Exuscitatio (ex-us-ci-ta’-ti-o): Stirring others by one’s own vehement feeling (sometimes by means of a rhetorical question, and often for the sake of exciting anger).
How many of you have had your identity stolen? One day you’re Joe Jones. The next day you’re nobody— your identity has been stolen—you’re not a man any more, you’re weak, you have bad posture and you are the ceaseless target of teen-age bullies—calling you names like mommy’s boy and stealing your car no matter where you park it.
What can you do? What can we do to get your identity back—that tough no-nonsense you that once roamed the streets of Utica. But you say, “I don’t know who stole my identity, I don’t where it is or how to get it back.” The first thing to do is buy a big fat handgun, load it and carry it. Make sure you load armor piercing magnums. That way, if you see somebody with your identity you can put him six feet under, go home and watch TV with your wife and be done with it—throw the pistol in the Mohawk River, unloaded.
Now, how do you know when you’ve found the scum that’s stolen your identity? How do you know when you’ve got him dead to rights? First, realize, if he’s stolen your identity, he can make minor improvements to it and be a slightly better version of you.
He will have tattoos identical to yours—a dead giveaway. He will be wearing a recently knitted duplicate of your favorite sweater.
If you follow him into Cliff’s you’ll see he uses your credit card and driver’s license to buy beer and cigarettes just like you.
Now that you know he stole your identity, go ahead and shoot him. Take him down by the river late at night. Put the gun to his head and put an end to his humiliating rampage. Shoot him two three times in case you have to plead self defense.
One more thing: it is easy to confuse an identical twin with an identity thief. So, if you have a long-lost identical twin, make him take a DNA test before you kill him. Also, talk to your mother. She might be of help.
If you find out he’s your twin brother, don’t let that deter you. You still have the option of shooting him, but it is more complicated than blowing away a stranger, like you’ll probably have to go to the funeral.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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