. Which isn't a big deal, I don't mind the break. It's tiring having sex ten times a week for four months.

But you know, the boys haven't been all that excited about the break. They're starting to rebel. So, as they do every so often, like here, here and here... they have decided to write one of their world famous poems. It's called, appropriately, Dear Nick. It sounds so familiar... but I just can't put my finger on why...


Dear Mr. I'm too good to call on my boys
This'll be the last poem we ever write your ass
It's been four months and still not much sex
We don't deserve it
We did that one job that got you here perfect

So this is our poem we're writing you. We hope you read it
We're in the car right now. We're doing 90 on the freeway
Hey Nick we did a bunch of Jager Bombs, can we have sex now?
You know that song by Phil Collins - In the Air of the Night
About that guy who could've saved that other guy
From drowning but didn't and Phil saw it all and at his show he found him?
That's kinda how this is
You could've rescued us from drowning
But its too late we're on a thousand downers now. We're drowsy
And all we wanted was some drunken sex or a call
I hope you know we ripped all your pictures off the wall
We loved you Nick, we could have been together
Think about it. You ruined it now.
I hope you can't sleep and you dream about it
And when you dream, I hope you can't sleep and you scream about it
I hope your conscious eats at you and you can't breathe without us

Hmmm...

Nick