Exouthenismos (ex-ou-then-is’-mos): An expression of contempt.
It had been building up for a long time. I was going to blow a fuse, go ballistic, kick some ass. The paper boy—little Jim Jones—a 15 Year old shit-for-brains—kept throwing my newspaper on the roof. I had to get out my ladder from the garage and prop it up on the front porch and climb up on the roof. It was dangerous. I weigh 240 pounds. If I fell I would die. Today was the day. I am going to tell him off and fire him.
He pulled up on his bike, which was on its last leg. The wheels wobbled and it was rusted so bad you couldn’t tell what color it was. Before he had a chance to hurl my newspaper onto the roof, I started yelling at him. “You are the world’s worst paper boy. You can’t even land my newspaper on my porch. You overcharge me every week when you collect. In short, you are an incompetent idiot. And your bike is an ugly disgrace. You’re fired!” As soon as I yelled “You’re fired!” He pulled what looked like a small handgun. I wet my pants, but it was a novelty cigarette lighter. He lit a cigarette and took a big drag and blew the smoke in my face. I thought he was around 15, but what he said next put an end to that. “I have a wife and two kids, if I lose this job, we’ll probably end up in the street. My son,m Little Joey has had pneumonia three times in the the past six months, My daughter Mazy has asthma, and my wife Caroline has rickets. She is so bowlegged people laugh at her when she goes grocery shopping. I have “Flaming Foot Syndrome.” It makes my feet so hot that my shoes smoke. I need expensive salve “Foot Coolant” to keep my feet from spontaneously combusting.” I was stunned. While he was talking, one of Jim’s teeth fell out. He put it in his shirt pocket.
His litany of woes got to me, but it didn’t make up for his incompetence. I didn’t fire him. Instead, we set up a practice session so he could learn to land my newspaper on my front porch. I got up on my roof and caught a few as I showed him how to lower his aim. That’s when he broke my storm door window, but it didn’t matter. Finally, he hit the mark 25 times in a row. He was ready. We’ve had no problems since.
He invited me to dinner. He lives in a dented motorhome with flat tires on the outskirts of town, His wife’s bowlegs are circus sideshow material. When she puts her legs together, they make a perfect circle. Little Joey’s pneumonia was acting up—he kept and handkerchief over his face. Mazy should’ve been named Wheezer. Her breathing sounded like a broken accordion. Jim was ok. We ate a fish that Jim had caught in the Town drainage ditch.
I got a little sick, but I enjoyed the company. I’m buying Jim a “new” bicycle. I bought it from this guy who hangs out under a bridge overpass. Jim loved it, but unfortunately, it was stolen. Jim was arrested and couldn’t make bail. He’s sitting in a cell. He been charged with theft of a bicycle. He could get six months in the county jail. I saw people laughing at his wife’s bowlegs yesterday when I went grocery shopping. That did it. I’m bailing out Jim and telling the police I gave him the bike.
POSTSCRIPT
I was convicted of receiving stolen goods. I should’ve known the guy under the bridge overpass was a thief. I was fined $200. Jim’s feet started his motorhome on fire. His family escaped. He was awarded a $2,000,000 settlement for medical malpractice. The shoes his doctor provided him with to keep his feet from going up in flames were Chinese knock-offs that were highly flammable.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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