Hi. I’m the Big Fucking Swede.
I wasn’t always the Big Fucking Swede. My parents didn’t hate me. At least at the time of my birth. I was given the moniker years ago by a judge. Just so we’re clear: I was drinking with the judge; I was not before him as a defendant. I think that’s important. You know rule about nicknames? The one where if two or more people use the nickname within a week of it first being uttered it sticks? Well, I can assure that if you’re a lawyer and a judge, in the middle of bar full of other lawyers, drunkenly calls you a “Big Fucking Swede,” the name will stick. Plus, I think if a judge gives you a nickname that alone makes it official.
The “Big” part is still somewhat accurate given my height and frame that is not … slight. Though it’s not as accurate as it was when I weighed nearly 300 pounds. As for the “Swede” part, well, not so much. I’m not Swedish. Not even a little. It’s probably best explained by the tremendous amount of scotch consumed by the judge.
So, you know I’m a lawyer. You know my name is partly a fraud. What else is there? Hmmm … I may have to get back to you. Though if you take the time to read some of my drivel you may get further insights about me. Or run away screaming. It’s a fine line.
The Big Fucking Swede