Though I once considered you a bosom buddy, a cater-cousin, a friend indeed, I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of what has become a shameful road, for I cannot bear another fine dining experience, lecture, opera, or the like during which you fill the classy air with the pungent stench of a deliberately irreverent toot. – Gladys Potter
How does one have the soul to tell such a dear friend, a cater-cousin, a sister, if you will, about the pungent smell seeping off of her body without hurting her feelings before she goes on a date the “lurve o’ her life”? The answer: You don’t. –Cindy Caplehot
“Hey, dude. It’s Shakespeare. I’m having trouble with Antony’s speech in Julius Caesar. It’s kind of the climax of the play. Can I run it by you?” “Sure. Go for it, Bill” “Ok, here goes. ‘Friends, cater-cousins, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them – I dare say evil follows one as a pungent fart cloud follows a butt that most recently passed wind’ … That’s it. What do you think?
“I like it.”