To my dear husband: Honey, I love you, I really do. I even like most of the songs you write. But, baby, your band sucks! I'm not sure what's worse, the gigs after midnight on a Monday night that no one shows up to, or your bandmate's sorry-ass 45-year-old drunken howler monkey of a wife. I grit my teeth as you practice in our basement, I bow my head in shame as I hear the singer loudly fart, then crack another beer. What gives? Don't you see what a pitiful, raggedy, talentless bunch of hacks these guys are? It's almost unbearable. You wonder why you guys haven't hit the big time yet? Because you suck! You guys make me want to stick a sharp pen in my ear, to drown out the strains of the off-key, poorly constructed, warbly, shitty, predictable, folksy rock crap that is your band.