My little brother’s name is Jason. But no one calls him that. Lemme guess–you’d expect “Jay” or his last name. But no. When I was little, I started a long tradition of never calling Jason by his real name. He’s been Honkabo, Honks, Hammy, Betty, Judy (I’m not real sure why he answered to these), Spike (when he used to want to be a puppy), Hambone (again, with this and Hammy, I’m not sure-he was never chunky), and I think the longest standing nickname has been Petey, or just Pete for short.
It’s obvious that none of these names are even close to “Jason”. I don’t know where they come from. But he calls me stupid stuff, too. For a long time he called me Chuck Liddell (this is a stupid story) and he’s always called me Hoot. Hell, everyone calls me Hoot.
But Honkabo? Hammy? Betty? Whatever I called him, he always answered.
I think that’s the good thing about little brothers. They take a lot of crap from you, and they give it back. But you know what? They’re there when you need them.
I think I could do a whole series on Petey. Hm…