Post Turkey Day Tribute

The following names make me think of food, which is closely tied to this wonderous holiday we have just celebrated. Enjoy!

1. Rafael Bartellus
2. Tharold Karskadden
3. Josiah Breckinridge

This post is by no means high quality, but merely an icebreaker to the severe drought this blog has suffered in recent weeks.

Viceroy

Trifecta for the Week

The following three names will not have a summary to accompany them. The names are meant for entertainment to the degree that they are even remotely humorous. Much thanks to all recent contributors.

1. Damascus Matterhorn

2. Bartellus Pixelstick

3. Magratten Daggerlee

Fenix Rayne - it's where the bowling ball meets the road

Fenix grew up like most girls of her generation and to recount her childhood tales here would be a taxing and arduous task that I will not bore the audience with at this time. What makes her story so unique is her association with one of our very own authors. You see, Fenix (originally born Adeline Lafarian Myers) joined a bowling league in high school and excelled in the game so well that she was actually able to make quite a healthy living for herself. She began competing all over the world and as you may have already guessed, got mixed up with the wrong crowd in her travels (seems to be a trend actually). To describe how and under which circumstances the next segment of her life unfolded is altogether unimportant and, frankly, quite obscene...borderlining on pornographic. It will suffice to say that her new profession required a name change, which she made permanent several years later. It was supposed to be spelled without the "y" but there was an apparent error in the paperwork that she never bothered fixing because once everything was finalized, she realized she was really quite fond of its uniqueness. Fenix was, of course, more affectionately known as Miss Rayne and by the words in purple flashing lights on the front of her work building which said, "LET IT RAYNE". People would come from all over to "make it Rayne" while she danced from table to table and performed acrobatics that would put Cirque du Soleil to shame. Until one day.....

It was a clear summer night when that traveling road warrior on a lifetime quest for adventure walked in the doors and swept her off her feet. His name was none other than Napoleon J. Farewell, and as she jumped around his waist and took his shirt off in an effort to encourage the aforementioned "rayne," a conversation sparked and she discovered the largely unknown truth behind his middle name. You see, many people know it but few are aware of the proper spelling. So, as Napoleon Jaymes Farewell stared into her eyes, she donned his gift shop cowboy hat and did something she'd never done in all her years in the business. She offered him a 'two for one' and the rest, as I do believe they still say, is history. His voice could be heard even in the streets as he carried her off shouting "BUY ONE, GET ONE!!!" It was never a doubt in either of their minds from that day on that they were meant for each other all along. They still think back on the hours of intercourse (as in: conversation) they shared that night and occasionally drive by the old establishment which still bears the original flashing sign and a plaque commemorating her years of dedicated service. It reads: "To the Farewell's, you'll always be our Mrs. Rayne and we wish you both the best. But never forget, it's your turn to LET it Rayne!"

A Halloween Tale - The Life of La Dynasty

The anxious 3^rd year medical student rushed around the corner convincing herself that her next patient interaction would prove to her superiors that she was somewhat competent. Having just ‘mastered’ the English language since her move stateside for her college tenure from the Orient, many English nuances still eluded her comprehension. She stopped mid-knock in front of the hospital door taking one last moment to muster her courage and checked the name of the newborn she was about to examine – L-A-D-Y-N-A-S-T-Y.

She walked into the room and confidently asked, “Is Lady Nasty in this room?”

The tired, annoyed mother quickly retorted, “It’s La Dynasty.”

In that moment of electing to name her baby girl a name so easily misspoken, La Dynasty’s mother had set her on a path that a moniker such as Destiny or Beyonce’ would have not permitted so readily. Though there were some elder family members who would always have a chuckle at La Dynasty’s early birthdays from breaking up her name improperly, children in La Dynasty’s neighborhood wouldn’t have figured the not so cute way to rearrange her name out if it weren’t for their second grade teacher finally teaching them how to spell. While the children agreed to this lesson in order to create legible ransom notes from cutting out the proper letters from magazines and newspapers, they soon realized their God-given right…no, no – duty – to tease their classmate. This teasing was so relentless that it actually pushed La Dynasty’s class to new literary heights. By the end of the second grade, they were writing mocking haiku’s with accompanying ink blow art. Though we can not show the blow art as most of it was destroyed in the year 2021, we will share a sample of the haikus written:

What is that bad smell

Grab the hose and pinch your nose

It’s Lady Nasty

Children can be so cruel.

To go over the tragedy that was La Dynasty’s life in gruesome detail would bring most readers to tears. Suffice it to say the gang rape by her cousins at the tender age of 12 at the family reunion was not something upon which she reflected fondly (however, her auntie’s potato salad always brought her back those little get-togethers). We are going to flash forward to 2021 to the day we all appreciated La Dynasty’s mother lack of foresight or maybe her speckle genius that laid in the naming of her daughter. Lady Nasty had accepted her name to the point of carving her nickname into any jezebel who dare take her corner. Yes, we find our humble protagonist as most people would imagine where she would end up with such name - on a street corner hoping her souring milkshake would still bring some boys to the yard. Now these boys wouldn’t need to pay in cash to get a sample; Lady Nasty was very into meth at the moment as it permitted her to keep ‘lean and mean’ as she put it.

Maybe this ‘lean and mean’ attitude is what allowed her to survive the first wave of the alien invasion of 2021, or possibly being able to call in favors from about half the neighborhood is what lead to her survival. Regardless, she darted between houses avoiding the deathrays while still satisfying her customers whom she now required to pay in meth as any streetwise business women would do with the impending collapse of the economy. Humanity as a whole did not fair well in the ensuing battles against superior weaponry. This required Lady Nasty to travel further to reach her clientele to get her fix. One day as she strolled pass her old street corner and saw some floozy of an alien taking over (actually, it was a sentry guarding at her post, but that didn’t matter to a territory minded Lady Nasty). She leaped into the air, brandishing her syringe of meth, and with a battlecry of, “Oh, bitch, no!” pounced upon the slutty alien. What great last words to end one’s life; however, this was not the end of Lady Nasty, for within seconds the alien started to convulse as the alien’s physiology could not handle the drying effect of the drug. Lady Nasty had discovered why they invaded earth with a simple prick of a needle – our bountiful water supply. Soon, Lady Nasty led a small meth-bearing force and toppled the alien government. After years of drug warfare, humanity prevailed and elected Lady Nasty to be leader of the department of warfare. Many attribute her landslide victory to her slogan of “Oh, bitch, no!” which had come into common use during the war.

That’s what La Dynasty’s future would have held had it not been for that bumbling third year medical student’s mistake. But instead at the insistence of the family, La Dynasty’s mother changed her name to La-Dynasty. This prevented the children from teasing La-Dynasty for at least another five year’s as hyphens are hardly covered in the American education system. As for mankind’s salvation when the aliens decide to invade our little water bowl of a planet in 2021, maybe we will have to entrust our deliverance to the La-A’s (pronounced ‘ La Dash A,’ soft A at the end) of the world. My money is on the aliens this go around because what good ever came from the use of the soft a.

Jeantandra Sobieski (Black Russian)

Jeantandra Sobieski is nothing short of a melting pot of identities and flavors of the world. She grew up, the slightly obese daughter to her single mother Ritrausha Jackson. Her mother did what she could to raise young Jeantandra in the eyes of the Lord, attending church service each Sunday at Fifteenth Baptist Church on Oleander Drive in the outskirts of Detroit. These Sunday's were a good source of protein and stability from an otherwise hectic and sin driven life where she existed day to day.

After beginning Middle School, she began drinking alcohol to fit in with the kids she would often refer to as friends. They spent their days drinking magical elixirs of Sprite and cough syrup. In more civilized parts of the country, this elixir later became known as Purple Drank. She had a distaste not only for the misspelling of the second word of the drink her friends were consuming but also felt unproductive by the haze it left her to conquer the next day. Knowing that to maintain her friends she had to continue drinking, she began searching for alternatives.

When at lunch after church one day, there were alcoholic beverages available for the adults. She came across a White Russian and crept away to her bedroom where she would indulge in this fine beverage. She was hooked, not only because of the taste and outcome from its consumption but also because it had the word Russian in it. She was, at that time, enrolled in a Geography class in school that spent time teaching about the Baring Strait leading from Alaska to Russia, an area that when frozen would allow for the safe passage of Natives back and forth. She grew infatuated with Russia and began to read books and study maps of the country. She took comfort in learning about their tolerance and enjoyment of alcohol. This camaraderie, she felt was a match made in heaven.

Her infatuation with Russia and the dainty alcoholic beverage bearing its name could not be surpassed by her infatuation with Kanye West. She used to fantasize about seeing Kanye live at a concert and often would run her iPod battery dead in a single sitting by listening to Heartbreak 808 on repeat until waking the next morning. It was late one winter of her junior year in High School when her grandfather passed away unexpectedly. They were not very close but he did leave her $7,000 in his will. She knew immediately what she would do. First of all, she had to go to see Kanye perform. The time had come for her to see her idol live. She began the search for venues and found that he would be performing in Moscow in the Spring. This was perfect, she booked a flight and began to plan the details.

Her Russian journey was eyeopening to say the least. She found out the real story behind the White Russian and loved the drink even more than before. The concert was amazing and could not have been any better in her book. When in a bar after the concert one night she ran into a young man, who was stunning to the eyes of both man and woman. His name was Vlad Sobieski. It was only weeks later that Jeantandra realized that he was heir apparent to the Sobieski Vodka empire. They were in love, grew closer, and were determined to be wed. Their love for alcohol and gold plated accessories left them with little time to indulge in disagreements so common in other relationships. She never moved back to America.

Apologies for the length...and complete irrelevance to anything

V-roy

Introducing Napoleon J. Farewell

Hello all. My name, as you may have already guessed, is Napoleon. I'm actually new to this whole internet thing, as I've lived over 90% of my life in my car, traveling the interstates of America. I had a typical birth in the early 80's in the back of the same van I was reportedly conceived in...same spot too. According to sources, we were also on the same road, traveling at the same speed but you never can trust the Farewell family and their overly-fabricated, wily tales of life and adventure. Anyway, I grew up just like the rest of my brothers and sisters (I'm the youngest of 49...more on that later) riding from state to state, as a family, until we're old enough to go off on our own and explore the highways and byways and then laid to rest in the state of our birth. Family tradition provides us Farewell's with the privilege of choosing our gravesite on our 5th birthday. Mine is a particularly beautiful, landscaped plot of ground in the median of a busy highway that runs right through the heart of South Dakota.

In many ways, I am the jewel of my father's eye as I marked the completion of a life-long goal he'd always "driven" to accomplish (pun intended). I gave him the honor of finally making the claim that he has successfully fathered one child from every American state within driving access. His resonating cry still rings true in my ears as clear as the day I turned 11 and ventured out on my own.: "Drive for success, my son, aim straight, and until the day we build a bridge to Hawaii, just know; you're the greatest gift a father could ever ask for." So, as I explore the open roads of the greatest States ever established (and California) in my 2001 Toyota Sequoia, I maintain the dream of living up to the level of success achieved by my dad, Mr. Sebastian Clique Farewell. I look forward to seeing some of you out there and as always, buckle up, drive safe, and remember, the left lane is for PASSING ONLY! I bid all an adieu and, of course, Farewell.

-Napoleon Farewell

Wildorf M. Yousseff (A Better Life)

Wildorf M. Yousseff, the hardly respectable member of a highly respectable immigrant family. While his name might immediately make you think of the golden sand and the bubbling wells of the Middle East, the land of his ancestry, his life is a bit less foreboding. Some 73 years ago, Wildorf’s grandparents migrated from Karachi, Pakistan to the United States. After struggling to find work in New York City, due to the massive influx of Irish and Scottish immigrants to the region, his grandparents ventured north to Canada where they found work and a home in what was then and remains to this day the city Quebec, Ontario. They raised an only child and they named him Yousseff Yousseff. Oddly enough the practice of repeating the first and last name for clarification is quite common in Arab culture. Nonetheless, Yousseff was the first generation in his family’s lineage to be presented with freedom and opportunity straight from the womb of his mother. He did not take this opportunity lightly. From an early age, he worked along side his father (Wildorf’s grandfather) in a bustling garment factory making mostly canvas duffel bags for the Canadian Military. He learned the business and later grew it into a textile mini-empire whereby he furnished most all forms of compartments and luggage used in military life in Canada.

Years later, he and his wife give birth to a son, Wildorf. Wildorf M. Yousseff was optimistically named for William Waldorf, the great business from New York, who Yousseff greatly admired and who today has a luxury hotel that still bears his name, the prized Waldorf Astoria (currently owned by Hilton Hotels). While Waldorf was the intended name of his son, the administrators in the local hospital misspelled the name at birth and it would have been more trouble than it was worth to correct their child’s name. Yousseff grew up in a very well to do household as you can imagine from the description of Yousseff and his business saavy in the textile industry. Like many in this generation, however, what is easily given is not always respected. The charity and opportunity bestowed him by his family was not treated as special but more appropriately as a birth rite. This entitlement mentality carried through to his later years as his father did what he could to coach young Wildorf along in business in hopes that one day he could leave his mature and successful empire to his son.

Wildorf, being the ungreatful offspring that he was set out on his own path, determined to outdo his father with little effort. Remember, Wildorf is part of a generation who believes in working less but obtaining more. Self-sacrifice had miraculously escaped his DNA. He began selling narcotics and was very successful until he was busted in the summer of 2002. It was then that Wildorf was stripped of his Canadian citizenry and exiled to his former country of Pakistan, a place until now he had never once ventured, although the language had been spoken in his household in Canada so he was not totally helpless. After weeks appealing his case and talks with his father, he was allowed back into The States where he was enlisted as a New York City cab driver. He remains in this job today.

THE END

Wheeler Gaspard (Stuggling Artist)

Enter Wheeler Gaspard. While always considered mysterious with his very hickish first name and last name reminiscent of a French portrait artist grew more mysterious with age. From his humble beginnings growing up in rural Payette, Idaho, he became involved with melting and casting lead toy soldiers. This of course led to what would be his ultimate passion in life - painting. While he no longer paints toy soldiers, he does maintain the largest collection of lead toy soldiers in the lower 48. His hometown of Payette hosts a fundraiser each year for the local organization "Students Just Want to Paint" which gives the winner, not only a chance to met this famous artist but also twelve one-hour lessons spanning over the ensuing year. The winners are free to use them willingly as long as it fits into the often hectic daily schedule of Wheeler.

Unfortunately for Wheeler, while the above story sounds very impressive and complimentary of his talents, the praise and glory stops at the borders of his small town of Payette. Growing up, his family encouraged his art but were never quite able to get him out of the house. His lack of integration into everyday society left him with the inability to socialize and empathize with others, a key characteristic in building long lasting relationships. He was for all practical purposes a hermit, although his family dare not call him such.

On the heals of his artistic endevours he chose to amplify his exposure to the arts by relocating to Paris, France after high school. This was a key turning point in Wheeler's life story as he was then introduced to very famous artists whose skills rivaled those of famous artists who had preceded them in life - the likes of Michealangelo and Pablo Picasso. From this group, he learned one thing. And that was, outside the United States and more appropriately his small town of Payette, Idaho, he was incompetent as an artist. Struggling to cope with his failure to impress his new acquaintences, he swiftly returned home where he was then hailed as the great artist with a large and respectable toy soldier collection who had perfected his craft in France.

Upon much concentration, Wheeler decided he did not care about his French experience. He decided that it was not about being great in general, but being great relative to his surroundings. He carried this mantra into his personal life by marrying one of the most beautiful girls in his small home town. Despite the fact that she was still very mediocre to the eyes, she was the best around. He framed a quote coined by him in every room of his house, which stated "Be great where you are. The outdise world often disappoints." This no doubt was meant as a way to downplay his failures abroad and allow him to live out his days as a highly admired local artist who studied art in France.

THE END

Introducing Sturdivant Rheinhold

Hello all, I am Sturdivant Rheinhold, another one of the authors of this blog.  My name, like Viceroy's, is a bit uncommon.  I have accepted my given name as a right of remembrance to my ancestors (The Sturtivants) who settled in the majestic Hudson River Valley in the early 1700s.  I have enjoyed growing up on the same tract of land as my ancestors as well as following in their footsteps of attending Columbia University and into the shipping business.  I look forward to providing you all with people that share uncommon names and their stories.

Introducing Viceroy McDowers

Hello, my name is Viceroy McDowers and I am often complimented on my name by people that first meet me. Thankfully I have only my parents to thank for that. Anyway I grew up in Eugene, Oregon...yeah Go Ducks!! But no, I don't really like football but I do really enjoy writing. Me and some other people that I met online and different places really have a knack for unconventional humor. This blog is dedicated to one of those means of humor - primarily making up names that if you heard someone called that you would be like "Whaaatt!!!" Anyway everyone has a name and everyone has a story. We want to reveal these names and reveal their stories. This is yet one of our creations at leaking unconventional humor into everyday life. Enjoy!!

-V-roy

Cleetus Jamiraquai (male)

Born in the late 70's to a respectable couple who were torn between granting their offspring a title that once resided among elders in their family or that of a modern day rockstar. They chose to blend the two, thus providing their son a new last name. Despite the confusion, young Cleetus took an early interest in music and played lead guitar in a local cover band while in High School. When faced with the challenge to pursue his dream of becoming a musician or that of a potato farmer, which his first name suggests, he chose to pursue music. The rest is history. He is now a potato farmer that lives on a large plot of land on the outskirts of Lincoln, Nebraska. He has a wife who is very mediocre to the eyes but a caring one at that. His two children have taken on more traditional names and as such are referred to as Stacey and Bickford. Cleetus has since left his former life behind and changed his last name back to that of his ancestry - McGasckel.

Additional Color on this Fine Character (By Request)

Cleetus grew up in a loving household. His parents sought to be his friends more than guardians or discplinarians, and oddly enough he began to hang around with some of the wrong crowd in High School. He began experimenting with drugs and premarital relations. Unwilling to take a hard stand against his lifestyle, his parents hid in denial until thigs got much worse. He was hardly able to get through school. It was only through the comforting words of his Grandmother Lizzy Harper that he found the will to push on. Immediately after High School he moved to Albequerque, New Mexico where he began to work as a barback at a local Mexican restaurant. The restaurant owner discovered Cleetus' talent with music by accident one night when he was caught doing the air guitar in the kitchen. The owner inquired as to his passion for music and quickly hooked him up with some of his friends whos guitarist had just passed away from a run in with the ebola virus. The group hit it off, and Cleetus had never been happier. Not only had Cleetus found somewhere to exercise his passion but he had also been drug free for nearly 7 months. His band was his support group.

His life really began to take a turn for the better. He became a small group leader at the local Baptist church where some of his band members attended. He was quite involved there and things were looking up. It was in the fall when he received word from his distant mother that his father had passed away. This hit him really hard and he promptly moved home to be there for his mother. His relationship with his mother flourished over the ensuing months and his bitterness grew lighter about him having to leave a life he loved in New Mexico. With so many fond memories of the church family he had developed in New Mexico, he decided that going to church would be a fair way to integrate back into his local community. The very first Sunday, he laid eyes on Fairley Mustoben, a beautiful six foot blonde who was of Hungarian ancestry. They had tea after church and began to see each other regularly. It was not a year later that they were engaged and then married. They lived happily every after with their two children who went on to be involved with the family's potato farm.