Aporia (a-po’-ri-a): Deliberating with oneself as though in doubt over some matter; asking oneself (or rhetorically asking one’s hearers) what is the best or appropriate way to approach something [=diaporesis].
“Do you like women out on work release?” That’s what it said on the dating site “Dating the Damned.” It was sponsored by the New York State Department of Corrections. It was believed that forming relationships would help rehabilitate offenders. The name of the site was offensive, but it had been coined by the Director who is known for his insensitivity, hollowness, and broken sense of humor, He has a chair in his office labeled “The Chair,” after the electric chair, a banned form of execution due to its cruelty and frequent malfunctioning, where for example victims would smoke and bounce around and survive, only to be re-executed the following day. And then, if he has negative feedback, you “get the chair” by being made to sit in the chair while he yells at you.
So I say to myself, “Should I give the woman on work release a spin? What could be the possible benefit? There’s only one way to find out.” I contacted her. Her name was Martha Muzzle. We made a date to meet at I-Hop. She ordered the Pink Pirate pancakes. She poured ketchup on them and spit n them and stabbed them repeatedly with a knife. She had a twisted look on her face and said “you bastard” over and over as she stabbed the pancakes. I told her I thought she was she was filled with emotion and it was beautiful. She pointed the knife at me and said “Good. How’d you like to be my next bastard?” I looked at my watch and said “Wo! It’s time for you to get back to the half-way house. I’ll drive you.” As we drove along, I noticed she had stolen the knife from I-Hop, and it was pointing at my leg. She said “Feel like bleeding?” Without waiting for my answer, she jammed the knife into my leg and said, “The halfway house is right there. I’ll get out and walk. I hope we can have another date.” She kissed me on the cheek and hopped out of my car.
I drove myself to the hospital. They asked what had happened. As I told them they nodded their heads and told me I was the fifth victim that month. I called the police. They told me she was about to go back to prison and that she would be tried for multiple stabbings, none of them fatal. I couldn’t contain my anger. I got my old baseball bat out of my garage and went to the halfway house to beat her to death. She opened the door and stabbed me in the stomach. I fell to the floor and she yelled “You bastard!” and kicked me in the stomach. Luckily, one of the residents called the police and an ambulance.
I’ve healed, but I’m lonely. For some reason “Dating the DamnEd” still appeals to me. In a way Martha Muzzle was exciting, even though she almost cost me my life. My new interest is Bongos Beatty. I’ve bought a Glock to take on our first date. Self defense is always a good excuse for murder.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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