Thanks LeBron, Thanks A Lot

So I hate that LeBron James. Something about him rubs me the wrong way, and I assure you it has nothing to do with his team knocking my Wizards out of the playoffs the last two years. I just think he's a dorknob.

My feelings are unlikely to change soon, as I've just read that he's fathered a baby delivered this morning named:

Bryce Maximus James

I don't know where to begin. A childhood of torture for having a sissy name has left me scarred and bitter. Why couldn't my mother have thought to name me Maximus? Think how much more masculine I would have become! I'm willing to bet that Maximus will never be taunted with the name Bryciepooh. Although to be honest, Maxiwuss has potential.

Bryce is cursed name. On the one hand, you meet women who say, "Oh, I love that name!" Let's face it, you're not going to hear a woman say, "His name is Mike/John/Dave, isn't that just the coolest name ever?!" So that's pretty cool. But those women become the mothers who name their kids Adrian or Perry or Brantley, and then the poor bastard gets the shit kicked out of him every day until he mercifully graduates from high school, assuming he doesn't Columbine first.

That *ahem* benefit doesn't begin to counter the most pressing problem. Every single man who meets a guy named Bryce will immediately think he's a douche. I could extend the blood-stained hand I've just used to bludgeon the dead deer I'm carrying home to feed my wolves, and the guy is still going to think I'm a fairy.

And finally, we all know that Bryce is absolutely a gay name. LeBron's take on homosexuality is remarkably mature, so that probably shouldn't be a big deal, right?

"You take showers together, you're on the bus, you talk about things. With teammates, you have to be trustworthy. If you're gay and you're not admitting that you are, you're not trustworthy. It's the locker room code; it's a trust factor.'' -Akron Beacon Journal

Uh oh.