Report: ’Osama’ Least Popular Name for American Babies

study conducted last week found that among the most popular names for baby boys right now are "John" and "Jason." Least popular: "Osama."

Scientists say not only has the name "Osama" the least popular name for American parents naming baby boys, it has fallen drastically this year from last year’s ranking.

"Last year’s study showed that Osama was number 435th. Not very popular at all as a name choice for American boys," said study author and researcher Dr. David Banner. "But this year… oh, jeez. Jesus pleasus. Lookit that. Waaay down there. I’m not even joking."

Other unpopular names on the list included, "Shitdick," "The Buttinator," "Regis," "Flaccid," "Ball-lick," and perennial least-favorite, "Hitler."

"This is no good," said expectant mother Sheila Caldwell. "I had ’Osama’ all picked out and now, well, I’m not using that. It’s a shame though. I had all these outfits with ’Osama’ embroidered in the left shoulder, like ’Laverne and Shirley.’""Not anymore," said Sheila’s husband Matt Caldwell. "What’s that other one you said? Hitler?"

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When a guy sticks a gun in your ribs and says "Alright buddy, that's the straw that broke the camel's back!" you really have to wonder. What kind of crazy camel-killing fucker am I dealing with here?

Seriously, what kind of sadistic asshole cripples any large, hooved animal under an avalanche of straws? Even as a figure of speech? That's just insane.

That's a shitload of straws, when you think about it. Who has this many straws, nevermind the need to transport them? And couldn't he have sold a few of them to buy a cart instead of piling them all on the camel's back like some cruel moron? Who are the crazy bastards who were using camels to carry straws, anyway? Was this a common occurrence at some point in history? To the best of my knowledge camels hang out in the desert, and if there's nothing to drink there then what in the hell do they need the straws for? And where were those PETA freaks when all these camels' backs were being snapped? I can't even drive around with a dog on the hood of my car without getting grief from those people, and Foghat loves that shit.

commune research editor Griswald Dreck tells me they didn't even have straws back in camel days, but I'm pretty sure he's shitting me about that. We have this running joke between us where he gives me shit and I mail him naked pictures of his sister I bought on eBay. It goes way back, don't even ask.

I mean, how could they not have straws? I'm sure there are a few wiseasses in the crowd who are thinking "Cuz they hadn't invented them yet, dick!" in the voice of that giant cartoon dog Goofy. Real slick, goofballs. How do you invent a straw? That's bullshit, it's like inventing a brick. Didn't happen. That's like an award they give out in Special Ed class, "Congratulations Benny, you invented the straw!" Whoopie.

I've invented the straw dozens of times when I was stuck at home with no way to suck up a beverage, and nobody threw me a parade. Half a ballpoint pen usually does the trick pretty nicely, though a rolled-up magazine will sometimes work in a pinch. Best to read the magazine first though, because good luck on reading that thing after you've used it to suck up a wine cooler. Really, the best thing is to use your neighbor Mitch's Reader's Digest or some recipe book you accidentally grabbed at the grocery store checkout because you thought it contained the secrets of the Tarot or some shit. Those take less sucking power since they're short and you're not likely to shed any tears over the polar rescue story you didn't get to read or that you don't know how to make a crabcake.

Dreck insists that they really didn't have straws back then, and that he seriously isn't getting me back for the time I got sick in his bowling bag. He says back then when you wanted to take a drink on the go you soaked a sock in it and then took the sock with you to suck on. If that's true, all I can say is sucks to be from the past. Goddamn. I can just see the commercial on TV where some N*Sync loser is telling me to suck the Coke out of his socks. No thanks, bud.

I still say there had to have been straws. You can't tell me nobody ever stumbled across a stick with a hole in it and then dunked it in his goat's blood or whatever they were drinking back then. If nothing else there were a bunch of straw-inventing motherfuckers wherever the hell bamboo is from. I'd put money down on that.

Now I just know this shit's going to keep me up at night until I can get down to the zoo to see exactly how many straws we're talking about here, and how in the hell you balance them on the back of a camel. Great.

Bricks out.

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It's good to have things back to normal here, and please don't laugh when I say that like everyone else does. It just comes off as passive-aggressive.

We've all been a little shaken up by Lee's massive head trauma and following period of insanity where he thought himself a beloved children's book author, but things are settling down again since we held him down and held an "intervention of fists" as I like to call it. Lee soon came back to his senses, except for the minor oddity that he wants to get his GED now.

I told him he was fine as is, though in complete honesty jumping on the treadmill a few hours every week wouldn't kill him—now Camembert, hoo boy, that would kill him, yessir. Lee, however, has no interest in exercise, or hygiene, I'd guess, but does have an overwhelming desire to complete his formal education.

As near as I can figure, Lee dropped out in the fourth grade over accusations of retardism. It was a hard thing to deal with for a boy of his age, 15, and there was apparently nothing to back up such accusations, but kids and certain teachers and the janitorial staff can be cruel, as the expression grows. If I had been thought beneath my intellect, to my face, it certainly would have stifled my ambition to complete school. But not Lee! Well, yes, Lee, for a long time, anyway. But not forever!

Apparently this GED thing is the equivalent of a paper saying you finished high school, except I don't know why anyone would go to high school in the first place if you could just do this. A lot of 8th graders I know would be jumping through hoops, like my Oscar party festivities, if they knew this was possible Four years of degradation and clique infighting and learning your place at the bottom of the social hierarchy can be prevented with a test a monkey could pass (I've held independent studies) and only a few are taking advantage of it? Without saying anything offensive, there would be fewer Columbines if this idea were promoted better. That's all I'm impulsively stating as fact.

From what I can gather, this GED test is just a series of questions about history and simple math and a lot of English, the language of England and abroad countries. If you come within a certain margin of correctness or make threatening eye contact with the test administrator, you pass. How easy! Not for me, perhaps, but for anyone who knows trivial details of information that American high school students know. Still, I guess if a test is too arbitrary and demands more than you're willing to give, you can always do it the old-fashioned way: Show up in classes once in a while in an American public school and create havoc until the apathetic teacher passes you to get you out of the educational system. I believe the president himself relied on this manner to get his degree.

Still, it's good for me that I started work so long ago my resume is long, and therefore difficult for employers to read. They skim the most recent job history and never noticed I only dabbled in professional schooling. I am smart, way smart, like Camembert tells me when I seek affirmation from him, but I lack the precise papers that declare it so. Who knows? Maybe I'll go back for my GED some day, when my self-worth has sunk so low I feel I need another person to validate my existence with a rubber stamp. Either that or I'll get a rubber stamp for Camembert.

Until then, Rok Finger gets by on street smarts: I know what street I live on, what street you take to get to the commune office, what street goes to Arvelyn's house for my nightly peeping, and what streets are known as "sidewalks" and can't be driven on. Some lessons in life you learn the hard way.

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