There once was a farmer whose five quintuplet teenage daughters were going on dates at the same time.

“As soon as your dates arrive,” said the farmer, “I will talk to them personally. If I don’t like them, I will shoot them.”

Just then, a knock was heard at the door. The farmer answered the door, shotgun in hand. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Teddy,” said the boy. “I’m going steady with Betty. We’re getting spaghetti. Is she ready?”

“I don’t see any harm in this guy,” thought the farmer. So off went Teddy and Betty to get spaghetti.

Just then, another knock was heard at the door. The farmer answered the door, shotgun in hand. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Joe,” said the boy. “I want you to know that I’m taking Flo to the show. Can we go? Yes or no?”

“I don’t see any harm in this guy,” thought the farmer. So off went Joe and Flo to the show.

Just then, a third knock was heard at the door. The farmer answered the door, shotgun in hand. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Nate,” said the boy. “I hope I’m not late for my date with Kate. We’re going to skate, which I think will be great.”

“I don’t see any harm in this guy,” thought the farmer. So off went Nate and Kate to skate.

Just then, a fourth knock was heard at the door. The farmer answered the door, shotgun in hand. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Lance,” said the boy. “I’m taking Nance to the high school dance, which is themed like Paris, France. Is she ready for our romance, by chance?”

“I don’t see any harm in this guy,” thought the farmer. So off went Lance and Nance to the dance.

Just then, a fifth knock was heard at the door. The farmer answered the door, shotgun in hand. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Chuck,” said the boy.

Then he died.