Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
Yep but instead of throwing them away in the trash can that’s across the house I toss them into the convenient clothes hamper and end up wearing them again
“Dad, terminators won’t like being shot in the face!” “Terminators will like what I tell them to like”