What's In a Name?
I get these goofy emails once in a while where you use certain letters from your first and last name to select the words that will comprise your ridiculous new name. If you know me, you know I'm fairly tender in the dignity department (despite being a graceful klutz), but sometimes it doesn't pay to act all adult and superior. I think you need a giggle. Find your new name and post it in the comments.
1. Use the third letter of your first name to determine your new first name:
a = snickle
b = doombah
c = goober
d = cheesey
e = crusty
f = greasy
g = dumbo
h = farcus
i = dorky
j = doofus
k = funky
l = boobie
m = sleezy
n = sloopy
o = fluffy
p = stinky
q = slimy
r = dorfus
s = snooty
t = tootsie
u = dipsy
v = sneezy
w= liver
x = skippy
y= dinky
z = zippy
2. Use the second letter of your last name to determine the first half of your new last name:
a = dippin
b = feather
c = batty
d = burger
e = chicken
f = barffy
g = lizard
h = waffle
i = farkle
j = monkey
k = flippin
l = fricken
m = bubble
n = rhino
o = potty
p = hamster
q = buckle
r = gizzard
s = lickin
t = snickle
u = chuckle
v = pickle
w = hubble
x = dingle
y = gorilla
z = girdle
3. Use the third letter of your last name to determine the second half of your new last name:
a = butt
b = boob
c = face
d = nose
e = hump
f = breath
g = pants
h = shorts
i = lips
j = honker
k = head
l = tush
m = chunks
n = dunkin
o = brains
p = biscuits
q = toes
r = doodle
s = fanny
t = sniffer
u = sprinkles
v = frack
w = squirt
x = humperdinck
y = hiney
z = juice
According to this formula, George W. Bush is now Fluffy Chucklefanny. (I still like Chimpy McFlightsuit better, Brent.) Kelly's mom June, who sent this to me, is now Sloopy Pottydoodle; Mom is Dipsy Flippinlips; Sara, who sent it to June, is Snooty Chickenbutt; Jo and Don are now Snickle and Sloopy Pottyhump; Barry is Dorfus Pottydunkin (which is probably closer to the truth than I want to consider); and Bud, who would die of embarassment if he knew, is now Cheesy Dippinfanny.
Maybe I never told you, but my nickname at City Hall was, and probably always will be, Matilda. I have no idea why; it's Jo's fault. Frankie (who has a metal plate in his head and is missing half the middle finger of his left hand) called me Amy, Andrea, Audrey, Alicia, and once, Ammonia, and only half the time was he joking. Jeff says my name the way my big handsome cousin Garrick said it when he was little: Age-er-un. It makes me smile every time.
Mom, Morgan and I were lounging in Rose's cozy Pinedale sitting room with her one afternoon after a morning of chores when, out of the blue, Rose mused, "well girls, we're the last of the Skinners." (Grandpa died May of 2004 after surgery to remove a brain tumor. His son made it not quite a year longer, as most of you know, passing in April of this year.) There's a lot to be proud of as a Skinner, an illustrious past with a little spice of scandal. We're descendants of landed gentry, famous explorers, southern belles and brave officers; smart, adaptable people carrying an ancient and graphic coat of arms with the motto Sanguis et Vulnera: "Blood and Wounds." I have considered keeping my last name if I ever get married... but somehow it doesn't seem right. That's no way to present a united front. I have no middle name, though ("waste of ink!" said Grandpa), so I could move Skinner up one. But I've found the lack of one convenient, so maybe not. I know it's been sort of fun to be a Skinner; you get all the teasing about Principal Skinner (Simpsons) and Skinner from The X-Files and "Skinny," which I am not, and Gary the bass player used to say to Mom in that slow surfer drawl, "Skynnaaaard," on the mornings she would unlock the band room. He meant Lynnard Skynnard, of course. But the harassment I've received about my last name is nothing compared to what I get for my first name.
It's my Saturday on a Friday, and I have such random tasks to accomplish that I can't seem to come up with an efficient gameplan. It doesn't help that I slept until 11:00. But someone just invited me to breakfast/lunch, and agreed to fix my Cadillac (I lost a belt I might be able to fix myself but would rather not bother), so I guess that's as good a place to start as any.
1. Use the third letter of your first name to determine your new first name:
a = snickle
b = doombah
c = goober
d = cheesey
e = crusty
f = greasy
g = dumbo
h = farcus
i = dorky
j = doofus
k = funky
l = boobie
m = sleezy
n = sloopy
o = fluffy
p = stinky
q = slimy
r = dorfus
s = snooty
t = tootsie
u = dipsy
v = sneezy
w= liver
x = skippy
y= dinky
z = zippy
2. Use the second letter of your last name to determine the first half of your new last name:
a = dippin
b = feather
c = batty
d = burger
e = chicken
f = barffy
g = lizard
h = waffle
i = farkle
j = monkey
k = flippin
l = fricken
m = bubble
n = rhino
o = potty
p = hamster
q = buckle
r = gizzard
s = lickin
t = snickle
u = chuckle
v = pickle
w = hubble
x = dingle
y = gorilla
z = girdle
3. Use the third letter of your last name to determine the second half of your new last name:
a = butt
b = boob
c = face
d = nose
e = hump
f = breath
g = pants
h = shorts
i = lips
j = honker
k = head
l = tush
m = chunks
n = dunkin
o = brains
p = biscuits
q = toes
r = doodle
s = fanny
t = sniffer
u = sprinkles
v = frack
w = squirt
x = humperdinck
y = hiney
z = juice
According to this formula, George W. Bush is now Fluffy Chucklefanny. (I still like Chimpy McFlightsuit better, Brent.) Kelly's mom June, who sent this to me, is now Sloopy Pottydoodle; Mom is Dipsy Flippinlips; Sara, who sent it to June, is Snooty Chickenbutt; Jo and Don are now Snickle and Sloopy Pottyhump; Barry is Dorfus Pottydunkin (which is probably closer to the truth than I want to consider); and Bud, who would die of embarassment if he knew, is now Cheesy Dippinfanny.
Maybe I never told you, but my nickname at City Hall was, and probably always will be, Matilda. I have no idea why; it's Jo's fault. Frankie (who has a metal plate in his head and is missing half the middle finger of his left hand) called me Amy, Andrea, Audrey, Alicia, and once, Ammonia, and only half the time was he joking. Jeff says my name the way my big handsome cousin Garrick said it when he was little: Age-er-un. It makes me smile every time.
Mom, Morgan and I were lounging in Rose's cozy Pinedale sitting room with her one afternoon after a morning of chores when, out of the blue, Rose mused, "well girls, we're the last of the Skinners." (Grandpa died May of 2004 after surgery to remove a brain tumor. His son made it not quite a year longer, as most of you know, passing in April of this year.) There's a lot to be proud of as a Skinner, an illustrious past with a little spice of scandal. We're descendants of landed gentry, famous explorers, southern belles and brave officers; smart, adaptable people carrying an ancient and graphic coat of arms with the motto Sanguis et Vulnera: "Blood and Wounds." I have considered keeping my last name if I ever get married... but somehow it doesn't seem right. That's no way to present a united front. I have no middle name, though ("waste of ink!" said Grandpa), so I could move Skinner up one. But I've found the lack of one convenient, so maybe not. I know it's been sort of fun to be a Skinner; you get all the teasing about Principal Skinner (Simpsons) and Skinner from The X-Files and "Skinny," which I am not, and Gary the bass player used to say to Mom in that slow surfer drawl, "Skynnaaaard," on the mornings she would unlock the band room. He meant Lynnard Skynnard, of course. But the harassment I've received about my last name is nothing compared to what I get for my first name.
It's my Saturday on a Friday, and I have such random tasks to accomplish that I can't seem to come up with an efficient gameplan. It doesn't help that I slept until 11:00. But someone just invited me to breakfast/lunch, and agreed to fix my Cadillac (I lost a belt I might be able to fix myself but would rather not bother), so I guess that's as good a place to start as any.
posted by A at
12:16 AM
4 Comments:
Dignity be damned. I am Crusty Wafflehump.
And I'm so jealous of the sanguis et vulnera coat of arms. I don't know what my clan's shield looks like, but if there's a motto, it's probably whatever's Latin for "pasty and drunk."
Ha! "Pasty and drunk." (I choked on my green tea.) It's a good thing mottoes don't evolve if that's your guess, because it's actually "By Fidelity and Valour," (Fide et Virtute) which is pretty decent, no? The crest appears to be oddly blank, except for three hatchets. The family originated in Peebles (snicker) and migrated by way of Canada. Recommended reading on your surname is intriguing: Thrice Three Times Told Tales by Mary Waller Shepherd Soper. Crusty Wafflehump. Priceless.
Oh my heck Josh, that is bizarre and hilarious. Some webmaster must be getting quite the laugh out of that. I forgot to reply when you asked a while back how long it was since I had been to San Diego; I ventured down in April of 2003, I think, just for a weekend. That was the last time I ever saw Oscar. There was a bonfire at Mission Beach and some flea market browsing, and the best carne asada burrito ever at Los Panchos. I'm trying to figure out if somebody could freeze one and mail it to me. Don't you still live a few blocks away? ;) Whatever happened with that new job? Email.
Mine is Goober Chickenface... hmmmm...
Great, you all get good names and I get Dorfus Pottysquirt.
Speaking of which, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES drink water from a water jar that's convieniently placed on a bench besides a Judge's table that may have been there for quite sometime.
You have been warned. I just hope you all understand what a great sacrifice I had to pay to bring you this information.
Hmmm, I guess there is something to a name after all.
Have a great weekend (and week) all. I'm off on much deserved break.
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