Some random bloke called Lewis I found on the web. Hello to you, whoever you are!
| | <*dv_1*>The Real Slim Booger | <*dv_3*>Just before Christmas I was perusing the shelves of HMV, looking to treat myself (because presents from yourself are the best). I was flicking through the CDs when I heard: Lewis! Put that down and get over here! No one ever calls me Lewis, unless theyre telling me off. So what did I do? I jumped like a scalded cat and threw down the CD I was holding. Only then did I realise that the voice belonged to some scraggy bird with a Croydon facelift and enough cheap gold to make Ali G look like Ghandi. The Lewis in question was about three years old, filthy, and enthusiastically chewing on Michael Jackson. (A copy of his album! God, you lot are sick in the head.)
<*dv_0*> A couple of weeks after this, I read with interest that I have the thirteenth most popular boys name in the UK. And do you know something? Im not too happy about that. Growing up I hated my name; I was Poo-is until I turned 12, then Bog-Roll for another three years. I didnt even meet another Lewis until I was 14. I still have days where I curse my parents for not calling me Dave or Bob. Normally when Ive been asked one of the following: And you spell that L-O-U-I-S, right? or And whats your first name Mr Lewis?
However, ever since I was eighteen its been a pretty cool name. Probably the most interesting name out of my group of friends; I know two Steves, a Dave, a Mark and a Kevin (theres more, but thatd be labouring the point and showing off). Plus, like Ive said, no one really calls me Lewis. Its either Lew or Booger. But that doesnt mean I havent grown fond of my name over the years, Im very attached to it. Just recently though Ive noticed that its been hijacked. Increasing numbers of screaming brats in my hometown are called Lewis. That kid whose ruining a peaceful Sunday in the pub by pouring gravy on his sisters head? Hes a Lewis. The proud parents of my namesakes are normally wearing Burberry and a scowl. I have become, it seems, this generations Jason.
<*dv_2*> You know whose fault it is? Hollyoaks. Fucking Hollyoaks! The TV equivalent of Pot Noodle (i.e., you hate yourself every time you go near it), I have hated Hollyoaks with a passion for years. Ill tolerate it if Im in someones house and its on, but I normally find that I have to go and headbutt a wall to calm down soon after. To me, Hollyoaks signifies so much that is wrong with the Heat-generation; we would rather watch a half-arsed soap opera on a Sunday morning than pick up a book or a newspaper. But anyway, the bastards have finally got their own back. Theyve taken my name and handed it to a whole generation. Im not too sure how many parents have called their kid Lewis directly because of Hollyoaks, but I have a message for them: YOUVE NAMED YOUR SON AFTER AN ALCOHOLIC, DRUGGED-UP WIFEBEATER! Is there any other Lewiss out there reading this? Or do you know a Lewis? Guys, we need to re-dress this a bit sharpish. We need to take our name back. Lewiss of Britain, come together! Reclaim youre name before its too late!
I was called Lewis a whole twenty-odd years before Hollyoaks was even invented. Its my name and Im taking it back from the Hollyoaks crowd. From now on, start naming kids after that short, vaguely funny bloke on Babyfathead. Not after the reason you wasted your Sundays in the early part of the 21st century. Until such a time comes that I get my name back, if you see me in the street call me either Lew or Booger, or just fuck off out of my face.
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