Deesis (de’-e-sis): An adjuration (solemn oath) or calling to witness; or, the vehement expression of desire put in terms of “for someone’s sake” or “for God’s sake.”
Lulu: I swear to God, if you do something like that again, I will duct tape you to a chair in the backyard, slap you around with a piece of hose, smash your fingers with a hammer, and stab you to death with one of our hibachi skewers.
Stew: It sounds like you’ve given my murder a lot of thought. That’s a good sign, given your struggles with impulse control. But I consider what you’re saying to be a real threat, especially because I don’t know what the horrible thing is that I did. Was it waking you up when I came home late last night? As you know honey, I’m an actuary and working late compiling statistics goes with the job.
Lulu: That’s not what I’m talking about you yodel head! You know damn well what I’m talking about. You just don’t listen. You don’t care. I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to my mother, God rest her soul. And what you’re doing to our little Timmy’s moral compass is an absolute disgrace!
If you play catch ever again with Timmy with my mother’s ashes, you’re headed to the morgue Stewy. What if Timmy dropped Mother’s urn and her ashes spilled all over the living room carpet? What then? Do we just vacuum her up and forget about it? Do we empty the vacuum bag back into her urn and just put her back up on the mantle? What are you thinking? You make “shit for brains” sound like a compliment!
Stew: Well! That’s a surprise! Your mother loved baseball, I thought she’d enjoy having her ashes tossed back and forth between Timmy and me, especially in preparation to get him involved in Little League. There’s no harm in that! It’s a tribute to your mother. Plus, the urn is made of brass—nice and heavy. It’ll build up Timmy’s muscles.
I’m getting Timmy a baseball glove this weekend. Tryouts are in two weeks. He’s going to be a champ—after throwing his Grammy back and forth, he’s got the eye, and I think he’s developed a respect for the game that doesn’t come from playing catch with a ball. At least we didn’t use your mother’s urn for batting practice. Ha ha!
Lulu: I’m headed to Ace Hardware to get a roll of duct tape. I’m going to put it on the mantle alongside my mother’s ashes. I hope you’ll be reminded of what’s in store for you if you ever touch my mother’s ashes ever again, no matter what insane reason you may have.
Stew: Uh oh. I should’ve told you. We decided to play Grammy catch in the back yard a couple of hours ago. Timmy dropped Grammy and her ashes spilled out. Right then, the lawn sprinklers came on and washed her away. There’s about a teaspoon of Grammy left in the bottom of her urn. I hope that’s ok.
Lulu took the urn down from the mantel and looked inside. There was a tiny bit of her mother stuck inside the bottom of it. She bashed Stew over the head with the urn and called 911 when he fell to the floor. Stew moaned. She bashed him again. She was glad the urn was made of brass.
She could hear the sirens of the approaching emergency vehicles. Lulu hoped they wouldn’t get there in time as she gave Stew another bash on the head.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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