Abbaser

Abbaser [George] Puttenham’s English term for tapinosis. Also equivalent to meiosis: reference to something with a name disproportionately lesser than its nature (a kind of litotes: deliberate understatement, especially when expressing a thought by denying its opposite).

This was worse than finding a diamond ring on the sidewalk. it was worse than getting an airplane ticket in the mail to Tahiti for free. Who the hell would want that crap? Ha ha! I would grovel day and night for a month for that. Someday it may happen, but not to me or in my lifetime. The first time I found something of value was 63 years ago. I found a 10 dollar bill in the grocery store parking lot. I took my friends to Mattola’s candy store and we went crazy. I told Mr. Matolla to keep ringing up the candy until we hit $10.00. Back then, it took awhile—a Hershey bar was only five cents. There were watermelon slice candies that were coconut flavored that were only a penny. There were candy dots stuck on paper that were 5 cents for 2 feet. Popsicles were 5 Cents. The list goes on, but that was one of the best days of my life. I felt like a candy philanthropist—like a Zag-Nut benefactor helping to save humanity from a world candy crisis, which i wasn’t. It was all in my head.

The next thing I found was a fairly rare Buffalo nickel. I had gone to Canada with my best friend’s family. We were at Niagara Falls. I bought a t-shirt with a picture of the Falls on it. I got the nickel in change. It was worth $35.00. I haven’t checked its value for 50 years. It might be worth $100! I guess I’ll check and see one of these days.

But then! But then! I’m walking down Greenwood Avenue on my way to the park to fly my kite. Then, I see a wristwatch in the middle of the sidewalk, I pick it up and put it on my wrist. I was going to give it to my nephew Ed. He was never on time. It was a Patek Philippe Grandmaster Chime.. I called the jewelry store and they confirmed the selling price: $31 million. I was a millionaire. I took it to the jewelry store to confirm it wasn’t fake. It wasn’t fake.

Then I saw an ad in “The Newark Star Ledger.” It said: “Lost wristwatch. Worth millions. $2,000,000 reward for return. Respond Box: B 22. Submit email address to: goldenprincess@google,com.” The email address seemed like a joke, but I didn’t care. If I got $2,000,000 out of this, I would be happy. I sent my address to goldenprincess and they were coming over that afternoon to make the exchange. The longest stretch limousine I had ever seen pulled up in front of my house. A bunch of blond men tumbled out of the limo and laid down on the sidewalk. Goldenprincess stepped out of the limo and walked across the men to my front door. I was stunned by how average-looking she was, but I didn’t say anything. She said, “Give me the watch old man.” I went and got it off my night stand. Then, a platoon of blond men carrying shopping bags from Hannaford overflowing with one-hundred dollar bills marched through the front door, dumped the money on the living room floor and marched out again.

I asked Goldenprincess if she wanted to grab a beer later on. We met at a saloon named “Salvation.” We had a couple of beers and talked. I found out her father is a warlord in some obscure African country. I knew I had to be nice to her. She was going to the local community college, studying to be a dental hygieneist. She asked me if I wanted to have sex in the back of the limo. I said “No.” That was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life. But, I’m 77 years old. Recreational sex is out of the question.

She got on her cellphone and talked angrily in a language I couldn’t understand. Now, I’m sitting in a mansion somewhere in North Jersey. She has me dressed like Hugh Hefner, with the pipe and everything. She wants me to be her “Playboy.” She wants to be my Bunny and take centerfold pictures of her with my iPhone. So, that’s what I’m doing to stay alive: taking nude pictures of a princess. So far, I’ve taken 87 pretty good pictures. She says her father will be proud.

I’ve got $2,000,000 in the bank and no place to go.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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