Horrendous Spanish Golden Age experiences with Belgian beer
“Feverish nag piss”.
Great tunes, great doggerel, small simians
1500-1700
“Feverish nag piss”.
Is the Nursing Madonna actually a dirty joke? Jesu, rex masturbatorum?
A pot for a Spanish court dinner in 1657 is said to have contained “a three-year-old bullock, four rams, 100 pairs of pigeons, 100 of partridges, 100 of rabbits, 1,000 pig’s feet and as many tongues​​, 200 chickens, 30 hams, 500 sausages, as well as another 100,000 trifles.”
But a joke I have just cobbled together suggests otherwise.
I’m thinking of examples like Álvarez/Álvaro, Alves/ Alves, Benítez/Benito, Díaz/Diego, Domínguez/Domingo, Fernández/Fernando, Giménez/Ximeno, Gómez/Guillermo, González/Gonzalo, Gutiérrez/Gutierre, Henríquez/Henrique, Ibáñez/Juan, Juánez/Juan, López/Lope, Márquez/Marco, Martínez/Martín, Menéndez/Menendo, Muñoz/Muño, Núñez/Nuño, Ordóñez/Ordoño, Ortiz/Ortún, Peláez/Pelayo, Pérez/Pere, Ramírez/Ramiro, Rodríguez/Rodrigo, Ruiz/Ruy, Sánchez/Sancho, Suárez/Suero, Vázquez/Vasco, Velázquez/Velasco.
But why, and for whom, would a Dutchman pun on Vigo / figo (fig) when both spelling and pronunciation of the latter were long obsolete in standard Spanish?
Although this fact may not have occurred to American journalists, living in monolingual paradise, it’s hard choosing names in a global market where everything means something bad to someone, somewhere.
It sounds better.