Just call me "Big Typhoon" for short

About 4 months ago, an office associate of mine started calling me "Big Typhoon" as a nickname. I looked at him in puzzlement every time he did this. One day, I couldn't stand it any more, and I asked him what alternate plane he was inhabiting.

He said that he had seen a box from a CPU fan in the office, called "Big Typhoon", and thought it should be my new nickname. To which I replied, "you are an ass-hat." So he went and got the box, cut out the title, and stuck it on my computer.

Upon thinking about it, one could (too easily) use that term to describe the effortless and uncanny way in which I can simultaneously entertain, then offend the olfactory senses of everyone within a 20 foot radius of my person. With a single utterance of "here, pull my finger," I can clear a room. Oddly, not everyone sees the humor. Their loss, on so many levels.

Anyway, you might think, with the background information I have provided, that this might just be a good nickname after all.

See what a nicely well-rounded individual I am?

Although I can't belch the alphabet, I know someone who can - he happens to be my brother. We wreaked (reeked?) havoc around the dinner table as we played the "butter sculpture" game. Our poor mother. The game was to take the new 1 pound brick of butter, take one slice for whatever you were eating, and pass it on to the next person, who would be charged with furthering the creation. (yes, one-pound brick of butter - my parents were farmer-stock, and that's what we ate... another story for another day, entitled, "diabetes and you.") The sculpture was named at the end of the meal. It never looked like a cow. Perhaps a cow-pie.

Dillhole often entertained with an interlude of the complete alphabet, cola-style.