World events and notorious characters can have a significant impact on baby-naming conventions over time. That’s why you didn’t have a lot of kids named Adolf, Pol Pot, or Smallpox Blisters in your high school homeroom. And it’s why “Jeffrey Toobin” will henceforth be regarded as a simple declarative sentence instead of a name—as in “Oh, my gerd, Jeffrey’s Toobin’ on a Zoom call again.”

And so it stands to reason that the most notorious shitheel of this young century has sent his name’s prospects tumbling, like a once-viable casino run by a toxic wad of oobleck.

If the sound of the word “Donald” is enough to make the hammers, anvils, and stirrups in your ears wanna smash the shit out of each other until you hear naught but the faint siren call of Kimberly “Banshee” Guilfoyle promising that the best is coming, you’re not alone.

After all, that name has baggage. You might as well name your kid Chernobyl Chunkfarts. 

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