On not wanting to be a duck

On not wanting to be a duck

I never wanted to be a duck. It just happened.

One day I was the internet's One, True Albert O'Balsam, the next my charming daughter was insisting that I should become the world's premier scary duck.

Also: I came to blogging a little late, and all the good names had gone.

Now that the security guards at work are calling me "Duckie", I feel that I might – in hindsight – have made a poor choice.

To be honest, all I ever wanted was to be excellent. Excellent, and indeed, l33t. And people called Alistair, or named after waterfowl are neither. I blame my parents entirely

In fact, I not only want to be excellent and l33t - I want to be ace.

Ace Wango.

Not Ace Hole*. Wango.

Or: Dave Fantastico

Or: Clint Dangerous

Or: Ninja Goose

This being a standard, harsh farmyard goose, and not that second rate Canadian rubbish.

So, after several seconds worth of good, hard consideration over a copy of Goose Fancier magazine (incorporating Rubber Goose Enthusiast monthly), I'm going for Ninja Goose.

Not a ninja. Not a goose.

Or – six years too late – if you're going to be a complete grammar nazi about it:

Neither ninjitsu, nor a goose.

Help a man out – suggest-me-up a new interwebs alias. Be warned, "That Wanker" as already been considered, but found to be taken by Richard Littlejohn.

* © Red Dwarf