A few days ago I was having lunch with a co-worker named Martin. I'd like to present a transcript of our conversation. My statements are in red.
"What's you're last name, Martin?"
"Martinez."
"Your name is Martin Martinez?"
"Yeah."
"You do realize that's the Hispanic equivalent of being named Jack Jackson?"
"I guess." He then laughed half-heartedly.
"Or Robert Roberts."
"Uh-huh."
"Dick Dickson."
"I get the point."
"John Johnson, Sam Samuels, Peter Peterson, Michael Michaels..."
"Okay, shut up, dickhead."
I realize I'm probably the only person on earth who is amused by this. I'm still laughing as I type. In fact, I'm typing with one hand and patting myself on the back with the other.
It was all in good fun and was in no way a contributing factor to Martin's suicide.
HE DIDN'T KILL HIMSELF. I'M JOKING.
"What's you're last name, Martin?"
"Martinez."
"Your name is Martin Martinez?"
"Yeah."
"You do realize that's the Hispanic equivalent of being named Jack Jackson?"
"I guess." He then laughed half-heartedly.
"Or Robert Roberts."
"Uh-huh."
"Dick Dickson."
"I get the point."
"John Johnson, Sam Samuels, Peter Peterson, Michael Michaels..."
"Okay, shut up, dickhead."
I realize I'm probably the only person on earth who is amused by this. I'm still laughing as I type. In fact, I'm typing with one hand and patting myself on the back with the other.
It was all in good fun and was in no way a contributing factor to Martin's suicide.
HE DIDN'T KILL HIMSELF. I'M JOKING.
21 Comments:
You're not really joking, though, are you? ;o)
*throws a copy of Miss Manners' Guide to Excrutiatingly Correct Behavior at your head*
I believe that giving your kid a name like that should be considered abuse.
I used to work with a guy named Joseph St. Joseph. What the fuck were his parents thinking?
My brother knew a guy named Pete Moss.
And my grandmother knew a man named Seymour Gash.
C'mon, Brooke. Those sound like the names kids give substitute teachers.
Although there was this girl at school named Anita Grundy. Note: A "grundy" is like a wedgie for girls, a femme-wedgie if you will.
why is a female wedgie called a grundy? I never heared that term before. I never got a wedgie every either.
I don't know why it's called a grundy, but it's like a wedgie except the female victim is digging out from the front and back.
I have never given a grundy for fear I'd spend the rest of my life in prison.
Terd Fergeson
Todd, I swear it's true. I actually knew Pete, and my grandma wouldn't lie. My mom said everytime grandma said his name she would cackle like a drunken sailor. My grandma was cool!
My roommate is from Fort Wayne, Indiana and there's a street in Fort Wayne named after a guy named Harry Balls. It used to be called Harry Balls Drive, but in the eighties they changed it to Harold W. Balls Drive. That's ten times worse in my opinion. That sounds like a swear for a very proper British gentleman. "Sir, if you don't support the Queen, you can place your tongue on my Harold W. Balls."
amanda lee,
too bad I declared it Opposite Day. That means it is funny.
wouldn't a grundy kind of be like a camel toe gone even worse?
sheesh...I hope I never get a grundy!
oh boy! ...
Once I knew a girl named
Mercedes Bends.
Why, people? Why?
I went to school with a girl named Misty Winter. It sounds like a porn name. How could you do that to a kid?
What's the joke in "Pete Moss"?
I think pete moss is a fertilizer of some sort.
Using Peat Moss
Peat is the main ingredient in potting mixes and professional growing media. It is the unique ability of peat moss to retain water yet still allow oxygen to the plants that makes it so valuable.
Hey Todd, sorry if I offended. Every time I think of Vegas I wonder how a person of your intelligence could exist in such a place. Vegas, to me, equals Dean Martin, Buddy Hackett, Charlie Callas, etc. Taking it in, even with a goodly dose of irony, would be a colossal challenge I should think.
Louisville, on the other hand, I found quite cool, interesting, and filled with enough progressive thinking people to open these jaded eyes. Ample hipness to win a dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker over.
On topic: I knew a guy named Brian O'Brian.
Off topic: I went to school with a boy named Pleasant Lee Strange.
Poor kid.
Paul, that cracked me up and reminded me of a story. I'll have to blog about it later. Please feel free to comment at will.
I went to school with a guy named Craven Peay.
I'm not kidding, I swear! He's a high school teacher now. Can't imagine the fun his kids have with that name.
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