I was coming home from work the other day and got behind a ginormous SUV with a number of bumper stickers. There was an NRA sticker, a ‘freedom isn’t free’ sticker and an election sticker. It was for a small, local election in a small nowhere town. Town clerk or chief ball washer or executive director of austin weight loss or something else relatively part time and tiny. The funny part was that the person up for the job chose a bumper sticker style that made all text but his last name tiny (thus my inability to remember any important detail other than last name. But oh, what a last name it was.

Douchkoff – which to me can be pronounced only one way: Douche-Cough.

Borrowing from an old grade school joke I believe it is the sound of vinegar and water crashing together with H1N1. Bacon and balsamic. Poetry. Pure poetry.

Seriously, how did this guy survive grammar school with enough self esteem to eventually run for public office, no matter how insubstantial that office might, in reality, be. Isn’t this someone who really should have considered a legal name change. And I don’t mean that he should have mulled it over casually. He should have seriously considered changing his name. Then he should have contacted a lawyer and got the ball rolling.

He could be a Smith or a Jones or even an Enemasneeze. Why not?