Thursday, February 04, 2010

Badass Roar

I wish I had a badass roar.

You know that scene in Jurassic Park, when the Tyrannosaur has busted out his pen, and he's just gone eyeball-to-eyeball with that blonde chick? When the Tyrannosaur roars, that's how I'd like to roar.

Think how cool that would be.

Imagine: You and I are standing around, enjoying nice cool cans of Diet Rite (I had the regular flavor, you had the White Grape because of your cough syrup addiction). I'm telling that story about how I got my letter about the Pizza Tank read on David Letterman. I finish the story, down the last contents of my can in one quick swallow, and just as you think I'm about to let a Diety Rite good belch, I instead let an ear-splitting roar loose that stops traffic and very likely makes you shit in your pants.

I tend to think that's the sort of thing that gets a feller a nickname.

Perhaps it's the sort of thing that gives a feller a little bit of gravitas when it comes to suggesting names for nephews.

Tonight, my sister rejected the following names for the tiny human she's growing in her innards:

Nikolai Volkoff
Jimmy Superfly
Bam Bam Bigelow
Big John Studd
Barry Windham
Tully Blanchard
Arn Anderson
Ole Anderson
Mike Rotunda
Dr. Death Steve Williams
Ryne Sandberg
Leo Trotsky
King Kong Bundy
Special Delivery Jones
Barry Horowitz
Jungle Jim McPherson
Bubba Ray Dudley
D-Von Dudley
Sign Guy Dudley
L'il Spie Dudley
Big Dick Dudley
Black Superman Tony Atlas
Rowdy Roddy Piper
Ferris Bueller
Butch Reed
Ron Simmons
Dusty Rhodes
Lex Luger
Hillbilly Jim
Uncle Elmer
Jim the Anvil Neidhart

Any one of those names is the type of name that would bring a young man much respect and acclaim. Hellfire, they'd probably make him the starting quarterback for his high school the very minute little Nikolai Volkoff enrolled in school. He'd be the Fonzie of his generation.

Which begs the question, who was the Fonzie of my generation?

Probably me. You know it. Even without a badass roar.

Anyway, back to the point.

Here's how the conversation would have gone, had I a roar:

"Hey, April!"
"What?"
"Put that hamster down and get over here!"
"It's not a hamster, it's the Holy Grail, which I've quested for."
"Oh. Well, I have a real neat idea: You name your kid Nikolai Volkoff!"
"No...that's stup..."



"Okay, okay. We'll name him Nikolai Volkoff....you're such a baby..."

It would be just that easy.

3 Comments:

Blogger valnour said...

I really wish you wouldn't speak so openly about my 'tussin lovin.

1:24 PM  
Blogger Elisson said...

This is the kind of post that makes me weak in the knees.

No, wait. Taking a big crap makes me weak in the knees. Reading this kind of post makes me laugh so hard I have to take a big crap.

Which makes me weak in the knees. So, yeah.

9:10 PM  
Blogger Holder said...

This is why I love you so much. I had to read this to my 12 year old daughter....

9:59 AM  

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