Oscar Meyer Weiner?

He said he had no desire to hurt Mr. Weiner, whom he referred to during the interview as Carlos Danger, the nickname Mr. Weiner used in exchanges with the woman.
“I have nothing against Carlos Danger,” Mr. Richie said. “I’m not trying to bring this guy down.”
The woman, he said, harbors no animosity toward Mr. Weiner, either. “She actually still likes the guy; her whole thing is he lied,” Mr. Richie said. “He said he’s a changed man, but he’s really not a changed man; he’s Carlos Danger.” 

New York Times, July 24, 2013

I need to set the record straight.  Contrary to reports, I did not take my nom de plume from Carlos the Jackal.  I’m a huge Cheap Trick fan, so I borrowed the last name of the drummer, Bun E. Carlos.  Danger was a no brainer.  One, it appeals to the ladies.  Two, it describes perfectly my allure and three, I’m a big fan of Nick Danger, Third Eye.  You know.  That old Firesign Theater bit?  ‘Well, now, the gums on the other shoe, Roccocco.’

I considered other fictional names before landing on Carlos Danger.  I’m a huge WB fan, tossed Wile E. Coyote around for a while.  Wile E. Trouble had potential but Peter Coyote seemed a little too phallic.  Take it from a guy named Weiner.  Besides, getting confused with the narrator of PBS nature shows won’t cut ice with the babes.  

A Latin flavored name was essential so I asked Consuela, our cleaning lady, for suggestions.  Fidel paired nicely with Dionysus, I thought.  Speedy sent the wrong message performance-wise but Gonzalez might have worked with The Hun.  When she pitched Frito Bandito I began to suspect she was having me on so I asked her to shampoo the carpet in the living room again, even though she’d done it just last week.  

Texting Jesus is just asking for trouble.  Pair it with Predator or De Sade and you could find yourself on CNN apologizing from the pulpit at Liberty University.  Syllabically, Jorge Brando had nice mouth feel but I couldn’t shake the image of him in Apocalypse Now, gone all fat and sweaty.  ‘The horror, the horror.’  Talk about ruining the mood!  Pancho?  You may as well be working the back of a taco truck, but Villa?  Now that had potential.  Villa Con Centaur worked well whispered to an informal focus group of women I passed jogging in Central Park.  The majority seemed truly startled but getting a bigger sample may have attracted law enforcement.  

Sometimes the answer is right there under your nose.  I was ready to give up, maybe explore Norwegian names.  I’m laying there listening to Live At Budakon, nude except for my Sennheiser HD800 headphones, when it hit me:  ‘Mommy’s all right, Daddy’s all right, they just seem a little weird.’  Like Mr. Ritchie said, I am Carlos Danger.