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I first got an email from Dr. Jim Macho about a week ago.  He was coming up here to pick up his wine and taste through the ’06s.  When someone has the last name Macho, I mean, come on, I was picturing this dude walking in here with two girls on either side wearing loin cloths showing their teeth.

If you’re Dr. Macho there’s no way you’re allowed to have female patients, right?  Some obscure medical law must prevent that kind of thing from happening.  His parents clearly did him right by naing him “Jim” as well, none of this Taylor, Mason, Hickory bullshit, his last name is Macho and goddammit his first name is muthaflappin’ Jim, doggies.

I checked out his order and it was pretty standard.  I was fairly positive he probably keeps wine in the house for when he hosts his buddy Don Awesome and his wife Brenda over for dinner.  With minutes to go before he arrived I thought about whether I should shake his hand upon meeting him or just go for a chest bump followed by a huge high five.  Maybe we’d both take a little two-step start and do that back-to-back bump that’s so popular in college football right now.

I checked my watch and the phone rang.  It was Dr. Macho.  Jimmer was calling to say he couldn’t make it this afternoon.  Crushing as that was, he pronounced his last name “Mash-o.”  I don’t know what to think, but that dude’s last name is Macho and he is doing a huge disservice to himself and everyone he comes into contact with by not living up to his true potential.

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