Anesis (an’-e-sis): Adding a concluding sentence that diminishes the effect of what has been said previously. The opposite of epitasis.
There was nothing to worry about, I had blotted my “t’s” and crossed myself. I had all the bases colored and I was dauntless—like a steam roller with wheels. Like a litter of kittens curled up in a box. Well, maybe I had a little something to worry about. Once again, I had garbled my preparedness similes and metaphors. Let’s just say, I’m ready for spaghetti.
It’s my second anniversary. My wife’s pregnant, and I don’t love her anymore. I’m not sure whether I ever loved her. We met at a hog calling contest in Arkansas. She could make sounds come out of her lips that were hypnotic. The crowd went quiet when she started her call. She articulated her call for a full six minutes, blowing notes that had never been heard before—at the low end it sounded like a baritone frog with tuberculosis. At the high end she sounded like a canary starting to sound like a crow with digestion problems. It was my second contest and I didn’t know what was going on, but the audience sure did. Also, four random pigs came running toward her grunting and drooling.
I lost my mind that day, and have just begun to recover it. The more we spend time together, the more she seems like a pig. She wants to name our child Petunia if it’s a girl, and Porky if it’s a boy. The naming thing confirmed my fears. I started having a recurring nightmare where she was laying on the dining room table with an apple in her mouth. I should be ashamed, but I’m not. However, I did want to fix things. I asked my friend Brad what I should do. He is a leader in the “Pincher Cult.” He believes if he pinches himself in the right place, he will achieve Tornana. He has been pinching for 18 years and hasn’t found his pinch spot yet. However, he has friend, the Earl of Wow Man, that could possibly help out. I asked the Earl for help. He said he would, but my wife had to lay on a table with an apple in her mouth during the procedure. He came over that night. He was wearing pink Bermuda shorts and a white Izod golf shirt— quite different from the animal skins and chicken hat he was wearing when I met him.
He put dimes on my wife’s eyes and a big candle in her hands. He used my Bic to light the candle—it smelled like Old Spice. Then, he petted her and scratched her behind her ears, like she was a big dog. Then, the Earl started speaking tongues. Suddenly he screamed and his eyes started bleeding. He said very clearly “Oink” and collapsed on the floor. Then, he stood up and said “She is possessed by Ham, Maker of Bacon and linker of Smokey Links.” The Earl said we needed an exorcism. This would involve putting a piece of Pork Roll over her mouth and holding it there until Ham rose to her lips to eat the most delicious of all pork breakfast products in the whole world.
Everything went according to plan. Ham was caught and placed in a pickle jar. He was turned loose in a 24-hour diner where he hasn’t bothered anybody yet.
My relationship with my wife is slowly on the mend. In her pregnancy she’s developed a craving for Pork Roll. The Earl says this is “totally normal, man.”
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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