Banterist

From New York, original humor writing & commentary by Brian Sack. Subject to all the flexible quality standards of internet self-publishing.

Menu

Reparations For The Awkwardly Surnamed


mycock.jpg


I would like to propose reparations for the awkwardly-surnamed, and I hope every Lipschitz, Kuntz, Pecker and Lickdyke will join me. We deserve to be compensated for the pain and suffering we have suffered since birth at the hands of mean-spirited schoolchildren, restaurant hostesses and Directory Assistance personnel.
For years we’ve had to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous surnames. Every Booger and Nimrod knows exactly why they’re being asked to repeat their name when making a reservation. Every Ho and Fuykschot is well aware they’re the source of entertainment at roll call. There’s not a Dickgraber or Dumfart who hasn’t been hung up on at least once.
We’ve endured long enough. We didn’t choose these names. These names chose us. When people like great-grandfather Krapp stood in line at Ellis Island, they had no idea that they’d be responsible for generations of schoolyard taunting and grief. The poor bastard just wanted to make a better life, but wound up making life difficult. That sucks. Just ask Mr. Suck.
I know full well the immigration officials weren’t smiling to welcome our great-grandfathers. They were smiling because Mr. Skummy and Ms. Nimrod were hilariously named. They were smiling because they knew their children — the Smiths, the Nelsons, the Washingtons — would have fun at the expense of the Gaylords, Loners and Fuks who were entering the country under their watch.
Oh sure, they’d change Tomaszewski to Thomas. But a Rumplick stayed a Rumplick.
So now it’s time to pay up.
We’ve been left behind. Disenfranchised. Afraid of nametags. Making reservations under our first names. And always explaining, apologizing and self-deprecating every time someone raises an eyebrow. It’s from Latvia, we’ll say. It’s from Cambodia. Russia. India. Nigeria. It’s from somewhere else. Somewhere where it’s okay to be a Ditz. A Dong. A Fartash.
Certainly, there are the unfortunately-named who have gone on to do well. There’s Gay Construction Company. Perhaps they use Dykes Lumber. And when they build a nice house and need a great real estate agent, they need look no further than Mycock.
We may eventually have a gay president, but I assure you he’ll be no Fagg.
Enough is enough. I demand that every Jones, Stevens and Wilson dig deep into their pockets and hand every Beaver a pile of cash. Now. I mean it.
Trust me. You don’t want to see a Prik get pissed off.


Previously

For Immediate Release ____________ grew up on the mean streets of ____________, living with ___ siblings and his mother in a dilapidated two-room apartment in the ____________ housing projects. ____________ never knew his father, a neighborhood ____________ …

Next

"Bitch! They making me pay child support because you on motherfucking welfare, bitch!" Tattooed gentleman, and daddy, in the middle of the sidewalk on 5th Avenue at 18th. "No, not the Will Smith nigga, not that nigga, …