ASK THE BIRD: How does 'Python Alcatraz' strike you as a nickname for David Jolly?
Got a question? Ask Miss Mingo. She's got answers. Some may be true. She writes every Saturday for Tropic Press. Except when she doesn't.
Editor’s Note: Hermina Hermelinda Obregon, a.k.a. Miss Mingo, is a recovering newspaper reporter living in a bungalow off Duval Street in Key West, where she answers the pressing questions of the day about life, the news, and the best happy hour prices. You can support her bar tab by becoming a paid subscriber.
DEAR MISS MINGO:
Thank you for the Die Hard holiday movie suggestion in last week’s column. Speaking of Holly (one of the characters in the film), I am hoping that Florida can celebrate a Holly Jolly Christmas next year if voters decide to join the advanced world and elect David Jolly as governor. My concern is that Jolly is too woke a name for the devolving voters of Florida who elected Don the Con and Ronny Double Heels. Do you think if Mr. Jolly used a stage name like Python Alcatraz or Gator Bites it would attract more voters?
MPT
Dear MPT:
Now, that is a provocative question.
History shows that Americans love to give their leaders nicknames or to identify them by their initials.
Dwight Eisenhower was known as “Ike.” I have in my collection of presidential campaign artifacts an original “I Like Ike” button.
Andrew Jackson was known as “Old Hickory.” Bill Clinton was “Slick Willie.” Ronald Reagan, “The Great Communicator.” And, perhaps most famously, Richard Nixon was “Tricky Dick.”
John F. Kennedy went by JFK, much like Franklin Delano Roosevelt found himself abbreviated in headlines as FDR. And George W. Bush was identified by his middle initial “Dubya” to distinguish him from his father, George Herbert Walker Bush.
Of course, you don’t have to be a president to earn a nickname. There’s Greg “Hot Wheels” Abbott, the governor of Texas, and Kristi “ICE Barbie” Noem, as ready examples.
Tropic Press, my employer, recently published a newsletter in which readers were asked their favorite nicknames for Donald Trump. Lots of replies, but my fave was “Orange Trouser Stain.”
Jolly’s full name is David Wilson Jolly, but I can’t imagine DWJ catching on, and the never-wrong internet notes that—so far, at least—he hasn’t been awarded a nickname by headline writers or late-night TV hosts.
We’re a ways from the primary elections, let alone the November 2026 general election, but if you agree with handicappers who foresee a Jolly versus Byron Lowell Donalds race, Donalds doesn’t have a handy moniker, either. Although BLD kinda, sorta sounds like BLT, the sandwich, so that could catch on.
As for Jolly, a trek through Roget’s Thesaurus identifies synonyms for his last name such as “cheerful” or “jovial” or “merry” or “happy.”
Maybe “Happy Pappy” since he has two kids? Although the wife of Vice President Nelson Rockefeller was nicknamed “Happy,” so that might already be taken.
Let’s go with Python Alcatraz.
DEAR MISS MINGO:
Are Deadline and Dateline, your two cats, of the Hemingway House lineage? If so, do they have 6 toes?
Former Green Parrot barflies, Don-Don and Darla
Dear Don-Don and Darla:
Honestly, I don’t know. Here’s a picture of Dateline’s toes. All six of them. Deadline has six, too. So, yeah, it certainly is possible they are related to the famous cats that inhabit Ernest Hemingway’s house down the street from my bungalow.
Hemingway’s cat, Snow White, was the first, but now you can find polydactyl (six-toed) cats all over Key West.
It’s one reason the roosters are hollering all the time: The cats harass them. But Dateline has a scar on her left ear where she got into it with a rooster, and she learned her lesson. Key West roosters are not to be tangled with. Not if you know what’s good for you.
Both of my kitties are house cats, and I don’t let them roam the streets of the island like so many others. They are a little older now and less prone to climb the draperies or ambush me when I walk in the door, like they used to.
Oddly, they seem very protective of Skippy, my pet iguana. They may sense that iguanas aren’t all that popular around these parts. They are considered invasive species, which is hilarious. Humans calling anyone else “invasive” here is a bit like the dumpster calling the trash can smelly.
Speaking of which, it’s around dumpsters that you can frequently find wild iguanas. They roam in packs. Well, technically, a gang of iguanas is called a mess.
Skippy is not a mess. He is very sweet. And he’s great at snatching any stray mosquitoes that might sneak their way inside. Although, lately, he’s been nibbling Dateline and Deadline’s kibble, and I fear conflict between my roommates could be brewing over this.
Stay tuned.
DEAR MISS MINGO:
I love your advent calendar! I laughed so hard I nearly needed my inhaler. Yippee kai yay indeed! Happy Festivus, Merry Christmas, and Happy Yule. I am an agnostic witch who believes in science. Glad tidings to all! Much love.
The Rainbow Zee
Dear Zee:
Thank you so much. And, yes, happy holidays to everyone reading this. I’ve only been in this column-writing business a few months, but the support I’ve received and the fabulous questions you’ve asked have been inspiring.
Don’t forget to leave cookies and milk and a hypo of Ozempic for Santa. And please put out that fire in your fireplace before you go to bed. The smell of singed reindeer fur is the worst.
And since most of you reading this are in Florida and the odds of even having a fireplace may be marginal, never fear. Santa has clever ways of breaking into your house to deliver the toys you asked for.
I know this because my editor also writes a column in Florida Weekly, and this is what he reported:
Some theorize that Santa has a magic key he uses to gain entry in the absence of a chimney to drop down. I suppose he also has a magic burglar alarm neutralizer, too.
Others suggest he vaporizes himself into smoke or mist and flows inside through cracks under the doors or windows. Or, since this is Florida, the air conditioner intake. (Can you just imagine the puff of smoke as Santa flows out of the ceiling vent?)
Then there’s the “dematerialization” theory, where Santa, essentially, uses his version of the Starship Enterprise’s transporter to beam himself into the house. And when it’s time to leave, I imagine him on his communicator: “Beam me up, Rudolph.”
But my fave is the notion that St. Nick conjures a magical chimney out of thin air that he then slides down.
May you be well over the holidays. And, remember, the Flying Spaghetti Monster loves you.
Got a question for Miss Mingo? About life, the news, or clever ways to avoid paying bar tabs? Write to her at MissMingo@Tropic.Press
Hermina Hermelinda Obregon—a.k.a. Miss Mingo—was an award-winning newspaper reporter before she involuntarily joined the diaspora of journalists leaving the newspaper profession. She now lives with her two cats—Deadline and Dateline—and her pet iguana Skippy. If you wander the streets (and bars) of Key West, you’ll doubtless run into her. She’ll be the woman wearing the ridiculous flamingo hat. If you want an autograph, you’ll have to buy her a Cuba Libre. There’s more about her here.
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