CURRENT ISSUE 08/12/03 Front Page Weekly Features Advice from Strangers Ain't That America? To-Do List Alaric Musing with Mitch Moth's Diary News from Travistan Info Archives Crap Shop Who's at Fault? Contact Us! Aye, mateys! Get you some Daily Probe booty!	My Name Is No Laughing Matter A guest Probeatorial by Heywood Jablome Sure, sure. Yuk it up, you bunch of wisenheimers. You all hear my name and you crack your goofy little jokes. But let me tell you something. I'm proud of my name and of the proud Jablome tradition it carries with it. My father, Buddy Jablome, thought long and hard about what name to give his first born son. Legend has it that he spent hours at Tony's Bar while my mother was in the delivery room. Apparently, his name was the subject of much ridicule and derision as well. As the story goes, after a few hours of catcalls and crude comments, the worst tormentor, Frankie Boscone, came over to my dad and said, "I hear your wife's having a son. And I've got the perfect name: Heywood!" Through the peals of laughter, my father sat up, re-energized, and shouted "Heywood! That's it! Heywood Jablome! It's perfect!" and got up to pay for his eight whiskey sours. When Dorothy, the gruff-but-amiable waitress, asked him where he was going in such a hurry, he blurted out, "What do you think? Heywood Jablome?" As I was born into this world, my father was but a few rooms away, getting his head stitched up. My childhood, alas, was no picnic. I remember I was at a junior high dance one night. I approached Becky Anderson and asked her for a dance. Since we were in different classes, we had never been formally introduced, but that didn't stop me from developing a massive crush on her. As I took her hand and led her to the dance floor, she asked, "Who are you, anyway?" When I told her, she predictably knocked me cold with a right hook. When I came to, one of the teachers was patiently explaining to her that Heywood Jablome was my actual name. She apologized profusely, of course, and trying to show her that I had a sense of humor, I responded, "So I guess the answer's no, huh?" Thus began my long and often-painful relationship with reconstructive dentistry. Ironically, it was many years later in the dentist's chair that I met the woman who would later become my wife. As I was lying back in the chair, getting my caps redone, the receptionist (a lovely woman named Eileen Dover) entered and stated, quite plainly, that she was looking for "a man to hug and kiss." I looked over, saw what I read to be longing in her eyes, and ran to her, like Heathcliff ran to Cathy in Wuthering Heights. I didn't get far, as I was vary painfully pulled back by the suction hose in my mouth. However, it was just as well. It turned out that Amanda Huginkis was the patient in the next room. I waited for her, because I wanted to meet someone who may have experienced my pain. I wasn't disappointed. I married Mandy (for some reason, she prefers that to Amanda) and I'm proud to say that we have just celebrated the birth of our first son, William. I chose the name so that he wouldn't suffer the same kind of teasing I did, inlike the horrible father Johnny Cash sang about in "A Boy Named Sue." Personally, I've always thought "Will" sounded a lot manlier than William, So I'm trying to convince Mandy to refer to him that way. At any rate, no kids, barflies, or anyone else will ever taunt Will Jablome. Who's laughing now? (Transcribed by Greg Preece)
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