Once upon a time, a well-intentioned lady made baked beans for lunch.
These were to go with the marinated chicken breasts, barbecued to perfection.
The lady had a husband.
The husband liked the beans.
"Those are good beans!" he said.
"Thank you." she replied.
(Burying the Bush's can deep into the trash, as she had previously always served homemade beans from her grandma's recipe file.)
Fast forward to dinner.
"Are there more of those good beans?" the husband hungrily asked.
"Why, yes!" the beaming lady cried.
And served him up a healthy portion.
Fast forward to bedtime.
The husband filled the house with toxic farts.
The lady died.