My grandmother was a sweet old woman with something of a naïve streak. It was rarely evident in her home town of Alger, but it led to a few laughs. Like the time she visited Toledo and innocently asked a guy riddled with tattoos and piercings how he blew his nose with that ring in it.
Well, one day grandma got a pug. He was an adorably ugly thing with black, curly fur. He liked to wander her house with one of those dog treat sticks hanging out of his mouth by one end like it was a cigar.
She named this pug “Funny Face”. Yep. Not a nickname, but as the actual name. If she were to fill out a birth certificate for this dog, Funny Face is exactly what she would write on it. She would let him out the back door into a fenced yard to play and conduct business.
Now try to picture this for a moment, because your imagination with fell inevitably short of the full humor of the reality. Imagine a sweet, elderly woman stepping out of her back porch to yell, “HERE FUNNY FACE! HERE FUNNY FACE!”. I think her neighbor was thinking that she was referring to him!