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.
“Rep. Mantanny, you say you’re a church-goin’ man. But the only place you worship is Fox News. You kneel down to lies and repeat them like they’re true. Yesterday you told us Bill Clinton had his left leg amputated after being in a train wreck in Ohio. Then, 12 hours later you told us you were mistaken, that he had gotten a tattoo of Monica Lewinsky on his leg, and then, 12 hours later, that you were wrong. Why? Because FOX News was wrong. Last week you told us that the Democrat Congress of California had voted to make it legal to suffocate puppies in the trunks of cars. Then, you waited 12 hours and blamed FOX News for the bogus news story.
You tell us you watch FOX News because you’re a Republican, not because they’re a reliable source, which they clearly are not. You Republicans are like a herd of cows. You spend your time stampeding. It does not matter where or why—you just stampede—oh yes, I guess it does matter—you stampede to the right like a single lump of mooing flesh.”
I’d had my say at the Town Hall meeting. Now I was going home to have a beer and watch TV. But it wasn’t meant to be. Rep, Mantanny was following me, followed by a half-dozen staunch supporters. I stopped, turned, and asked “What do you want Rep. Ignorant Ass?” Two of his boys grabbed me and he started slapping me on the face. “Prove I slapped you baby face. Tell the world. You’ll get nowhere!” I asked, “Why are you doing this?”“You were a bad boy in there, plus I am mentally unstable. I have ‘Face Slapper’s Syndrome.’ When I am angry I get a tic in my wrist that induces a slapping motion directed at the faces of others. I slap until my anger subsides, as it is now.” Rep. Mantanny dropped his hand and rubbed his wrist.
I was going to report him to the police and told him so. It would be the end of his political career—slapping constituents in the face was a ticket out of politics. I turned to go, but his hand was twitching again and two of his thugs grabbed me while Mantanny slapped me up again. My cheeks were burning, but it wasn’t that bad. Mantany’s anger subsided and he stopped slapping me. “How’d you like to make 200 grand a year with a 501K pension plan?” “Who wouldn’t.” I replied. “How’d you like to be my slapping bag? When I get angry for any reason, I slap you—not my constituents or random people. You will keep me out of trouble” Mantanny said.
So I’m a slapping bag now. I am a permanent part of Mantanny’s entourage, always ready to be slapped. I call myself “The Man of a Thousand Hits.” The only complaint I have is that sometimes he’ll have a nightmare that makes him angry in the middle of the night. The slap buzzer goes off in my room and I’ve got to go sit on his bed and be slapped until his anger subsides.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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