When I read this paragraph from Michael Azerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981–1991 while sitting at the dining room table last night, it made me laugh until I had a minor seizure. Try and guess which part did it; it won’t be hard.

The band changed its name for every show — at various times they were called: Ashtray Babyheads, Nine Inch Worm Makes Own Food, Vodka Family Winstons, and the Inalienable Right to Eat Fred Astaire’s Asshole — until one fateful night. “We had a song called ‘Butthole Surfers,‘ ” says [Paul] Leary, “and the guy who was introducing us that night forgot what we were called and so he just called us the Butthole Surfers.” Since that was their first paying show, they decided to let the name stick. At the time — and for years afterward — one could barely utter the band’s name in public, and their name was often abbreviated in advertisements as “B.H. Surfers.”

To this day, if you do a Google search for “Butthole Surfers,” it does not autocomplete, as if the name were something to be ashamed of. (Amazon is less squeamish.) Just imagine how much trouble they would have had if they’d gone with “The Inalienable Right to Eat Fred Astaire’s Asshole.”