seeker.
Darnit, now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head all night!
Slight hijack:
Scene: London, the late nineteenth century. A man leaving the Savoy Theater mistakes playwright William S. Gilbert for the doorman.
MAN: You. Call me a cab.
GILBERT: Very well. You’re a four-wheeler.
MAN: I beg your pardon! How dare you address me with such impudence?
GILBERT: Well, you told me to call you a cab, and I couldn’t very well call you “hansom,” could I?
If I can call you Betty,
you can cal me Al!
Deacon Blues. Please, not Crimson Tide. It’s already taken.
…and lose all your chips."
You’re a cab!
. . . Ray, or you can call me Jay, or you can call me Chet, but ya doesn’t have ta call me Johnson!
“Don’t leave in a huff, I’ll call you a cab. OK, you’re a cab!” - Groucho Marx
I’m sick of it already.
…Shirley.
Actually, don’t.
… ‘father’, call me ‘dad’, call me ‘Jake’, call me a son of a bitch, but don’t EVER call me ‘daddy’.
…back, Ishmael.
old-fashioned
Well slap my ass and call me Sally.
Call me the breeze/ I keep blowin’ down the road…
Speedoo (but my real name is Mister Earl).
The Space Cowboy, or Maurice. =mwa-mwow=
Fishmeal.
(Mad Magazine, 1956)
IMO, best response to the OP!!! 
Of course, there is one reply I expected to hear from LOUNE or The Thief
SSG Schwartz
…when you’re sober.
…the Gangster of Love.