Inter se pugnantia (in’-ter-say-pug-nan’-ti-a): Using direct address to reprove someone before an audience, pointing out the contradictions in that person’s character, often between what a person does and says.
My name is Ted Wayward. I was born and raised in Thirsty City, Wyoming. The town was named in 1844 right before the Consequential Aquifer was discovered. The town was divided over whether to keep the name—there was a movement to change it to Bubbling Springs. To avoid bloodshed, it was put to a vote. The Snotty brothers stood outside the polling place with their guns drawn, pretending they were cleaning them. The Snotty brothers wanted to keep the name. They thought it would be funny living in a town called Thirsty City that had plenty of water. But that wasn’t their plan. Actually, their hope was that the town, now that it had water and could grow hops, would become famous for its beer, with “Thirsty City” referring to the number of bars and the citizens’ propensity for liver damage, alcoholism, and wild parties that would attract people from hundreds of miles away. It would be good for the economy.
There was a annual music festival institutes. It was held at the fairgrounds. It was called the “Beer Here! Music Festival.” 1,000s of people would come to the festival. In addition to the music, there would be stock car races during the day—roaring, roaring around the track, spinning out, crashing and, sometimes burning, to the great delight of the fans. Nobody ever got killed. The fans could only hope and enjoy the non-fatal crashes.
When the sun started to set, the racetrack was turned into a concert venue & that’s where I come in. I’ve been playin’, singin’, and writin’ country music ever since I was nine. When I was 11 my dad insisted that I take his race car for a drive. It was crazy and stupid but I did it. I was going around 80 when I veered off the track, ran over Dad, and killed him. Right there, I decided the rest of my life would be a tribute to him via my music. Given what had happened had happened on a racetrack, my musical tribute would consist of country songs about NASCAR and the races they sponsor for loyal fans. I would take the stage to the sound of a race car revving up. Then, “Eye of the Tiger” would start playing and I would be lowered on a cable from the rafters wearing my father’s racing suit emblazoned with his sponsors’ logos—Teddy Ticket Fixer, Hair-Bot Salon, Richard’s Fashion Moats, Mars Cars, etc.
This is the first NASCAR song I wrote. I sang it at my Dad’s funeral:
The roar of the racetrack helped me today
When we put my Daddy away
He’ll be drivin’ in heaven
On the love we gave him
‘Round and ‘round forever he’ll go
Always fast, never slow
He’s a NASCAR Angel, drivin’ with God
We stand for you Daddy and give you a nod
As I sung, people raised their lit lighters and imitated race cars revving up.
“NASCAR Angel” put me in the Country Music Hall of Fame. It sold 20,000,000 copies and made me a wealthy man, which I still am now. But now that I’m getting ready to step off the stage once and for all, I wanted to say that for most of my life. My father was a pain in the ass. He’d tell me we were going to the movies, and we’d end up at the library. He’d tell me we were going fishing and we’d end up at church. He’d tell me we’re going bowling and we’d end up pitching horseshoes. Damn him! He never followed through. His promises were like sand blowin’ in the wind. But he was my Daddy and I wish I could see him again. I’d tell him how much I love him and apologize for killing him.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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