Names are kind of a big, big deal, y’know?—especially for kids. My idiot folks named me Dickie, for inst. D’you think it’s fun being called vernacular for penis? Or imagine bopping through life as Heather—”the generic name”—you and everybody else.

Though a fact generally overlooked, rock stars are persons, too, and like other persons have been known to mix sperm and ovum, ovum and sperm (with variable results). As namers of bands—Pleaseasaur, Arab on Radar, 764-HERO—their track record is far from perfect. As namers of living beings, they—and their beings—could definitely use some help.

Before you attend the Johnny A. show—which, of course, you will—circle those names you believe will not bum out any possible child or childs his seed may in due time co-produce. Then shout out your selections, name or number, singular or plural, ‘tween tunes. Offspring deserves every advantage it can get . . . its literal BIRTHRIGHT . . . at least a fighting chance:

(1) Stella; (2) Rufus; (3) Lulu; (4) Earl; (5) Recto; (6) Geekster; (7) Slim; (8) Ruby; (9) Tad; (10) Buck; (11) Wini; (12) Ernie; (13) Bobo; (14) Frenchy; (15) Spud; (16) Fats; (17) Dogwood; (18) Louie; (19) Sess; (20) Futt; (21) Eck; (22) Meulah; (23) Laszlo; (24) Beeny; (25) Moe; (26) Toe; (27) Gorgo; (28) Pumice; (29) Blupp; (30) Reet; (31) Oofus; (32) Chingo; (33) Fleaflop; (34) Goony; (35) Pus; (36) Turpentine; (37) Zuke; (38) Cuke; (39) Caterpilla; (40) Stupidfuckingpieceofshit (unisex name).

Johnny A. plays the Tractor Tavern at 7 p.m. Fri., Sept. 6. $7.