You can’t tell me that looking at the above picture doesn’t put a smile on your face.
For full effect, download “Take A Bow” by Muse and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
I know what you’re thinking, this dipstick is going to try and stretch talking about a bear for 700 words, and there is no way in frozen Phoenix you’ll be able to stay focused on a blog about nicknames, but hear me out for a few more lines. Don’t jump ship just yet, because based on my mildly amusing blogging history I more than likely will make you leave with a smile on your face.
The reason I selected this sexy pic of the King of the wildlife culture is because for some strange, unknown, WTF reason that is known to only God and some foreign kid in Somalia, the nickname I’ve been going by for the past three years is “The Bear”. Again, don’t ask me where this came from, who came up with it, or what affiliation it has with me, all I know is that I have been “The Bear” since I took the job as a college recruiter.
Historically speaking I have not had the best luck with nicknames. There have been plenty of them out there that were degrading, humiliating, and would normally make a child with a slightly higher than average self-esteem want to cry himself to sleep while laying naked in a bathtub, gorging himself on a pint of Rocky Road. Fortunately the big man upstairs decided to give me a ridiculously awesome self-esteem, therefore I never had those naked bawling binge sessions with Ben & Jerry.
Usually, nicknames have something to do with a characteristic that you portray in your life, or something that personifies only you as a whole. For example, as a child the nickname “Broccoli” was something that was very common, due to my first name being Brock, and the fact that my parents cruelly gave me the middle name of a vegetable. But it was something I accepted, and handled like a boss.
In high school I was crowned with the nickname of “Swamp Thing” by best friend Clinton Merrill, who thought that my overactive sweat glands were a prime target for how my teammates should recognize me. Of course I had no influence whatsoever in the freakishly different genetics that my parents handed down to me, but either way I was known as a walking ball of perspiration for the majority of my career at Roy High School.
One of the best nicknames that I will L-word taking down to my grave is the title handed out to me in college that was coined based off of my unconscious actions of removing my pants, running into plate glass windows, and drooling like a brain-dead two year old in front of Utah State Congressmen. “Seizure Boy” will forever be marked on my identity until the day I’m donated to science. And hopefully one day I can graduate to the title of "Seizure Man".
But the nickname I still have not been able to figure out is “The Bear”. I like it, don’t get me wrong. It sounds sexy, intimidating, something you want to get tattooed to your pec in Copperplate font with a claw underneath to intimidate little people when you take your shirt off on the beach. And yes, by little people I do in fact mean midgets. There, I said it.
Now you may be asking why the curse word has this guy been writing about nicknames for a page and half? And why the curse word have I been reading about his nickname history for the past four minutes? And is there a curse-wording point to this entire blog at all?
And honestly, I can’t tell you the answer to any of those questions. But need I remind you that this blog is not for you. It’s for my kids. How many times do I need to tell you that? And maybe on a Wednesday evening I got bored and wanted to explain to my posterity the background, history, and confusion behind their Uncle Keith Tronic and Uncle Rhinestone Cowboy coming up with the holy title of "The Bear".
Go ahead, you can laugh at the midget joke now.