Wednesday, March 06, 2013

Is the Maury Povich show a modern day concentration camp?

I always had a hunch that Maury Povich was Jewish.  His mannerisms, his behavior, his schnoz... to be honest, he often reminds me of myself.  So I googled him and sure enough, he's the son of Ethyl Friedman and Shirley Povich.  I find it odd when men are named Shirley.  It's that old Airplane conundrum.

Twas not a lesbian couple that created the zygotic, embryonic emperor of the daytime talk show circuit.  In fact, his father was a sportswriter for the Washington Post.  See... this just goes to show that you can learn something of exceedingly minimal value every day.

Of course Maury is known for one thing above all else.  And that's paternity tests.  We've all seen the hurling of accusations and the celebratory dance moves.  We've all witnessed the pain and sorrow... and the jubilation and exultation. 

I'd like to take a moment and focus on the people.  Because it is the sum of these individual parts that constitute "Maury's essence."  Rest assured, without all these human beings and all their intrinsically fascinating tales of good lovin' gone bad, there would not be a Maury.  No stories to be told = no Maury.  No miracle babies = no gifts from god.  And that equation would not bode well for a god fearing, Christian nation.  Cuz in the 1950's, we left it to Beaver.  But nowadays, we leave it to Maury.  And rightly so.

Saf, what the fuck are you blathering about?  And why on earth would you equate the holocaust with The Maury Show?  Incidentally, I prefer to omit the "The" from the title.  This is consistent with how he used to refer to himself (from an omniscient perspective).  He used to speak with this beaming pride... "Come to Maury Show."  Am I the only one who finds this peculiar? 

Having watched Schindler's List, we should all be cognizant that names are critical to the human experience.  I believe it was Joseph Stalin who said, "One death is a tragedy, one million is a statistic."  Ironic that he would be responsible for the death of about 43 million, give or take a mil. 

Do you see what I'm inferring?  On the Maury show, there's just this endless parade of low-end humanity.  People whose sole purpose for existence is geared toward nothing but reckless procreation.  With every 7 minutes comes a new and vibrant story.  A baby momma and an alleged baby daddy.  Such is the cycle of life.  Long lists of names and corresponding social security numbers.  Don't kid yourself.  You're nothing more than a name and a number.  Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.  You're just not as special as you or your parents think you are. 

And I know this sounds crazy, but the names bear a striking resemblance to the war torn European regions of the 1940's.  You'd think residents of a HUD development in Chicago would bear little resemblance to the names of concentration camps.  You would be mistaken.  Each forced labor camp or extermination facility had a unique name and location.  Just like Maury.

I'll steer clear of the German camps.  Instead, let's look at some of the other Eastern bloc countries.

In Lithuania, there was Volary.  On Maury, there's Unari (which is actually a divine mix of elf and unicorn, although I doubt that was the mother's intention).

In Yugoslavia there was Danica, Kruscica and Banjica.  On Maury, there's Latisha, Shianta and Rashanda.

My personal favorite - in Poland there was Schmolz.  On Maury, there was a baby named Snoog (not a joke).  What a kind gesture for a mother to name her 6th born son "Snoog."  I'm guessing she was a Snoop Dogg fan and combined the two names.  Hell, even Snoop changed his name to Snoop Lion.  He's on some kind of Jamaican Rastafarian kick these days.  Good for him.

In Estonia, there was Vavara.  In France, Tendrara.  On Maury, we have Uniqua (pronounced you-knee-kwuh) and Sheberta.  Personally, I like the name Sheberta.  Think of it as in-between course mini orange sherbet.  Maybe there's a future for some kind of sorbet at McDonalds.  If everyone were to share an entree, say 20 piece Chicken McNuggets, McRib sans bun, filet o' fish (again with no bun)... well, it loosely resembles an upscale tasting menu. 

Trust me, this goes way beyond the urban African American culture.  It extends deep into the land of the whitey.  West Virginia Northern Panhandle - I'm lookin' straight atcha. 

As I've been saying, all babies are precious.  So much so, that I named my daughter "Precious."  It could have been worse.  I almost spelled it Preshuss.  I just didn't want her to be confused with that doggie in Silence of the Lambs.

Every baby is a gift from God.  In fact, rumor has it that one infant was named "Bay-Bee."  That's right.  Just in case you're overwhelmed by the joys of parenting and forget the actual newborn status.  

I also like the new breed of names that represent states of existence.  Of course, you have the ingenious "Heaven" and backwards spelled "Neveah."  The latter is VERY popular.  Although, doesn't the name itself imply the exact opposite.  That being hell.  This does make sense, because in all likelihood, Neveah will be condemned to a hellish existence.

Treasure, Virginity, Innocence, Tolerance, Eternity and even Pubescence.  These names have more of a caucasian-trash feel.  Saffy like.  Sometimes, I physically ache for a Mulva.  Dare to dream.

Even better are the compound names... Liberty Bell and Eternal Flame are fine examples.  If you wish, feel free to throw in a hyphen (Vas-Deferens has a nice Jeffrey Dahmer-Swedish vibe).  Gang Banger has a nice ring to it.  Perfect for a thuggish, matronly adviser to the adult entertainment industry.

If you're a morbidly corpulent black woman, how about you try an apostrophe?  It will distinguish your kid from all the others.  Why go with Tanisha when you have the legal opportunity to name the child Ta'anisha?  All these new, culturally urban prefixes... La, Sha, Ja, Mo, Ka.  Perhaps the day will come when all the surnames become one.  They'll merge into a unilateral name of triumph... Lashamokita.  Sounds like a tasty caffeinated beverage served aboard public transit.

I recall this one baby on Maury.  His name was "King James."  When the customary backstage photo was displayed on the widescreen, the mother gazed proudly and stated,  "Yeah, that's my baby Murray.  That's right.  I crowned him king.  Yeah Murray."  From a Povich historical perspective, I believe this to be a shining moment.

Does anyone remember when Prince became the "Artist formerly known as the Treble Clef / Symbol of Love".

I'm surprised this never caught on.  Because if you're allowed to use an apostrophe, the possibilities are endless.  There's all kinds of symbols out there and if the current climate of parenthood is any indication, now could be the time for the "Prince trend" to reemerge.

+enta is Placenta

%iah = Percentia
% illah  = Percentilla

=itty becomes Equality

*ia is Asteriskia

/inka = Slashinka (sounds like Treblinka, a well known Polish concentration camp)

$ondra could be Cashondra

It's just a matter of time before someone latches onto this concept.  The precedent was established long ago.

How about using the infamous heart symbol?  ♥ E Stu.  That turns into one of those eccentric compound names... Hearty Stew.  As a fan of vegetables and non-kosher meats, this one has an inexplicable panache that could be attributed to a Pittsburgh Jewish yinzer fatso.  Oy-vey.  The days of "the Bubby" ended long ago.  Maybe the Jews and the blacks will soon unite.  And on that sacred day, Yarmulka will become Yummika.  Can you tell that I'm prepping a batch of matzoh ball soup for the Pens-Fleyers game tomorrow night?  Not just those mundane Jew balls.  I'm gonna throw in some chicken, celery, carrots, parsnips and an onion.  Parsnips?  Damn straight.  It will be yummika.

So Saf... what puts you at the forefront of this "unique name" movement.  You don't have any children.  For the love of Allah, you've never even changed a diaper!
But here's what you don't know.  I've already been there, done that.  Back in 2005, I NEARLY persuaded a girl from Bellaire, Ohio to name her baby girl "Chlamydia."  Can one even begin to fathom the glory?  Chlamydia from Bell-Dirty.  Perhaps one day.  One day.     

This ain't some urban legend "Lemonjello / Orangejello" bullshit myth.  Chlamydia could've been the real deal.  I was closer than the 49ers winning a 6th Superbowl.  Viva Le Steelers!


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