Or Just Roll Yer Own …

Yesterday, I gave the people what they have long demanded: the opportunity to receive a nickname befitting the 19th-Century Baltimore Orioles. The problem, though, is that too many of you received duplicate nicknames. Too many of you received my nickname — “The Salty Bronco.” Clearly the fix was in, and I’ll not abide such sullying of my honest toil.

So what to do? As ever, the impulses of Nyjer Morgan provide the blueprint for success in life and in business. If Morgan can call himself “Tony Plush,” which is the greatest presently extant baseball nickname, then why can’t you, page viewer, roll yer own? You can.

Below, after the jump, I’ll list the complete menu of nickname choices — many of them buried by the name-generator interface in the service of its sordid intentions …

Your choices …

– “Chippy Triples”
– “The Salty Bronco”
– “Murder Mittens”
– “Droolin’ Rube”
– “Pappy Syphilis”
– “The Living, Breathing, Speaking Abattoir”
– “Cargo Hook”
– “Sgt. Alcohol”
– “Ol’ Scotch-Irish Rapist”
– “Oak Nuts”
– “Constable Puncher”
– “Hungry Face”
– “Telegraph Lips”
– “Death to All Things”
– “Manslaughter Klondike”
– “The Promise of Famine”
– “Chief Swede”
– “Prisoner’s Tears”
– “Lady Pickaxe”
– “Desolation O’Bannion”
– “Dried Gruel in Me’ Beard”
– “Born Rightwise, With Pocketwatch”
– “Smallpox Danny”
– “The Foreboding Tobacconist”
– “Deacon Poisonous”
– “Dick Allen”

Don’t see one you like? Seriously: Roll yer own. Just make sure it’s worthy of the kind of street-fighting Catholic who would cast his lot with the Brawlin’ O’s of Eighteen and Ninety-Four.

So spikes high, God-fearer. Spikes high.