As I sit here on this Valentine's Day in a retrospective mood, I have come to realize why I am Valentineless today: It's the nicknames.
I love nicknames. With my different groups of friends I have various monickers by which I am known; none of which is my actual name. I used to think that they would help me score with the ladies because they immediately show a side of my personality, but, upon further examination, maybe they were doing more harm than good.
The following nicknames may have cost me from impregnating (and subsequently forcing abortions upon) countless women:
- Spencer All-Balls
- Thor the Elderly Rapist
- Armpitfucker the Magic
- William "Battery-in-the-Ass" Wallace
- "Elevator-Button-Dick" Dick
- "Hold Me Closer Tiny Ice Dancer"
- The Duke of White-Hot Curling Irons to the Vagina
- LL Cool Gay
- Frankie Muniz
- Erectile Dysfunction Conjunction Junction Pajama Jamboree (I still dispute the fact that this was detrimental, just say it outloud--it's like a circus for your mouth)
- Circus for Your Mouth
- Little Hitler
- Billy Bedwetter the Train Conductor of the Pixies
- "First-Base" Freddie
- Crybaby Pansy Faggot-Ass Homoboy (only one person called me this and it was never when I was in front of women I was hitting on, so I guess I can't blame my dad)
- Dances with Wolves, Throws like Girl
- Weepy-sex Walter
- "Hey, That Guy Sure Doesn't Like Girls"