And so you went to bed last night,
To bed last night without me;
Without me there, you went to sleep,
Went to sleep without me there.

Without me there, you rubbed and bucked,
Rubbed and bucked against your hand;
Your hand was where my fingers were,
My fingers weren’t there last night.

There, last night, I watched then crept,
Then crept into your darkened room;
Your darkened room, thick with your scent,
Your scent clings to my hands.

My hands are slick, your juices thick,
Thickening all around you,
You broke my fucking heart, Mary, but you
Won’t be double-teaming my black lab and your schnauzer
Any more, will you?
Dead girlfriends can’t cheat on you like that.

She squealed,
“Enjoy your birthday, Patrick,”
As she popped right out of bed,
Picking hairs out of her pearly teeth,
After giving birthday head,
To spit out spunk that Patrick spooged,
Into a porcelain bowl,
Now you’re older!
And in bed alone,
Your female counterpart rinses off and heads away to work,
You languish for an hour more,
Then stir, and start to jerk,
There are servers in your future, friend,
To maintain with lines of code,
But that’s a ways away, you see:
Your hand continues to go,
And when you’re done, you’ll spray your shoot into the toilet too,
And as post-coitus shrinks your bone,
It’s lonely in your house, alone,
Happy Birthday to you.