No, you shut up, it grows on you after the first couple of hours. I was sitting here watching some awful movie and thinking about Jesus’ last name and Conan’s last name. The Barbarian would be a cool family name, but, you know, it wasn’t. Sure he was kind of fictional, but still. He couldn’t just be like Seal or Madonna. I think Madonna the barbarian would work. In some of the dime store novels, comics and movies he’s called a Sumerian and in some a Cimerian which is probably pronounced the same and is good in coffee with cardamom. It’s a bit like calling Jesus ‘Jesus of Nazareth’. Which might work, I mean there might have only been one Jesus in Nazareth and one Conan in Samaria, but that brings up the problem of the parents.
I don’t know what Conans dear old mum and Da were called, but Jesus’ were Joe and Mary. Nazerath had enough people to take a census. It’s only a guess but I’m betting there were buttloads of Joe’s and Mary’s from Nazareth. Their last name sure as hell wasn’t Christ (don’t one of you motherfuckers explain what Christ means, even if you can do the full etymology and include Hebrew, Greek, Latin and Aramaic, that just makes you a smartass motherfucker). Although like Seal and Madonna if you say Jesus than do the spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch (again, don’t do it, I know wallet and watch are iffy, but you know what I mean, motherfucker) everybody knows who you’re talking about. Ok, Seal might have fallen far enough from the public eye, he was the second one named guy I could think of.
T’any rate I got bored of that after I came up with Conan Christ (honestly a better name for a jewish boy from the upper east side middle east. Same motherfucker rules apply to geography). I think Terry Pratchett has an senior citizen warrior in the discworld series called Cohen. Jesus the barbarian of course was next, and that twenty second pretty much snipped that thread of thought. Next a bunch of people got killed in the movie I was watching, again, and I started humming a tune in my head.
It went from amusing to “Conan Christ on a bar-b-que, what is that song?” It was stuck in there, that dark, lonely damp cave that is the dawg brain, and that was the final clue. Fifteen minutes. I was going to type it out phonetically but it was easier just to cruise my esoteric hard drive. Yes, I have a hard drive just for esoterica. I call it Drive F. The closest thing I have to an organization on drive F is five folders; Hillbilly gospel, Pelvic and Butt rock, Jazz and Blues, stuff your mother warned you about, and World and Long Hair. One day my memory will get even worse and I won’t be able to tell Chandra from Deval, but, as it is, I can, so finding dude and then the song was easy, easier than fun with phonics.
I went out into the world in my new Beasts. No, that’s the name of the shoe, the Beast. Tight fit, very comfortable to walk in. The GF, who used to work in the industry, um, the athletic shoe industry and the bio-mechanic industry, said the other day “They sure do spend a lot of money on telling us about our own foot strike pattern.” She is so very cute. But, yeah, it’s not like Mathew mcconaughy driving an SUV, hitting a low straight flush, they don’t claim the car makes you better at cards. The shoe industry, and the dark shoe industry (you’ve never seen an ad for the Beast) does claim exactly that. Not exactly that, they don’t suggest anything better than two pair, a full boat at best, but, you know … if you don’t ask one of those motherfuckers who wanna tell me about the name Christ.
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