“Yeah, I guess I should have seen that one coming,” confessed 20th-century American Poet Robert Frost, as he picked dead slugs from the less-traveled road out of the bottom of his shoes. “I thought there had to be something special there, but it turns out there’s a reason why everyone takes the other road on the way to Dedham. This one sucked, seriously, do not take it. Just get on the I-95, it’s so much faster.”

“It took forever, even though there wasn’t any traffic, obviously,” Frost continued as his neck itched from the rash he picked up on the road less traveled. “And it stunk, like literally the whole road smelled bad. Terrible experience overall.”

At press time, a rose by any other name was actually not as sweet.