Favorite Nickname Quotes

Magnus Bane. The Ultimate Traitor. Not my favorite nickname. I prefer, "Our Lord and Master" or maybe "Unambiguously the Hottest.

My favorite passage is from Rule: "I hated guys that called a girl "baby". Baby was what you used when you couldn't remember a girl's name or you were just too lazy to come up with your own nickname for her.

He had altered his method of matching books to readers. He often asked, "How would you like to feel when you go to sleep?" Most of his customers wanted to feel light and safe. He asked others to tell him about their favorite things. Cooks loved their knives. Estate agents loved the jangle made by a bunch of keys. Dentists loved the flicker of fear in their patients' eyes; Perdu had guessed as much. Most often he asked, "How should the book taste? Of ice cream? Spicy, meaty? Or like a chilled rose?" Food and books were closely related. He discovered this in Sanary, and it earned him the nickname "the book epicure.

There are many benefits to interracial friendships, and one of my favorite is the freedom to call each other nicknames that other people consider racist. I think everyone has a natural urge to say the wrong thing. It's like standing next to some dude on the sidewalk and suddenly wanting to push him into oncoming traffic. Don't even try to tell me you've never had that feeling.

They would call him ‘dang cat,’ which was his favorite nickname, and he was pretty sure it meant ‘good boy.

You’re sure you want to do this? What if she eats him?” I smiled, lifting the baby into my arms and grabbing his sippy cup. “Evelyn’s trying. She deserves a chance.” I closed the door and turned to her. My wife eyed me. “She called you a rapscallion.” I laughed. “Yes—yes she did.” Kristen and I had good fun with that one. It was Kristen’s favorite nickname for me. I gave Oliver his sippy cup. “But in all fairness, you told her you were married and pregnant via Potatogram. She had a right to be upset. Give me this.” I took the diaper bag from her. “You shouldn’t be lifting more than you need to.” She scowled at me. “It’s been four months since my surgery. I can carry a five-pound diaper bag.” I kissed the side of her stubborn head.

Every inch of you. It’s all my favorite. You’re my favorite. My princess.” There’s that damn giggle again. “That nickname is ridiculous, but I think I love it.

Love you, Snickers. He's nicknamed me after his favorite candy, a term of endearment. Love you, too, Dad.

Catcher pulled out his phone,rose,and walked away from the table to make the call. "I'm going to advise Chuck of our little breakthrough. Good job, Mallocake." We all looked at Mallory. "Did he just call you Mallocake ?" She blushed to the roots of her blue hair, shrugged one shoulder. "It's a nickname" It was also my all-time favorite snack food- a log-shaped chocolate cake with a marshmallow center. They were absolutely delectable. And that was kind of adorable, especially for someone like Catcher, who made Eeyore seem like an optimist.

He came from plebeian roots and had failed to distinguish himself in any way, not in war, not in work, not in art, though in this last domain he believed himself to have great talent. He was said to be indolent. He rose late, worked little, and surrounded himself with the lesser lights of the party with whom he felt most comfortable, an entourage of middlebrow souls that Putzi Hanfstaengl derisively nicknamed the “Chauffeureska,” consisting of bodyguards, adjutants, and a chauffeur. He loved movies—King Kong was a favorite—and he adored the music of Richard Wagner.

The men toasted their bottles, as they did when Mouse was mentioned. The part of their tattoo that no longer existed. The man had died on the job, protecting Blake because he was loyal to Beckett. “And…” Cole shot Beckett a look. “You’re unofficially known as Sparkles and Jesus.” Beckett squinted as Cole pretended to be offended. “I think it’s only fair if we give you a nickname, Blake?” Cole asked. Blake stood and added a log to the fire. It’d been burning steady since right after dinner. Being with his brothers like this was Beckett’s favorite. It his wildest dreams he never pictured getting to sit with them in a Blake’s backyard.

BROOKE PARKER STEPPED up to the bar at The Shore restaurant, ready to place her lunch order. The bartender, however, beat her to the punch. “Hey, it’s my favorite customer—Chicken Tacos, Extra Pico.” He flashed her a grin. “That’s my nickname for you.” Yes, she got that. “I suppose I’ve been called worse,” Brooke said as the bartender moved to the cash register to ring her up.

Martha had come up with the nickname Godbee by accident when she was younger than Lucy. Dorothy Boyle had been referred to as Grandma Boyle or Grandma B, for short, to distinguish her from Martha’s other grandmother, Anne Hubbard. As a toddler, Martha couldn’t pronounce Grandma B correctly, or had misheard it, and had, for as long as she could remember, called her favorite grandmother Godbee. For some reason, it had caught on. Not only with everyone in Martha’s family, but with some of Godbee’s friends and neighbors, too.

Uncle Van was my only uncle and therefore my favorite uncle. Mom had a nickname for him, which was Van “Are You Going to Eat the Rest of That?” Branch. He lives in Hawaii, in a caretaker’s cottage on a huge estate that belongs to a Hollywood movie producer. The Hollywood producer was hardly ever there, but he must have OCD because he pays Van to go to the house every day and flush the toilets. The Hollywood producer also has a house in Aspen, and one winter the pipes froze and the toilets overflowed and wrecked a bunch of antiques so he’s totally paranoid about it happening again, even though pipes can’t freeze in Hawaii.

ABOUT YOU Write some details about yourself NAME PRONUNCIATION How do you pronounce your name? OTHER NAMES LovesCheyenne Options Other · Shown at top of profile Jay Options Nickname Add a nickname, a birth name... FAVORITE QUOTES We're both of the same breed, after all … motives for war are of no concern. Religion, ideology, resources, land, grudges, love, or just because… No matter how pathetic the reason, it's enough to start a war." "Out of love, sacrifice is born. Hate is born. and we are able to know pain!" "If you don't share someone's pain, you can never understand them. But just because you understand them doesn't mean you can come to an agreement. That's the truth.

He came from plebeian roots and had failed to distinguish himself in any way, not in war, not in work, not in art, though in this last domain he believed himself to have great talent. He was said to be indolent. He rose late, worked little, and surrounded himself with the lesser lights of the party with whom he felt most comfortable, an entourage of middlebrow souls that Putzi Hanfstaengl derisively nicknamed the “Chauffeureska,” consisting of bodyguards, adjutants, and a chauffeur. He loved movies—King Kong was a favorite—and he adored the music of Richard Wagner. He dressed badly. Apart from his mustache and his eyes, the features of his face were indistinct and unimpressive, as if begun in clay but never fired. Recalling his first impression of Hitler, Hanfstaengl wrote, “Hitler looked like a suburban hairdresser on his day off.

None were particularly interesting, although I got a kick out of a note from the Philadelphia Zoo suggesting that since the tiger was not entirely reliable around humans, perhaps Mr. Willing would consider a leopard for his painting instead. It had been a pet until the demise (natural) of its owner and would, if not firmly admonished, climb into a person's lap, purring, and drool copiously. I pulled a sheet of scrap paper (the Stars spent a lot of time sending all-school e-mails about recycling) out of my bag and made a note on the blank side: "Leopard in The Lady in DeNile?" It wasn't my favorite, Cleopatra Awaiting the Return of Anthony. It was a little OTT, loaded with gold and snake imagery and, of course, the leopard. Diana hadn't liked the painting,either, apparently; she was the one who'd given it the Lady in DeNile nickname.I wondered if the leopard had drooled on her. None of the papers were personal, but they were Edward's and some were special, if you knew about his life. There was a bill from the Hotel Ritz in Paris in April 1890, and one from Cartier two months later for a pair of Tahitian pearl drop earrings. Diana was wearing them in my favorite photograph of the two of them: happy and visibly tanned, even in black and white, holding lobsters on a beach in Maine. "I insisted we let them go," Diana wrote in a letter to her niece. "Edward had a snit.He wanted a lobster dinner, but I could not countenance eating a fellow model.

Create an “Inner Child” Map. Adults have a different way of viewing things compared to a child, and this activity is a kind of bridge between how you think now as an adult and your inner child. Adults usually prefer to create organizers or charts in order to plan or understand something. This time you will be creating an organizer, more specifically called a semantic map, that can help you discover your inner child. To create an “inner child” map, you can get a picture of yourself as a child, probably around the age of 7 or 8. If you do not have any pictures, then you can simply draw yourself when you were in that age. Place the picture or the drawing at the center of a piece of paper, with enough room for scribbles all around it. Then, begin recalling as much as you can all of the phrases or words that you can associate with this child version of you. Brainstorm on everything, such as your favorite color back then, the gifts that you wanted for Christmas, your nickname, your favorite movie, the book that you kept reading over and over again with a flashlight under your blanket, an imaginary friend, or the silly urban legends that you used to believe in. Once you have finished your “inner child map” you are so much closer to discovering him or her, if you haven’t already.

I’d ask why you don’t want to be whipped, but I sense there’s a long heartfelt story behind it and I’ll feel sorry for you and I’m not really in the mood to feel pity. Maybe after a few more orgasms, I can fake sympathy. We’re just not there yet, champ.” “I like that nickname,” I said, taking her hand between mine. “Stud works too. King Cock is another favorite.” “How about Cock-A-Doodle-Doo?" “Too cartoony. I need something manlier. Cockinator.” Laughing, Raven yanked her hand away. “How about Robo Cock or White Cock Down? Ooh, Cockageddon.” “Independence Cock,” I suggested, laughing as I drank my juice. “Cock Hard or Cocky. You know the third one where Cocky goes to Russia.” Raven snorted. “Cocks on a Plane. No, Planet of the Cocks.” “Kindergarten Cock,” I said and Raven balked. “Did I take that too far?” “Perv. Oh, how about World War C?” “Too subtle.” “Iron Cock or Cock of Steel. You know, if you’re interested in the superhero route.” “Star Trek and superheroes. I sense the nerd is strong in this one.” “Fuck off. I saw the videogames at your stag shack.” “Wanna come over and play sometime?” I asked, giving her a wink. “Then, after we’re done playing, we can do that videogame thing you mentioned.” “Hang out time like you shared with Judd?” Expression hardening, I glared at her. “I never fucked Judd.” “Why? He’s hot.” Unable to keep up the façade, I laughed. “He’s a pretty fucker, ain’t he?” “Oh, yeah,” she sighed and I stopped laughing. Raven noticed and it was her turn to laugh. “He’s got those beautiful eyes.” “They’re beady rat eyes.” “He’s so strong.” “Puny girly man.” Raven licked her lips. “I bet he hung too.” I showed her my pinkie finger. “He’s barely this big when hard.” “And how do you know that if you two never fucked?” “Fine, we fucked, but we were pretty drunk and he is really pretty.” Raven nearly fell off her chair laughing. I felt intensely proud to make her lose her cool so thoroughly. After calming down, Raven threw up her hand and I high fived her. “You win,” she said, catching her breath. “I’ll play videogames at your place after fucking your brains out. Make you forget all about sexy Judd.

Fine. I don’t have the time or the inclination to edit erotica, even good erotica, if there is such an animal. I’m not the only editor here. Give it to Thomas Finley.” Zach named his least favorite coworker, the one who’d given him his nickname. “Or Angie Clark even.” “Finley? That pansy? He’d make a pass at Sutherlin, and she’d eat him alive. If you punched him in the face, he wouldn’t even know how to bleed right.” Zach nearly laughed in agreement before remembering he was fighting with J.P.

As well as sniffing my mum's precious bottles, I loved squirting the perfume onto myself, so from a very young age I walked around in a rather overpowering haze of scent. My father started calling me Fragrant Cloud, after his favorite rose- hence the name of this blog.

His voice was soft as he pulled down the covers, “Come on Harper, get in.” The way his voice wrapped around my name sent a warm shiver through my body and I had to fight to keep my eyes away from his now-bare chest as I crawled into his bed. Even the quick glance at his sculpted chest and abs had my heart racing. After he flipped off the lights, I felt the bed sink down from his weight and I sat up. “What are you doing?” “What do you mean?” “You can’t get in here with me!” He chuckled, “It’s my bed, I’m sure I can do what I want.” I know he couldn’t see me, but I glared at him anyway. Flipping the cover off me, I grabbed a pillow and sank down to the floor. “Get back in the bed Princess.” I scoffed at my nickname but didn’t say anything. I could feel his eyes boring into my back and after what felt like an eternity, heard him sigh and the bed shift. I wanted to ask for a blanket but was too stubborn to ask. Next thing I knew I was in the air. “Oh my word! Put me down!” He dropped me onto the bed and crawled over me. “Chase! No!” “Calm down, I’ll stay on my side. We can even put a pillow between us if it’ll make you feel better.” He snickered. I grumbled and scooted to the edge of the bed. Obviously I’ve never been in a bed with a guy before, and the fact that he was inches away had my whole body shaking. “I swear if you touch me, I’ll go Lorena Bobbitt on you.” It didn’t take him long to figure out what I was referring to. He put a pillow over his face to muffle his booming laugh. “Oh my God! Princess! You’re my new favorite!” “That wasn’t a joke.” His body was still shaking with silent laughs as he moved closer and trailed his fingers up my arm. “One of these days, you’ll be begging for me to touch you.” I couldn’t tell if my next shiver was out of pleasure or disgust but I still growled at him and slapped his hand away. “I’m serious Chase. I’m not like all those girls I saw you with tonight.” “That’s an understatement.” He rolled back to his side of the bed and sighed, “Get some sleep Princess, I’ll see you in the morning.

From the Bridge” The Importance of History Not all that many years ago the Importance of history would have been a “no brainer!” People understood that there was very little new under the sun, and history was a good barometer to the future. “Those that fail to heed history are doomed to repeat it, “was an adage frequently heard. It gave us a perspective by which to stabilize our bearings and allowed us to find one of the few ways by which we could understand who we are. The myth that George Washington, not being able to lie, admitted to chopping down his father’s favorite cherry tree helped us create a moral compass. Abraham Lincoln’s moniker “Honest Abe,” took root when he worked as a young store clerk in New Salem, IL. The name stuck before he became a lawyer or a politician. His writings show that he valued honesty and in 1859 when he ran for the presidency the nickname became his campaign slogan. However, apparently ”Honest Abe” did lie about whether he was negotiating with the South to end the war and also knowingly concealed some of the most lethal weapons ever devised during the Civil War." These however, were very minor infractions when compared to what we are now expected to believe from our politicians. Since World War II the pace of life has moved faster than ever and may actually have overrun our ability to understand the significance and value of our own honesty. We no longer turn to our past for guidance regarding the future; rather we look into our future in terms of what we want and how we will get it. We have developed to the point that we are much smarter than our ancestors and no longer need their morality and guidance. What we don’t know we frequently fabricate and in most cases, no one picks up on it and if they do, it really doesn’t seem to matter. In short the past has become outdated, obsolete and therefore has become largely irrelevant to us. Being less informed about our past is not the result of a lack of information or education, but of ambivalence and indifference. Perhaps history belongs to the ages but not to us. To a great extent we as a people really do not believe that history matters very much, if at all. My quote “History is not owned solely by historians. It is part of everyone’s heritage,” was written for the opening page of my award winning book “The Exciting Story of Cuba.” Not only is it the anchor holding our Ship of State firmly secure, it is the root of our very being. Yes, history is important. In centuries past this statement would have been self-evident. Our predecessors devoted much time and effort in teaching their children history and it helped provide the foundation to understanding who they were. It provided them a reference whereby they could set their own life’s goals. However society has, to a great extent, turned its back on the past. We now live in an era where the present is most important and our future is being built on shifting sand. We, as a people are presently engaged in a struggle for economic survival and choose to think of ourselves in terms of where wind and tide is taking us, rather than where we came from. We can no longer identify with our ancestors, thus they are no longer relevant. Their lives were so different from our own that they no longer can shed any light on our experience or existence. Therefore, in the minds of many of us, the past no longer has the value it once had nor do we give it the credence it deserves. As in war, the truth is the first victim; however this casualty threatens the very fabric of our being. When fact and fiction are interchanged to satisfy the moment, the bedrock of history in undermined. When we depend on the truth to structure our future, it is vital that it be based on truthful history and the honesty of those who write it. It is a crime without penalty when our politicians tell us lies. In fact they are often shamefully rewarded; encouraging them to become even more blatant in the lies they tell.

Adult urologists have plenty of nicknames, from “dick docs” to “stream team” to “prick plumbers”; my favorite is “wee-wee whackers.

I’d also toyed with calling him Caverat before that ‒ which I’ll explain in a minute. Anyway, Twitch was the nickname of the kid that took Zero's place and who I named Z after when he ran away in Holes ‒ which is still my favorite book ever. Now that I think about it, it's probably my favorite movie too. Not only that but my other cat’s name was X-Ray. He was mostly black but had several white markings that looked sorta like fuzzy bones ‒ with one in particular running down his left hind leg about where his tibia would show up in an actual x-ray. So I probably would've called him X-Ray no matter what but it sure didn't hurt that it's the name of the leader of the kids at Camp Green Lake. I even considered Stanley before that ‒ who's the book’s main character and of course, the star of its’ movie. Before that that, I’d actually debated calling him Bob ‒ if you can believe it. But cats shouldn't have regular old people names as far as I'm concerned ‒ with maybe just a few exceptions. I decided that neither Bob ‒ which only came up in the first place because I like palindromes ‒ nor Stanley were one of 'em. Even besides the bone-like birthmarks making X-Ray the obvious choice. To be honest, it was Nat's suggestion anyway. Back to Stanley though, even though his nickname at Camp Green Lake was Caveman, I decided against Cave-cat right away. But it did seem to fit Twitch since he was hiding under the china cabinet and all. Another name I’d thought about before she brought up X-Ray was Yelnats ‒ which is Stanley's last name and the emordnilap of his first ‒ and plenty un-regular-old-people-like enough but as I pointed out at the time, we already had a Nat in the house who yells. That made her laugh but it wasn't exactly true plus on top of it, I ended up having to admit that her idea was better all along. By the way, if you didn’t know it, an emordnilap is the reverse of a word or phrase that isn't a nonsense string but also isn’t a palindrome ‒ which spells the same thing forwards and backwards. Other palindromes besides ‘Bob’ are 'refer'; ‘bird rib’; 'a nut for a jar of tuna’; ‘borrow or rob?’; ‘racecar’; ‘Yo banana boy!’; 'deified'; ‘Go Hang a Salami, I'm a Lasagna Hog’ ‒ or like I already half mentioned… Stanley Yelnats. Emordnilaps make a new one instead ‒ such as ‘live’ and ‘evil’; ‘lived’ and ‘devil’; ‘dog’ and ‘god’; ‘stressed’ and ‘desserts’; ‘stops’ and ‘spots’; or ‘keep reward’ and ‘drawer peek’. As you’ve probably figured out already, ‘emordnilap’ is the emordnilap of ‘palindrome’ so therefore ‘palindrome’ is not a palindrome.

And each fairy is represented by a color?" Chiara asked. "My favorite color was always violet," Agata said, "and Mirabella's gold. They started off as nicknames, but they seem to have stuck." Peri, the Orange Fairy, stepped forward and offered her a friendly grin. "Blue is available, in case you were wondering. Agata told us it's your favorite. We sense the color's been waiting for you.

Geppetto remembered then that she had asked for a figurine. "What shall I carve you?" Chiara thought for a moment. "A dove," she said finally. "It's what my mamma and papa used to call me when I was little---because I'd bring peace between Ily and Nico." The nickname made her smile. "And it's my favorite bird.

About you . Deuteronomy 6:5 You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. Deuteronomy 30:6 “Moreover the Lord your God will circumcise your heart and the heart of your descendants, to love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, so that you may live. Matthew 22:37 And He said to him, “ ‘ You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ Mark 12:30 and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ Luke 10:27 And he answered, “ You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” V'ahav'ta eit Adonai Elohekha b'khol l'vav'kha uv'khol naf'sh'kha uv'khol m'odekha. וְאָהַבְתָּ, אֵת יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, בְּכָל-לְבָבְךָ וּבְכָל-נַפְשְׁךָ, וּבְכָל-מְאֹדֶךָ. Shared with Public Name pronunciation Add a name pronunciation Other names Add a nickname, a birth name... Favorite quotes "Perhaps I can best describe my experience of doing mathematics in terms of a journey through a dark unexplored mansion. You enter the first room of the mansion and it's completely dark. You stumble around bumping into the furniture, but gradually you learn where each piece of furniture is. Finally, after six months or so, you find the light switch, you turn it on, and suddenly it's all illuminated. You can see exactly where you were. Then you move into the next room and spend another six months in the dark. So each of these breakthroughs, while sometimes they're momentary, sometimes over a period of a day or two, they are the culmination of - and couldn't exist without - the many months of stumbling around in the dark that precede them." ~ Andrew Wiles "Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates a brother or sister is still in the darkness. Anyone who loves their brother and sister lives in the light, and there is nothing in them to make them stumble. But anyone who hates a brother or sister is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness. They do not know where they are going, because the darkness has blinded them." ~ First Epistle of John, chapter 2, verse 9-11 "As nightfall does not come at once, neither does oppression. It is in such twilight that we all must be aware of change in the air - however slight - lest we become victims of the darkness." ~ William O. Douglas For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. ~ Paul & Timothy in the Second Epistle to the Corinthians

Leads.” Oh. Goddammit. I should’ve known. That horse’s ass. Literally. Leads is short for Leads the Way, my father’s beloved racehorse. And when I say that, I do not mean it in the logical meaning of those words. He doesn’t own the horse. He bets on him. Drives around, sometimes a few states away, just to watch him run. His second-favorite child, after Jiao. The true number two son, and a better fit for the nickname Poop Son.

There are people who make a hobby of "alternative history," imagining how history would be different if small, chance events had gone another way One of my favorite examples is a story I first heard from the physicist Murray Gell-Mann. In the late 1800s, "Buffalo Bill" Cody created a show called Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, which toured the United States, putting on exhibitions of gun fighting, horsemanship, and other cowboy skills. One of the show's most popular acts was a woman named Phoebe Moses, nicknamed Annie Oakley. Annie was reputed to have been able to shoot the head off of a running quail by age twelve, and in Buffalo Bill's show, she put on a demonstration of marksmanship that included shooting flames off candles, and corks out of bottles. For her grand finale, Annie would announce that she would shoot the end off a lit cigarette held in a man's mouth, and ask for a brave volunteer from the audience. Since no one was ever courageous enough to come forward, Annie hid her husband, Frank, in the audience. He would "volunteer," and they would complete the trick together. In 1890, when the Wild West Show was touring Europe, a young crown prince (and later, kaiser), Wilhelm, was in the audience. When the grand finale came, much to Annie's surprise, the macho crown prince stood up and volunteered. The future German kaiser strode into the ring, placed the cigarette in his mouth, and stood ready. Annie, who had been up late the night before in the local beer garden, was unnerved by this unexpected development. She lined the cigarette up in her sights, squeezed...and hit it right on target. Many people have speculated that if at that moment, there had been a slight tremor in Annie's hand, then World War I might never have happened. If World War I had not happened, 8.5 million soldiers and 13 million civilian lives would have been saved. Furthermore, if Annie's hand had trembled and World War I had not happened, Hitler would not have risen from the ashes of a defeated Germany, and Lenin would not have overthrown a demoralized Russian government. The entire course of twentieth-century history might have been changed by the merest quiver of a hand at a critical moment. Yet, at the time, there was no way anyone could have known the momentous nature of the event.

Biography Titles Fowl Tips: My Favorite Chicken Recipes by Wade Boggs … It Pays to Steal by Maury Wills … Planet of the Umps by Ken Kaiser … Some of My Best Friends Are Crazy by Jay Johnstone … Sox and the City by Richard Roeper … The Umpire Strikes Back by Ron Luciano … Veeck as in Wreck by Bill Veeck … The Catcher in the Wry by Bob Uecker … The Wrong Stuff by Bill Lee … The Zen of Zim by Don Zimmer.

Logan shoulders his way past me and glares at her. “I’m not leaving again,” he says to her. She nods. “I know.” “No matter what you say,” he goes on. “I just needed to do something. I wanted it to be a surprise.” She holds her hand out to him. “I meant to do it later, but time got away from me, and then I realized that I hadn’t done it yet, and I was almost out of time. And so Friday helped me with it.” She motions for him to take her hand again. “But first we had to wash that stupid basketball off.” A grin tugs at the corners of my lips when she lifts her hospital gown and I see that the ball is gone. She’s wearing a pair of Logan’s boxer shorts for now, but her belly is huge and she looks like the timer on her chicken has popped. Across her belly are the words, “My name is Catherine. And I’m my daddy’s girl.” “You finally picked a name?” Logan asks. He puts his hand on her belly and draws out the letters. It’s made like his tattoo that says, “My name is Emily.” It’s the one he got when he found out her real name. “That name was your favorite, right?” she asks. I know it’s more than just his favorite. Catherine was our mom’s name. He nods, and I see him swallow really hard. “Kit,” he says. “Kit,” she repeats. Her voice cracks. There’s so much history between them with regard to that nickname.

I have a new nickname. A few of the guys have noticed that I am reading the bible on my free time. I am now ‘preacher.’ Not very fitting, if you ask me. Don’t preachers have to stand up and teach people? I guess it could be worse. Some of the guys were talking about their favorite kind of music. Nobody said classical. I wasn’t surprised, and I didn’t volunteer my preference. Later on, I was talking to Tyler Young, and he asked me what I liked to listen to, so I told him about Beethoven. He asked me what songs I liked. I told him I especially liked Air on a G String - big mistake!! He thought I was talking about women’s underwear. He’s calling me ‘G’ now. I think I prefer Preacher. Tyler has a big mouth, especially when he thinks he’s going to get laughs, and before I knew it, he’d told everyone about Air on a G String. Now I’m ‘Preacher G.

Born on June 3, 1931, Raúl Castro was Fidel’s younger brother. In many ways, the two brothers are very different from each other in both appearance and deportment. Although Ángel Castro is officially listed as the father on Raúl’s birth certificate, there have been consistent rumors that his birth father may have been a Cuban Rural Guard commander named Felipe Miraval, a Batista army loyalist nicknamed “el Chino,” for obvious reasons considering his Asian appearance. Raúl was purportedly his mother’s favorite child and was endearingly called “Muso” by her. Incidentally, Musou is an Asian word that means, “The Only One.” Living in his brother’s shadow Raúl usually found himself playing second fiddle to Fidel, which made Raúl seem less threatening. However, this was only an illusion. As revolutionaries bivouacking in the Sierra Maestra Mountains, he was always loyal to the mission and knew how to get his thoughts across to his older brother. Although he could, Fidel did not really like to execute anyone, especially one of his own troops. However, when he felt he had to set an example, it was easy enough for Fidel to make the rules, such as capital punishment for rape, but he would call on his younger brother Raúl to carry out the sentence. Fidel ideologically was very liberal, perhaps even to the point of being a Socialist, but he wasn’t ready to embrace communism, knowing that the United States, just to their north promised greater rewards, or could become their worst nightmare. It was Raúl’s influence that persuaded Fidel to finally accept a communistic form of government.