a series of unfortunate naming choices part the second

Jon Ham

Dear reader, I was just in the bathtub, blowing bubbles with my butt and thinking of you.

What, oh what do I have to say today?

I was enjoying some married mellons - Can’t elope - and sour candies when my literary questions were answered:

JON HAM.

Much like my recent dispatch on Johnson Controls, I’ve decided that Jon Ham has one of the most unfortunate names of all times.

I mean really, who on earth wants to enjoy an Jon Ham. Sure I eat candies while in the tub, but who of you dear readers wishes to dine on Bathroom Baloney?

The poor man.

What kind of torment did he endure.

Jon Ham?

Could you imagine sitting down on the throne for a little bit of Toilet Baccon?

What were his parents thinking when they decided to name the poor fool?

My guess is that the conversation went a little like this:

Our boy? We’ll make him tough. We’ll give him a real stupid name. How about Restroom Ribs?

Naw, too blatant. How about Jon Ham?

Perfection.

When John Ham goes out to lunch do you imagine he enjoys himself a little Urinal Pulled Pork?

Or perhaps some Porcelain Pancetta?

Myself? I’d prefer some Commode Calabraise, or in a pinch, a bit of Bidet Bratwurst spraying all over my taint.

So, anytime you’re feeling blue, just be glad that you’re not named Latrine Loin or Crapper Chops, or Jon Ham

Hell, Johnny Cash thought his character the boy named Sue had it bad.

He ain’t got nothin’ on Jon Ham.

And that is a reason to give thanks.

Stay weird ya bunch of lard balls!