From: gt1274b@prism.gatech.EDU (Brad & Janet)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Re: Nickname suggestions
Date: 8 Apr 92 16:30:14 GMT
Organization: Screaming Lizard Propulsion Systems


bard@cutter.ssd.loral.com (James Woodyatt) writes:
& Brad & Janet suggest by email:
& |> ``Shithead.''
& |>
& |> As Janet always says, ``If the shit fits, wear it.''
&
& I'm sure she does. She must be a veritable fount of wisdom.
&
& You both get the Brian T. Brunner Award for failing to resist the
& temptation of the obvious retort and a copy of the home game for trying.
&
& The Brian T. Brunner Award is given to those individuals who demonstrate
& a marked misunderstanding of the concept of humor and who, through their
& efforts, have given themselves mind and soul toward the noble end of
& providing a bad example for the rest of us. The Brian T. Brunner Award is
& named after its first recipient who demonstrated his brain dysfunction
& with the now famous `Rape of the Sabines' joke, which I posted about a
& week ago.
&
& Not only was your suggested nickname not original -- I have been called
& ``Shithead'' many, many times in the past -- thus ensuring that I could
& never know whether it referred to *me* or to some *other* shithead, but
& it wasn't catchy either. It fairly screamed its feculence with every
& phoneme. Crassness of the highest order.
&
& Lastly, it was *much* dumb. So dumb as to be astounding in its degree of
& dumbness. Monumental stupidity. Phenomenal. Stunning. Stupefyingly dumb.
& How did you empty your minds so completely? I can't for the life of me
& think of something dumber than ``Shithead'' for a nickname. Kee-righst,
& it even makes a lousy name for a pet...
&
& You do get a few points for it being easy to pronounce when screaming.
& A precious *few* points. Keep them and savor them. You may be able to
& exchange them for valuable prizes later. Guard them from those fiends
& who would take your points from you and spend them frivolously on
& generic beer and cheeeeep tortilla chips leaving you with nothing but
& a tort claim.
&
& In the meantime, I recommend that you both take a couple of years off
& your evidently stultifying lives and spend some quality hours in heavy
& omphaloskepsis on or around the islets of Langerhans, that is if the
& pitiful excuse for grey matter you might share between the two of you
& is capable of figuring out who to ask to find out where the islets of
& Langerhans are actually located.

A dinner party, cocktails have just been served.

String quartet plays in a fruity sort of fashion.

Miscellaneous heads of state mill about.

Black tie.  Women are almost all in elegant, ugly, yet oddly expensive
dresses.

All, of course, except your wife, who happens to be the US ambassador
to England.  She is stunning and slim in her evening gown, design
circa 1910.

You, having just finished dressing, come down to join the party.

Your wife sees you descending the wide marble staircase and
interrupts her conversation with the VIP she is currently chatting up
to murmur "Oh you must meet my husband."

She brushes her golden hair back from her face with that same
endearing gesture that first attracted you to her, smiles up at you,
and calls out: "Shithead, dear!  Come meet the Minister for Home
Affairs!"

Now _that's_ an entrance.


-- 
Brad & Janet                                       sects, lye, and stereo hate