—My god. Imagine the farts she would fart if she could fart farts.

—It’s 7:30 in the morning.

—She wouldn’t fart at 7:30 in the morning? I bet she’d fart like a stevedore at 7:30 in the morning. I mean, what kind of dinners must she eat to get a figure like that?

—It’s a statue.

—I said imagine.

—How are we related?

—By blood, my friend. And you’ve got three more days of this, big sister.

—I’ve made a terrible mistake.