September 1, 2009, a Tuesday evening.
Shakespeare said a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.
Probably not if we called them farts, though.
"Oh, what a lovely fart. What a lovely bouquet of farts."
"What are you giving Kathleen for Valentine's Day?"
"6 dozen red farts."
"Wow, big spender!"
"She prefers yellow farts but red farts were all I could afford this year."
"Well, I'm sure any girl would be impressed by 6 dozen farts, whatever color they were."
Come on. I know I'm not the only one who's thought about this.