You Never Even Called Me By My Name

My given name is Rickey. Not Richard. Rickey. In fact, I am Rickey, Junior, as I am named after my father. Among family, I’m sometimes referred to as “Little Rickey,” though I am 42 years old and 3” taller than my dad. I’ve stopped growing, but he’s bound to start shrinking any day now, so I fully expect that height differential to keep expanding.

People spell my name incorrectly all the time – Ricky is the most common, followed by Rickie. Sometimes people mispronounce it, sounding more like “hey asshole” than the phonics would otherwise indicate. I always respond, though, so I guess it works.

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Sorry, you are who you vote for.

People don’t come right out and say, “I voted for Donald Trump because he’s a racist, a xenophobic ass, and a misogynist.” But people likewise aren’t supporting Donald Trump because of the nonsense reasons they give.

Instead, they tell us that they appreciate how he tells it like it is (just like drunk Uncle Billy at Thanksgiving dinner, who is a limitless font of familial harmony).

They say he’s a breath of fresh air after eight awful years under Obama (back when a Muslim from Kenya imposed Sharia law on us while seizing our guns and physically shifting the White House off of its foundation so it could face Mecca. Thank God that’s over, that burka was getting hot, am I right?). Continue reading