Bonehed is another pseudonymous soul, undergoing incorporeal routing through the curious collection of gizmos, whatnot, and data-type stuff known as the Internet. I once had a girlfriend -- we'll call her Suzette -- prone to road rage.
When other drivers committed some actual or imagined offense, Suzette would scream "Bonehead!" at them, making every effort to make sure they actually heard her. On one occasion, the other driver sneered and flipped her off. When she caught up to him at a red light, she sprang from the car, jumped on his hood, and wrote BONEHED on his windshield in lipstick.
I wasn't eager to provoke her further when she returned to the car, but the silence was deafening; I had to say something. "You misspelled bonehead," I offered carefully.
She favored me with a glare. "He'll never know," she scowled with a roll of blazing blue eyes. In the end, Suzette was as sexy as a three-day weekend, but as mean as the hangover that follows it. We weren't meant to be, but to this day I smile whenever I hear the word "bonehead."