“Some people call me the space cowboy.
Some call me the gangster of love.
Some people call me Maurice…”
—from the song, “The Joker”, by The Steve Miller Band.
Most people who visit Atlantic City, New Jersey by automobile enter the resort town via the Atlantic City Expressway. Whether you are coming from New York City, Washington or Philadelphia, the “AC Expressway” is the fastest route.
For over two decades, the first thing motorists would see when entering the city proper from the Expressway was an omnipresent sign for a casino that once bore the name of the 45th President of the United States. It was yuge…err, huge.
Big red letters on the side of the white parking garage. Impossible to miss. Garish at night. That sign—and the name it spelled out—became identified with Atlantic City for a very long time.
That is branding! That has been the lifelong business model for the current President of the United States. The man puts his name on everything. If the prefix Mc became synonymous and eponymous for something generic—or immediately satisfying—because the McDonald’s restaurant chain named so many of its product with that moniker, then so did using the President’s name become the brand for high priced products and services…which rarely was worth the markup price one had to pay for such frivolous things.
You may notice that I did use the surname of the President. That is intentional. Since his election, I have decided not to use his name. I stated I would not in my first column after he was elected. The man is the biggest attention whore to ever walk this planet. He wants all of us to use his name and pay attention to Him…ummm, him. So, in this space and on social networking, I will not type it out. My editor can insist I do so, but he has not passed down such an edict to this point. So, yeah, that’s how I intend to handle it.
For the most part, I have referred to him using the typed word as President Sexual Predator. This is just. The man has, on more than one occasion, admitted to—and boasted about—behaviors that fit every criteria of a sexual predator.
When you say your celebrity status allows you to freely grab women in their private area…when you joke about entering the dressing room of a beauty pageant to “inspect” things…when you make and/or allow for sexual comments about your own daughter…you are a sexual predator.
The nickname is apt. My problem is that by using it, I make a punchline out of a terribly serious crime. I am not sure I should do that.
At times, and mostly on Facebook, I refer to him as the Orange Lunatic. This is likewise apt. The man has orange skin, obviously dyed orange hair and, most assuredly, he is a lunatic. Since O-Luna—think of Jennifer Lopez going by the more distinct nickname J. Lo—shows such disturbing signs of narcissism and sociopathy it might be low-hanging fruit to use a pseudonym that describes his overt mental instability and bizarre skin tone.
I suppose I could use more common nicknames for anyone who holds his office. POTUS, an acronym for President of the United States, is easy to type out. I never heard that alias used until I the watched the first episode the TV show, “The West Wing”.
Oh, how times have changed since that brilliant show was on the air! The biggest controversy on “The West Wing” was that fictional President Jed Bartlet hid his physical illness from the American people. Nearly two decades later we have an actual president who wears his mental illness outwardly like a flashing red siren.
POTUS might work.
I could use the cognomens “Commander-in-Chief”, or “Chief Executive”. The dilemma with these titles is they are scary to use with a man who throws hissy-fits when “Saturday Night Live” parodies him. A constant reminder that this man can blow up the planet in a flare of rage when he double-bogeys a hole on one of the many vacation days he is destined to take might be an imprudent course of action for Your Humble Columnist.
You see what I did there? I used my self-subscribed nickname that I invented specifically for this column. I do that. I brand myself with an ironic sobriquet as a means to be remembered. I did this years ago when I hosted a Quizzo in Logan. I fashioned three nicknames for myself:
Mr. Wednesday Night
The God of All Quizzo
The Round Mound of Profound
There is a local establishment that wants me to bring back Quizzo but on Monday nights. I can’t call myself Mr. Monday Night because that has already been taken by professional wrestler Rob Van Dam. I will need to figure out a new hook.
Now, I know what most of you think of this silly exercise. You see it is petty and immature. Yes, it most certainly is; although I would prefer to use the words belligerent and churlish. I use awful nicknames to describe POTUS as a means to succinctly convey my feelings towards the man. I view him as a pathological liar, a vainglorious egomaniac, a sexual predator and a purveyor for a racist, xenophobic, isolationist mob of deplorable, undereducated rubes.
And how can we forget that it was POTUS who decided that elementary school nicknames were his grammatical weapon of choice to disparage his political opponents for the duration of his campaign. His tactics were that of a schoolyard bully who knew his pathetically mean-spirited supporters use the same modus operandi in the comment sections on social networking sites.
I may come off of this one day soon, if only because of laziness and convenience. I may decide that typing out his 5 letter surname is the path of least resistance. Whatever name I call the President of the United States by, one fact will not change:
I view the Orange Lunatic with complete and merited contempt.