Way back when I was on Grateful Dead tour (don't hate me for making such decisions. You weren't there, so what do you know.) I traveled with a guy named Wayne, a.k.a. Wayne's Weird, a.k.a. Rage Wayne. We were driving through Kansas with a van full of hippies on our way to see the Dead, when the topic of conversation somehow began to revolve around nicknames. Wayne was upset by the nickname I gave him (Wayne's Weird), or more exactly, he was upset that everyone had begun to refer to him by this name. As it turns out, we were pulling into a little strip mall on the side of the highway, and there sat a inocuous little franchise mexican eatery called Taco John's. Well, since my first name is John, Wayne thought this was hilarious. He began to cry, "Taco John! Taco John! I'm going to call you Taco John from now on!" Everyone else in the van took up the chant, "Taco John! Taco John!" and laughed about how stupid this name was. I thought this teasing would really go no further, seeing that no nickname stuck to me anyway.

I was wrong.

When we arrived in the parking lot for the concert, Wayne leaped from his van and ran down the lot telling every one of our mutual friends to refer to me as Taco John from then on. And so they did. This incredibly stupid joke has now continued for seven years, and shows no sign of stopping.

I went through the stages of denial and acceptance, and now embrace my name. There have even been times when I've considered changing my legal name to Taco, which is the current incarnation of my name. And perhaps those who love me will have it inscribed on my tombstone.

There, now you know why I'm called Taco.

Now, fuck off.