I have weird dreams.
Last night, I was asked by Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to comment on their new baby whom they had named “Tatam Spewtum.” I said that the name was perfectly abhorrant and that they had sentenced their newborn to years of torment. They didn’t seem to understand how the majesty of the name escaped me. I suggested that “spewtum” was not only an ugly word, but that it carried sexual connotations. Angelina seemed confused and angry. So I then illustrated my point with a sampling of childhood taunts that pivoted on synonyms for ejaculation. Both parents stared blankly back at me, seeming to get neither the taunts nor the connection to their new daughter’s name. Mr. Pitt said “Well, plenty of people have suggestive names. What about Ben Dover and Phil McCrackin?” When I said that those names were merely jokes and that the odds of gay couple have those names were the same as a manish-sized white rabbit with a pocket watch hopping out of his ass fretting about being late, Brad looked dejected. Just as I started to get angry and sputtering at exceeding density of the celebrity couple’s gray matter, I woke up.
Like I said, I have weird dreams.