“Oh, alright. You’re no fun,” he sighed. “My name is Razor.” “What kind of a name is that?” “It’s a nickname.” “What kind of a nickname is that?” “Spike, Blade, Fang—all the good, deadly objects were already taken. It was the best I could do.”

“It’s funny, Matt, everyone thinks Roman’s a nickname--but it’s not, it's just my name. We've got military names way back in our clan. I've got Great-Granddad Grant and Great Uncle Sherman and Uncle MacArthur and Cousin Audie and Cousin Achilles. No," he mused, "Roman's not a nickname. A nickname would be–oh, I don’t know, something like ... Caesar or something! The mighty Roman! ~ Roman Meister, nickname-loving manager of the San Carlos Coyotes in The Mighty Roman, broadly hinting for a nickname of his own.”

“What’s your name?”“You just can’t take a hint, can you?”“That’s kind of a mouthful. Do you happen to go by a nickname?”

“A few names were known in full, some in part, some not at all. No one cared. Except in clearly unreasonable cases, a soldier was generally called by the name he preferred, or by what he called himself, and no great effort was made to disentangle Christian names from surnames from nicknames.”

“He gave them nicknames, including a series of people he assigned the name Stupid.”

“I’m Jammer.”“What kind of name is that?” It sounded ridiculous“It’s the name you’ll be calling out the next time you’re holding a shower head between your legs and wishing it was my mouth.”