Friedns. Neighbors. Countrymen. Romans. Catholics. Atheists. Polytheists. Polygons. You get the idea here. Wiggins needs to post a question: Who names a kid "Yasmani?"

Were Yasmani's parents just trying to get him beat up? If they were smart they would have named him Grendel. Grendel Grandal would be a great name. Instead, it sounds like something nasty you'd have to eat when you go to your Yugoslavian exchange student friend's house for dinner.

"Everyone. Yergoff is cooking dinner tonight! What a treat! Yergoff, what is on the menu?"

Yergoff turns, furrows his unibrow and smiles a crooked grin: "Yasmani."

Eyes dart back and forth across the table. "Yasmani?" Before anyone can ask any further questions, Yergoff slams a huge pot onto the table. "Deeg in," he says. Then, after looking around at the group at the table, he adds, "My friends." A slight chortle escapes him.

Not wanting to be rude, everyone helps themselves--albiet slowly and with much trepidation--to the concoction Yergoff had Frankensteined in the kitchen. "This looks... interesting, Yergoff," someone cautiously says.

Then someone asks, "Why is there a cat collar in mine?" Everyone drops their silverware.

Yergoff shrugs his shoulders. "You can no cook Yasmani without secret ingr-ee-dee-ent."

And that, friends, is why you don't name your child "Yasmani."

WIGGINS OUT.