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How Nicknames Come To Be

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Swoop, Longball Johnson, Mac Drew, Daddy — just a handful of the worrisome amount of nicknames I’ve acquired over the years. For a long time I’ve wondered why people are so reluctant to refer to me by the name on my birth certificate. Is it because I’m too white? Is it because I’m otherwise forgettable? It’s probably both. But I know that me and anyone else with a dumb alias would love to think that it was earned by being the best at what we do, like Beast Mode, or Queen Laqueefa.

Instead, your friends decided to dub you “Wang,” not because you have an impressive peen (which you don’t), but because there are simply too many people in your house with the same name, and sometimes you act like a cock. I know there are better examples of how to earn a nickname, but this is the only first hand account I could come up with, other than the acquisition of my current nickname. That’s a different story for a different day. In actuality, there are probably a few different reasons for why some guys are so damn prone to being called whatever humiliating name they are assigned by their peers.

Reason number one, and also the situation with the lowest probability, is that you are the Tom Selleck of this generation. If there was a magazine dedicated to acknowledging those with silver tongues and incomparable pussy slaying potential, you’d have a complete spread done on you. The prestige you radiate makes it so those around you see it as disrespectful to call you by your real name. In fact, your parents are a couple of peasants for not recognizing your potential before giving you your great grandpa’s middle name as a means of capturing your attention. You have disowned them in effort to start a new genetic line of long dick slinging, no-ask pussy grabbing socialites. Once again, the odds of this being the reason for your nickname are slim to none.

The second possibility is that you did something once that was kind of cool and for some reason calling you by your real name feels awkward now. To commemorate your moment of brilliance — which was probably just a memorable moment of humiliation that ended up garnering the respect of onlookers — you have been assigned a new title. Now anything you say or do is filtered through that fateful chain of events before it’s even considered by your peers. Your actual identity has been crushed because of that one time you earned your red wings in the bathroom at your first exchange/ got caught Dirty Sanchezing/ took a half gram line of yay before your psych final. To sum this up, you’re probably just a legendary house idiot, but that’s better than being a nobody.

If you don’t fall into the first two categories, you probably don’t deserve a nickname, and/or have given yourself a nickname. If you’ve come up with your own nickname, you can go fuck yourself. Charlie Sheen doesn’t even have the ego to pull a douche move like that. If you haven’t been given a nickname, you are either boring, unimpressive, a morally upstanding individual, or a combination of the three. Hopefully you wake up at some point and realize how pointless life is if you aren’t socially engaging enough to be thought of so highly for your actions that people forget your real name.

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Swoop Johnson

I’d like to thank Jesus, my family, and Busch Light for getting me to where I am today.

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