No, I'm not going to post about the NCAA basketball tournament, even though it's considered a holy time of bracket-filled workday-shirking excitement here in North Carolina.
No, I want to talk about nick names. Especially nick names worn proudly by middle-aged asshats who think it makes them cool.
The bobblehead is of Dick Vitale, a man I know only by his grating TV voice and lame catch phrase, "Awesome, Baby." I didn't know this until a few days ago when my wife, a woman who gags at just the mention of this douchbag, read something aloud about "Dickie V."
"Dickie V. That's what people call Dick Vitale."
Dickie Fucking V. Really? People call him that to his face and he hasn't bought a gun? Really? Which leads me to conclude that Dickie gave himself that nick name, maybe copping the swing of it from dead coach Jim Valvano, known as Jimmy V to his fans.
I can hear Dickie now saying, "Hey, Jim's dead, and nobody else is picking up on that sweet E-V rhyme, so I'll just start calling myself Dickie V.
Dickie Fucking V.
A good nick name is like herpes. You can't give it to yourself.
You earn a nickname like Jewels or Pounder. Sometimes the name will reflect your character or looks or origins, and sometimes it doesn't reflect anything except the giver's timing.
But giving yourself a nick name, especially past the age of 20, is sadly pathetic.
It's one of the many things I think reveal Rush Limbaugh to be a weak little man trapped inside a blimp-sized body. The guy's a known jock-sniffer and, never having done anything in the field of Testosterone-Based Events (TBEs) himself, he stuffs a bit of drugstore machismo down his pants and calls himself El Rushbo, or Maharushi, names that would get him pummeled in any self-respecting middle school.
Which, I'm willing to bet, happened a lot to the fat Cape Girardeau kid trying to be cool.
No, you earn a nickname by playing sports or serving in the military. Man stuff. Not watching other men play a game or fight your battles.
Unless you're shooting for a name like Sally.