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)
It looks like the world is doing great—doing its lovely turning! The pollution. The endless greed. The killing of innocent people in wars. The abused women. The racism. The injustice. The poverty. Business as usual.
Why, just yesterday I pushed down a hungry homeless man. Bam! Right on the sidewalk. He jumped right in front of me and asked for a dollar. Bullshit! I had just put a dollar in the collection basket at church. Who do these people think we are? My dollar will go to somebody who actually needs it, like somebody whose lawnmower broke, or somebody who has a groundhog living under their garage. Pastor Benediction needs money too. I saw him at the liquor store. He bought a pack of Marlboro 27’s and a liter of “Fireball Whiskey.” My heart went out to him. If he runs out of cigarettes and whiskey during the week, he’ll have to wait until the first Monday after Sunday to stock up again. It is a crying shame that Pastor Benediction has to live from paycheck to paycheck. Maybe I’ll give him two dollars this Sunday. It may be my ticket to heaven!
Most of the people who go to Church have emotional problems. For example, Mrs. Gormly wears her dress backward in memory of her husband. I could see carrying his photo, but the memorial aspect of the backward dress is beyond me, and apparently Mrs. Gormly too. I asked her once and she told me not to fret, “He was in hell with the dog catcher muzzling puppies.” I think that’s somewhat crazy. Or, there’s Mr. “Barefoot” Proost. He comes to church barefoot so he can “feel the face of God” as he walks to his pew. I would think hands were better than feet for feeling God’s face. But, it’s religion—the biggest opinion fest in the universe. Centuries ago, they used to burn people for veering off course. Now, the pastors just tell them they’ve veered off course and to be cautious in uncharted waters—established religion is like Google showing the best route to heaven—the fastest, the shortest, the most scenic, the wisest. You’ve got commandments and parables to direct you and vex you, in that order.
When I was home watching “Terminator,” I realized that the man who tried to beg a dollar from me was my high school gym teacher Mr. Whistle. He had become addicted to Dairy Queen chocolate dipped jumbo-cones. He gained 70 pounds and was unable to do sit-ups anymore, or any other coach things. To prove he was still fit enough to teach, he tried to climb the rope. He got 3” up the rope and fell to the floor, tearing his track suit and exposing himself to the Sophomore class and the Principal, Ms. Thighlow. She laughed, and that was it. Mr. Whistle was done for—unfit to teach gym. It was cruel that they didn’t reassign him to “fat man” courses like Home Economics or English. Mr Whistle sued and lost. And he was pushed out onto the street by an uncaring community, including me.
I know my job at “Mel’s Ant Farm” is secure. It’s the biggest ant farm in Michigan and people come from all over to see it. Donald Trump was here last month. He kept saying “I’ve got ants in my pants, Mel.” We didn’t know what to do, so Mel put some ants in his pants. Trump started dancing around and twitching and moving his hips back and forth. It looked like he was doing “The Twist.” His Secret Service detail started clapping their hands and doing Chubby Checker imitations. He was angry and said we were “All dead!” and there wold be a Congressional hearing. Mel sprayed Raid down Trump’s pants and he left in a white Chevy Suburban with his Secret Service detail still clapping its hands.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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