or so you say

Personally, I would not have named my only son Fartburger J. Thistle.  It wasn’t until forty years later, when the constant use of marijuana brought on emphysema, that Marge and Derek realized the frivolity of their naming conventions.  Aside from their son, they had been the care-givers to cats named Ali Baba and the Forty Grams, Jesus Christ Super-Sized, Alberta Huntington Fitch the Turd, and many more.  Not to mention the parakeet named Tweety. 

Fartburger pretended to be unaffected.  He earned a Doctorate in Cultural Anthropology, studied a group of aboriginal peoples in Venezuela for six years (returning to the United States only after the hallucinations replaced his memory with a 3.5 megapixel camera that was always on) and wrote THE definitive book on spirituality in the early years of the XXI^st Century. He was popular with young and old readers, his parents, and the heads of state of numerous third-world countries.
Fartburger’s thesis was this:

There is no god but atom and Quark is its prophet.

No one knew what that meant, nor did they understand the three hundred and thirty-three pages in which he developed the idea.  This pleased him.
Quark, aside from being a subatomic particle, is cheese, as well as software.  Very few people knew this trinitarian view of subatomic physics, least of whom were the physicists and cheese-makers Fartburger had interviewed for the book.