I’ll be honest with you. I don’t like being called Flamer. Not really crazy about La Phlegm or La Flower either, but what are you going to do? When it comes to nicknames, the rigid rules of the playground, classroom or workplace are non-negotiable. Back in the old neighborhood, there were guys called Beef, Cow, Monkey and Drip. I don’t think they liked their appellations either, but they learned to live with them. No choice, really. When the kangaroo court of your world hands out a nickname, it’s as permanent as a birthmark.

Just ask “Poopie Stink.” (It’s a real nickname. Keep reading, Tonsils.)

The origin of a nickname isn’t always clear. Often it’s a simple play on your name, which is why my obit will probably state that Mark “Flamer” LaFlamme has died, even if I leave stern instructions with the funeral people to leave that out.

Sometimes it’s a physical characteristic – even a temporary one – which is why you find poor souls suffering with monikers such as “Beak” or “Bucky” or “Zit.” You can have plastic surgery to correct that characteristic but the nickname will remain.

Sometimes it’s something you carry. In the mafia world, you have Mack The Knife. Closer to home, we have Cheez Whiz, a 29-year-old from Minot, who earned the name back in high school.

“Because I used to bring a can of cheese and crackers for lunch,” says Kelly “Cheez Whiz” Briggs.

Rules of nicknaming? There aren’t any. If you’re big and broad, your friends might call you Moose. Or they might go the other way and call you Tiny. The fact is, you have no say in the matter. Nicknames you pick out yourself will rarely stick.

“My name, Ronald or Ronnie/Ron, was used by some in my family and the community,” says Ronald D. Willard of Bethel, “but from about 1950, my nickname was ‘Tubby’ or ‘Tub’ for short. Many in the Bethel area, I noticed, had nicknames such as Onion, Measles, Tinker, Stubby, etc. Usually men, but I’m sure women had some as well!”

Some nicknames are applied with a mean spirit. You don’t call someone “Fugly” because you want him to feel good about himself and to do well with the ladies. But more often, it’s a sign of affection. Just keep telling yourself that.

“I was never offended by this nickname,” Tubby says, “and looked at it as a sign of friendship and humor, realizing that many in Bethel had nicknames, some worse than mine!”

“In Rumford,” says Henry Dupil, “Everybody named ‘Dupil’ is called ‘Dupe.’ I don’t like it.”

Where’d that come from?

Ever heard of a nickname handed out in the spirit of revenge and manipulation? Neither had we until Patricia Royall wrote in.

“I was born at Jacksonville Naval Hospital on January 28, 1953, on my mother’s birthday,” the Richmond woman says. “My father was a pilot in the Navy and away at the time of my birth. He apparently had an old flame named Patsy who was a nurse and he talked about her all the time. So on the day I was born my mother gave me the nickname of Patsy . . . and my father never spoke about her again!”

Connie Martel of Lewiston isn’t 100 percent sure what her nickname means. It happened, and we like it.

“Nickname: Teenop. Actually my dear dad, who is now deceased, called me that all the time as a child,” Martel says. “The name is pronounced in French (Tsenop). My real name is Constance – something about Constantinople is how he got Teenop. At least, that’s what he told me. Dad had quite a sense of humor, as you can see.”

The best nicknames are the ones that make people wonder where they came from. If you meet a guy who lost his hand in an industrial accident, you probably don’t have to ask why everybody calls him “Hook.” Same with the one trillion people called Red because of the color of their hair.

But if you meet Kim-Beth Merchant and learn that she is known, with affection, as Tummy, it leaves questions.

“My whole family calls me Tummy till this day,” the Turner woman says. “I hate it when everyone asks, ‘Did you have a big belly?’ No. The truth is, when I was a baby my mother would say to me ‘I am going to tickle your tummy.’ I would laugh out loud. Then she would just say ‘tummy’ and I would laugh again, knowing she was going to tickle my tummy. That is how I got my nickname Tummy. End of story!”

See, if that was me, I’d just tell people I was a gigantic load as a kid, because the truth is somehow more embarrassing. But hey, a person is free to do whatever he or she wants with a nickname. To some extent.

The smell of a good nickname

On the street, criminals and gangsters take on nicknames because it helps to hide their true identities. It might also give them street credibility – Knuckles is infinitely more intimidating than Erving, for instance – but mostly it’s a matter of staying relatively anonymous. Unfortunately, police and drug agents keep lists of every nickname they learn and sometimes they include them in their press releases when notifying the press. We love that.

Not that cops themselves are immune to the nicknaming tradition. I personally know a flatfoot who is routinely called Sasquatch (because he is large and hairy) and another known affectionately as Treehugger (because . . . well, I don’t really know). Unfortunately, if I were to match the monikers to their real names, I’d suddenly find myself with a trunk full of coke and in prison, where my nickname would be “Lovey” or “Shower Friend.” And who needs that?

Lori Hallett LaBelle is no cop or criminal (that we know of), but she has a lot of syllables in her name and the tongue trips over them. Apparently, she also smells nice, so her nickname — given by her aunt — is just right.

“She said I smelled so good, like a baby covered in frosting,” LaBelle says. “Hence, ‘Frodda babe.'”

If you smell good, you might get a nickname. If you smell bad, it’s sure to happen. Here’s a moniker we almost wish we were making up. It comes from Pat Morin, a woman who got the Mother of Bad Nicknames when she was a preteen.

Say hello, everybody, to “Poopie Stink.”

“I used to eat midget pickles all day long and stuff them in my flannel shirt pockets,” Morin tells us. “Well, it caused gas. I passed gas all day long and soon became Poopie Stink!”

Don’t feel bad for old Poopie Stink (it’s really hard to stop saying that once you get started). It’s not like people still call her that. Unless she’s eating pickles, that is. These days, she’s doing much better, moniker-wise.

“I do direct support work,” Morin says, “and one of my clients calls me Cinderella because I’m always cleaning.”