Dear Large Rib Kicking Being Inside Of My Wife,

Look kid: don’t take this personally but: It’s 37 weeks now, so……..

Get. Out.

It’s all over. Finished.

Scram! Hit the road! Take a hike (crawl)!

You’re done, son. Cooked. Baked. Ripe.

The checkered flag is waving. The final buzzer has sounded.

The Fat Lady has sung.. (ah, sorry that wasn’t about you, Michelle).

There is absolutely no reason why you aren’t out here with the rest of us, breathing, eating, pooping, trying to get a job, paying taxes and complaining about Congress.

You have officially overstayed your welcome. Consider this your eviction notice.

Cordially,

The Guy Who Is Not Your Father But Is Married To The Vessel You Are Residing In.

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