Kit Dorsey sounds like a 1940s jazz drummer.
Kid Dorsey sounds like a 1930s gangster.
Carolina Dorsey sounds like she has a sweet voice and a good command of American folk songs.
Judd Dorsey sounds liable to rifle through his sister’s drawers.
Frank Dorsey sounds like someone you can count on to sell you a good refrigerator.
Jennifer Dorsey sounds like the least interesting of three siblings.
Angela Dorsey sounds like the bitchy oldest sibling and soon to be bitchy aunt.
Jackie Dorsey sounds like she married in haste for want of children.
Sacramento Dorsey sounds like he lacks the proper paperwork.
Benjamin Dorsey sounds like he prefers buttons to zippers.
Jim Dorsey sounds practical.
Jimbo Dorsey sounds practically retarded.
Skip Dorsey sounds like a good whistler.
Eldridge Dorsey sounds like I’d have trouble finding his house.
Josie Dorsey sounds like she did a lot of competing with the television for her father’s love.
Elizabeth Dorsey sounds plain, pale, and bound for academe.
Donnie Dorsey sounds like he needs to borrow some more money.
Ruth Dorsey sounds fat with short hair.
Sara Dorsey sounds like a girl whose father, you fear, won’t give you his blessing.
John Dorsey sounds like he doesn’t believe in global warming.
Jack Dorsey sounds like he does but won’t discuss it.
Lenny Dorsey sounds like he believes in it strongly but lacks eloquence in hot debates.
Mortimer Dorsey sounds responsible for global warming.
Lloyd P. Dorsey sounds like the third in a line of tailors, after his father, Earl, and his grandfather, George, who can size you up the moment you walk through that door, but who lacks a willing heir to the family business—and whose signature tell of dismay is a slow nodding of the head and removal of the glasses.
Arthur Dorsey sounds like he’s buying up all the vacant lots.
Mulliver Dorsey sounds like he makes a pretty potent mugwort tincture—a drop of which can be yours for a dollar; a whole bottle for a haiku.
Jane Dorsey sounds like a secretary you cannot trust, nor fire.
Alexander Dorsey sounds like he knows the law and will not take chances.
Alexandrovich Dorsey sounds like he knows the difference between a good fake passport and a bad fake passport and will not take chances.
Julius Dorsey sounds like a cutthroat pineapple farmer.
Walt Whitman Dorsey sounds like a manufacturer of fine canes.
Walt Disney Dorsey sounds apprehensive about those included in his will.
Dylan Dorsey sounds well fed and ungrateful.
Schuyler Dorsey sounds caught between his love for his mullet and his love for having friends.
Flannery Dorsey sounds determined to reinstate old values, like family, innovation, and the study of the humanities.
Xavier Dorsey sounds like he runs the firm you’ve recently joined, and while he was intimidating at first, both in physical form as well as in the general aura that surrounded him—an aura imbued with rumors of ruthlessness—Xavier was, in fact, surprisingly welcoming to you, the young upstart, patting you on the back jovially, teasing you about chasing girls, even inviting you as his guest to the country club to engage in a friendly game of golf: you and Xavier versus the chief and assistant chief of a competing firm, a game which seemed friendly enough at the onset, until you displayed a strong swing on the first hole, and Xavier became cocky, engaging in an exchange of feather flaunting with the competing chief, an exchange which, like the game, started out amusingly enough, but then escalated, until before you knew it, the chiefs had shaken hands to a wager on the game amounting to three times your salary, so now it’s the second hole and you’re the first to tee off and you’re over-thinking your grip on the club, over-thinking your stance, over-thinking the wind, with six unblinking eyeballs behind you, watching you.
Tammy Dorsey sounds gum-chewing with unimportant problems.
Marcellus Dorsey sounds like a friendly enough pimp.
Rodolius Dorsey sounds like a nether dimension nemesis: the face that emerges from the pointillism of our collective perversions.
Alfonso Dorsey sounds like he has a collection of music to share with you, if you will sit through the commentary.
Andy Dorsey sounds handsome but not toned.
Andrew Dorsey sounds unable to abandon one group and fully embrace another, for fear that the second won’t have him and the first won’t have him back.
Corcoran Dorsey sounds like he’s got on a rugby shirt when he arrives at dawn for crew practice.
Ellen Dorsey sounds like a disease of the nerves.
Blaine Dorsey sounds like a rock singer who started a band in high school, the members of which were equally as dedicated as he was, and who collectively decided to drop out of high school so they could pursue their music career, focus on the band, a good band, a band that showed promise (all their friends would come to Blaine’s garage after school and listen to the new songs and agree: the band showed promise) until one night when Blaine’s band members were on their way to his house for rehearsal and the van went off the road and they all died, leaving Blaine alone, a singer with no band, no album out, no exposure, no back-up plan, no job, no degree, no woman—the only thing he had going for him was the fact that people in town knew him and empathized with him and no one thought he was a loser—everyone knew that he left high school to pursue his dream and everyone admired him for that…until Blaine left town to go to the city where no one knew him, to chase a career that had died in a van a block from his house, only to return a year later, older-looking and raspy-voiced, to get a job at the local grocery store, or was it the gas station? or was it the pizzeria?—one of those jobs you take when you want to escape the public eye, but which forces you in front of the public eye constantly.
Sasja Dorsey sounds like a bubbly hedonist who goes around temporarily fixing pessimists.
Marvin Dorsey sounds like a down and out actor who everyone has a soft spot for and is hoping will make a comeback, but who, let’s be real here, won’t.
Breyer Dorsey sounds like a deceased chimney sweep who, during his life, noted the relationship between the diminishment of his clientele and the proliferation of intra-family lawsuits.
Stephanie Dorsey sounds like she uses the spray-on stuff as opposed to the rub-on stuff.
Chris Dorsey sounds like the guy who got caught poking holes in the free condoms with a safety pin at the safe sex party.
Blake Dorsey sounds like he beats his kids and gets away with it, embezzles money and gets away with it, but watches the wrong kind of porn and will get busted for that.
Daisy Dorsey sounds like hard rain on a tin roof.
Fantasm Dorsey sounds like he’s got a shaman or two soaking in his gene pool.
Fran Dorsey sounds uneducated and superstitious.
Guinevere Dorsey sounds educated and superstitious.
Laurie Dorsey sounds like she was born under a bad sign.
Bambi Dorsey sounds like she’s got time for herself now that her beau has been locked up.
Pembroke Dorsey sounds like he’s second in command in a risky, not too lucrative business.
Magellan Dorsey sounds like a beggar on a wharf with a head full of good stories but nothing but trash coming out of his mouth.
Maximilian Dorsey sounds like he would quiver in the presence of Bubba Dorsey’s friends.
Bubba Dorsey sounds like he would quiver in the presence of Maximilian Dorsey’s friends.
Peter Dorsey sounds like he set out to steal from the rich and give to the poor but got sidetracked by a woman with high cheekbones and notions of raising a family.
Lucas Dorsey sounds like he will sleep much better once he reaches the point at which he would not be able to remember, were you to ask him, what it was he wanted to be when he grew up.
Frances Dorsey sounds like he will stay up all night contemplating the best way to describe the air of the Adirondacks, before finally deciding, as the sun comes up behind the smokestacks, that the air of the Adirondacks is best left undescribed.
Waldorff Dorsey sounds unable to let it go.
Marty Dorsey sounds too willing to let it go.
Robert Dorsey sounds like he will break down crying when giving a toast.
Gregory Dorsey sounds like he will stand up to complete the toast, with that gentle, reassuring air which comes from having struggled.