TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT stumbles upon the streets. Actually, NO, he doesn't stumble upon the streets, because he is not a person. Instead, TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT is a state of being, a principle, something that the Gods have cast down and made into existence; TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT is a doing of the Gods.TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT is something that affects all of us and, whether we are Thugs or Godfathers, we all obey the TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT.

The TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT is inescapable, my friends, whether or not you choose to accept this fact. The moment you were all born, you accepted the TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT. You had no choice.

Gentlemen, I come to ask of you why I exist. And by gentlemen, I also refer to the ladies, because I do not discriminate. However, the Gods certainly do (against long names), which is why I exist in front of you today. The Gods have given me life.

However, you fellars come to these (rather gray, I must say) streets and talk about how you were born, where you came from, all that snazzy history that becomes something of a formula after a while, a combination of the Irish/Italian immigrant with the father who was murdered but conveniently left behind a letter of all the things he wanted to tell you. Going by how that seems to work, I'm sure all of you have some letter stashed somewhere for your kid to read which they'll betray your trust with by publicly SHOUTING it to the world. Aren't letters supposed to be private, anyway?

I never got a letter from my dad. You know who my daddy is?

The Gods.

I never had the father that left me a note behind. Hell, I'm not even Italian - I'm not anything. Instead, I just became a fact of life in this thing of ours when this thing of ours came to life. I am the oldest element in this world - yes, older than Roman, older than your great-grandfather's great-grandfather.

But why must I exist? Why must the rest of you condense your four-word Italian names into suits that barely fit? Must we stifle our aliases any longer? 

Why must our own birth certificates have constraints?

SINGERROURKE comes out and listens to TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT and thinks to himself for a moment. He dosent want to let anyone know that he is actually not as smart as he tries to be. Finally he takes a chair out and sits down on it. Its getting tougher for him to understand. He grabs a drink and thinks harder. Finally he speaks.

I...AGREE.

SINGERROURKE stood up folded the chair took his drink and marched off to the new casino in detroit.

A birth certificate is an official document, and you know what the government is like..... everything has to be the same size so it can be filed neatly. there's only so much space to write on. It's a bit like doorways I guess, most are 6' 6" because it's a standard size that most people can fit through. But sometimes people who are very tall have to stoop to get through them.

Did he just come out of the closest? Uhm, We are all glad you trust us enough to tell us first. We're happy for you.

I'm glad to see that you took our last conversation seriously. Cheers

Huh? confused. Are we talking about gay people?

Please. TWENTYCHARACTERLIMIT isn't cool enough to be gay. Only awesome people are cool enough to be gay.

But back to the main topic: You might be the oldest element in this world, but you're also quite clearly a common slag. Everyone, quite literally, has had, is having, and will have, their wicked ways with you. You're nothing special. You're a mundane fact of life.

I, however, am something special. Something so unique that there has been, is, and will be, only one of me. Going by different aliases, of course, but then there's precedence for this: God, himself, likes to come to Earth once in a while under a different name. There's 99 of them, I believe. Maybe even 100. But even then, remember: as the great and ancient Euthyphro established, even God is subject to the laws of inherent nomenclature. And I, being the anthropomorphic personification of the highest and greatest (and most awesome) of these, am therefore without superior or even equal.

Ergo, Awesomizard you obey.

Q.E.D.