A few weeks ago I revealed to you the boy’s name that methinks to be the most dudest, sweetest boy’s name in the world. For the two of you who didn’t read all about it, I had lovingly named my sourdough starter Corin Thunderfist.
And let’s be honest, that name is so ----- mind-blowingly gnarly1I heard The Elder use this term a few days ago, and I don’t know who taught it to her, but all I can say is thank you. that it needed to be bestowed upon something. I would have been saving it for whenever we got around to getting a puppy, but A) the kids will probably have their own ----- opinions on the matter, and B) I long ago decided that my future canine was going to be named Doctor.
Anyways, I’ve had aspirations to use that name on a family member for nigh over a decade now, so I have had plenty of opportunities to play out in my head the many potential scenarios that such a moniker would avail to me. The strategy I eventually landed on was the “Cosmo’s Mom Method”–much like the beloved character Kramer from the hit NBC sitcom Seinfeld, I would keep the kid’s name in its fullest majestic glory a coy secret, simply referring to him as Corin T. [Last Name Redacted] in all public and private settings.
I imagined that year after year, people would constantly be asking what the “T.” stood for, and year after year, the suspense and allure would only grow.
Opinions would be formed. Theories would be formulated. Uninformed debates would rage like the fires of hell.
Until one day, the secret would be “leaked.”
The presses would be stopped. The Twitter would be ground to a halt. The Face would be melted off the Book.
Speculate no more, World! The Final Truth has been revealed…
Behold, The Thunderfist walks amongst ye mere mortals!
Whew! Okay, I really got lost in my own daydream fantasy there. The point is that it would have been pretty ----- awesome.
But in all of my haste to finally squander my precious CTF card on a bubbling blob of yeast, water, and flour, I managed to miss that I had actually played it at exactly the right time.
It wasn’t only until at least a full month later that it dawned on me the scale of wit that I had achieved.
Maybe it would help if you imagined what that little turd would be like if he makes it to the year 2033.
Or, more accurately, what stupid portmanteau of a nickname I might give him…
I get a little teary-eyed just thinking about that day when he transitions to that difficult phase in between Corin-Childhood and Corin-Adulthood.
But honestly, y’all, I gotta say that I’m not exactly looking forward to being stuck in the house with a Corin-T.een.
*rim-job*2The right word is actually rim-shot, a joke executed to perfection in a The Nice Guys.
Content created on: 18 June 2020 (Thursday)
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