Inopinatum (in-o-pi-na’-tum): The expression of one’s inability to believe or conceive of something; a type of faux wondering. As such, this kind of paradox is much like aporia and functions much like a rhetorical question or erotema. [A paradox is] a statement that is self-contradictory on the surface, yet seems to evoke a truth nonetheless [can include oxymoron].
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! You got a C+ on your biology assignment!” Anything I did that wasn’t a disgrace or a sign of my “feeble” intellect was met with my father’s expression of disbelief. It was his way of registering his judgment of my abilities—he believed it, but he said he didn’t.
I thought my biology teacher was a really hard grader. My biology project created a new life form—a new species of hamster. I called it “Giant Hamster,” I had bred a Dwarf Wallaby and my hamster Barbara. The Giant Hamster weighed about 4 kilos and could jump 15 feet. He had huge beaver-like teeth and ate two bowls of hamster pellets every day. I made a five- foot hamster wheel for him in metal shop at school. He loved to play on it. I named the Giant Hamster “Gorgo” after my favorite movie reptile monster. His fur was a beautiful shiny brown color. I had taught him three tricks: fetch, roll over, and play dead. He taught himself to balance a roll of toilet paper on his nose. He had two troublesome characteristics: farting loudly, and humping peoples’ legs. His farts sounded like gunshots and would send people diving for cover. He sounded like a semi-automatic rifle. I would warn people when we visited them, but it didn’t help. The worst was when he blew a burst on the subway. Compared to his rifle-fire farts, his leg humping was minor. I knew if I had his balls cut off that the humping would cease, but he wouldn’t be the same Gorgo. I made him a humping restraint from a bungee chord that kept him from mounting peoples’ legs in public. I bought him a mannequin and put it in my room. He would mount one of its legs two or three times per day. He favored the left leg.
My “Biology Project Show and Tell” was a disaster, but it earned me a C+, the highest grade I had ever gotten, but still, I thought I deserved a higher grade. I started out with Gorgo doing his tricks. He finished doing his tricks and I lifted the roll of toilet paper off his nose. The class started applauding. Then, he scurried under Miss Trumble’s desk. She yelled “Oh my God, get it off my leg.” I told her to just back up her chair and I would pull him off of her leg. The second she moved Gorgo started firing farts that sounded like a semi-automatic rifle.
It was total chaos. Then, the classroom door burst open. The leader of our school’s SWAT team told everybody to “Stay where you are and shut up.” As soon as the room went silent, Gorgo jumped up on Miss Trumble’s desk. All five members of the “Borly High School SWAT Team” aimed their weapons at Gorgo. I jumped between Gorgo and the SWAT team. “My Giant Hamster’s farts sound like gun fire, aside from leg humping, he’s harmless” I yelled. They lowered their guns. Peace was restored.
I admonished myself for forgetting to put Gorgo’s anti-humping restraint on him when I took him to school. I took the blame for everything that had happened. I didn’t tell my dad. Even with the catastrophe, I thought I deserved at least a B+.
Two nights later, Gorgo got out of his cage, ate a three-foot hole in my bedroom wall, and escaped. I think he went feral and stays away from people. I don’t miss him.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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