Names

Vick Lancer. Jack Abraxis. Raif MacFearson. These names are the sorts of names God writes with lava across a devastated third-world village. If Satan farted into a condom, it would tie itself, like a balloon animal, into the shape of “Sirhan Sirhan.” If you fold a five-dollar bill just right it says “River Phoenix” and has a diagram showing how to build a spaceship out of pit bulls and tattoos. By using the science of word-making, I intend to demonstrate what exactly makes these names so taint-stainingly ass-balling so you can give them to your children, though if you haven’t already named one of them your odds of procreating are precariously small.

Three basic principles determine awesome names. These are a) near-rhyming, b) famous people, and c) real words. Stay with me. Gregory Peck derives its awesomeness from A and C: “Greg” and “Peck” sort of rhyme, and “peck” is short for “pectoral muscle” which is like a boob but on a man. “Peck” is also the first part of “pecker” and is what birds do to eat. Also, he is a famous person himself, and as such automatically qualified for B, but because he already had two principles he donated principle B to an orphanage that was built on a cliff by a blind architect.

Erik the Red had a name that contained two real words, which in Scandinavian mythology meant that he was destined to be close to Newfoundland, but not actually live there. He is also named after anyone who has anything to do with the colour red, like Cincinnati Reds relief pitcher Edinson Volquez or the British, satisfying principle B. His name also contains a K rather than a C, placing it on the awesome end of the C-K spectrum. Unfortunately, he was also a Viking, which means in practice his name was pronounced with grunts and swishy sword noises.

How about Magnus ver Magnusson? You probably don’t know who he is. But if you heard it you would probably expect to be hurt shortly thereafter. Magnus employs principle A, because Magnus and the Magnus part of Magnusson rhyme, and principle C shows that he respects his father, whose sperm created him, because of the word “son.” And if you need any more proof that this man is worthy of his name, Magnus ver Magnusson is ESPN’s four-time World’s Strongest Man, which means that on a shelf in his garage there are four trophies that if laid end-to-end would be longer than your large and small intestines combined and heavier than the middle part of the sun.

Magnus shares the secondary principle of German prepositions with legendary name-haver Baron von Zeppelin, one of the few names to satisfy all three basic principles, along with most sexually mature animals. The “ron” part of his first name is pronounced similarly but not identically to the “Lin” part of his last name,, unless you’re Asian. His parents decided to name him after famous person the Michelin Man, who of course is a blimp with PSD or pug-like skin disorder, a crippling disease from which Baron himself suffered. Finally, as you know Baron von Zeppelin is an anagram for Venal Bone Zip Porn, which are all real words and is also my favourite kind of pornography.

These are some of history’s greatest names, scientized and formulugated. Remember, use this knowledge carefully, for with great kick-assery comes great responsibiliness.

~ Shlomo Klein