Hello! My Name Is …
Sex Fruit! Only in the Anglosphere does this sort of nonsense happen. No one in Bangladesh or Sudan pulls this sort of stunt, mostly because they’re too busy figuring out how they’re going to eat today.
Parents should follow the wise child-naming guidance of my mother, St. Mildred of the Greater D.C. Metroplex. At a baptism once, as the parents stated the name of their child for all to hear, St. Mildred turned to me and in a disapproving stage whisper said “That’s not a saint’s name.” So, to all parents out there, for goodness’ sake, pick a saint’s name for your offspring. Something meaningful. Like Dymphna, patron saint of the insane. Plus, Dymphna’s kind of hot for a saint.
And, yes, I leave aside (for the moment) discussion of the notion that it’s acceptable for a government to have any sort of involvement in the naming of children.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.