Only Ourselves to Blame

Dearest Huckleberry,

I wanted to take a moment to apologize for all of the wicked things I have done to you... the late nights, the drinking, the smoking and woman chasing I put you through in our younger and wilder days. To twist your arm and to push you in an ungodly direction was wrong no matter how fun it seemed at the time, and we must try to make our wives think that life is better for us now without those mean things (never mind that we met those wives while we were engaged in practicing those vile and unspeakable ills... she has forgotten that, and so must we).

To convince you of my sincerity, I have enclosed a short poem:

For all of those nights we spent long ago

with Jim, and Jack, and Jose Cuervo,

For the women we met who danced and sang,

and who followed us home when we made it rain.

I lift up this bottle of Geritol,

and beg forgiveness from each of y'all!

So, for the harm that I did that can't be made right

I am throwing a party on Saturday Night!

Please RSVP...

Your Friend to the End,

Huckleberry

PS- It's BYOB, you cheap bastard.