“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet” which is all well and good Julie baby, but what should one make of an inmate in Madison, Wisconsin who goes by the moniker Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop. You just know he’s the kind of guy who, in response to ‘how do you spell that?’ deadpans with ‘just the way it sounds.’
This is why I love the United States. We used to make things here-important, solid, somber things from cars the size of city blocks that handled like double beds with box springs to rockets that took people to the Moon and, more importantly, brought them back home again. No more.
We all fell in love with getting our MBAs and maximizing our ROIs and not too long after that we stopped making just about everything except a horse’s behind (sorry Bentley) out of ourselves for the amusement of the rest of the planet. I’m surprised every US birth certificate doesn’t come with a complementary red nose, a squirting flower and really big, floppy shoes.
Especially for someone named Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop-it just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? I suspect instead of an ambulance, his pregnant mom went to the hospital’s delivery room in a clown car. Of course, that’s not really true. Bill Novak, crack crime reporter (pause for the back of the room to get the joke… and we’re walking) explains this tongue twister of a miscreant spent most of the first three decades on Earth answering to “Jeff.”
I wanted more than this unassuming crime in the heartlands story could have ever had on the why (because we like you!)of how B-E-E-Z-O-W became who he is and not a name formed from the Periodic Table of Elements (which, by the way, will always be incomplete until it includes the Element of Surprise). Between us, I suspect his first night on the cell block no one was calling him Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop. Talk about a little trick with Nick? You wouldn’t believe the magic behind making a cellmate disappear for an hour.
-bill kenny
This is why I love the United States. We used to make things here-important, solid, somber things from cars the size of city blocks that handled like double beds with box springs to rockets that took people to the Moon and, more importantly, brought them back home again. No more.
We all fell in love with getting our MBAs and maximizing our ROIs and not too long after that we stopped making just about everything except a horse’s behind (sorry Bentley) out of ourselves for the amusement of the rest of the planet. I’m surprised every US birth certificate doesn’t come with a complementary red nose, a squirting flower and really big, floppy shoes.
Especially for someone named Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop-it just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? I suspect instead of an ambulance, his pregnant mom went to the hospital’s delivery room in a clown car. Of course, that’s not really true. Bill Novak, crack crime reporter (pause for the back of the room to get the joke… and we’re walking) explains this tongue twister of a miscreant spent most of the first three decades on Earth answering to “Jeff.”
I wanted more than this unassuming crime in the heartlands story could have ever had on the why (because we like you!)of how B-E-E-Z-O-W became who he is and not a name formed from the Periodic Table of Elements (which, by the way, will always be incomplete until it includes the Element of Surprise). Between us, I suspect his first night on the cell block no one was calling him Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop. Talk about a little trick with Nick? You wouldn’t believe the magic behind making a cellmate disappear for an hour.
-bill kenny
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