Anacoenosis (an’-a-ko-en-os’-is): Asking the opinion or judgment of the judges or audience, usually implying their common interest with the speaker in the matter [and illustrating their communally-held ideals of truth, justice, goodness and beauty, for better and for worse].
“Haven’t we all farted at least once in our lives? Go ahead and raise you hand if you’ve never farted. There you have it. No hands up. How would you like to learn tactical farting? How would you like to fart on demand—real bad smellers? On demand! Raise your hand. All of you but one person—the priest sitting in he back row. It’s your prerogative father, but you could do some real damage in the confessional: a little sulphuric smell could motivate penitents to really open up. You could say ‘I don’t know about you, but I think I detect Satan’s smell quite nearby, maybe here in the confessional.’ Wow! Would that boost the disclosures—from the petty to the dark evil deeds? It would add to your absolutions and help you get more members of your congregation into heaven. Who would ever think a fart could perform such a noble purpose? Salvation!”
This was my fiftieth “Tactical Farting” seminar. I had learned when I was ten years old that I could fart whenever I wanted to. I discovered my skill the first time when my bad-breathed Aunty Kathleen wanted to give me a “hug and a kiss.” I visualized a fart escaping from my anus, and “blurrrrt!” I blew one . It smelled so bad that Aunty Kathleen changed her mind and rushed out of the room. There are countless examples I could cite.
I learned, if I farted, my teacher would not stop at my desk and look at an assignment I was working on. Better yet, I was never asked to speak in front class. She knew I would blow a blockbuster and clear the classroom. Or, once, I got called into the IRS for an audit. We were sitting in a small room when I blew an eye-burner. The agent started choking and waved me out of the room. Through his choking, he told me we were done.
My greatest triumph occurred when I was working behind the counter at Cliff’s. It was my first job out of high school and I was diligent. As top Employee one month, I got to meet Cliff. It was by a swimming pool in Arizona. He is seven feet tall and has the Cliff’s logo tattooed on his chest. He had a Red Bull in each hand and was smoking a Tiparillo cigar. He had an attendant who would hold his cigar when he took a sip of Red Bull or talked. He said “How’ya doin’ boy?” I told him “Great!” and he told me to get back to work before he fired me.
Anyway, some guy came into Cliff’s wearing a balaclava and brandishing a .45. He came behind the counter and told me to give him all the scratch-off lotto tickets. I visualized him as as a patient on an operating table and blew my anesthetic fart at him. He collapsed in a heap on the floor. I called 911 and the police and an ambulance came. The stick-up man was barely alive, but he survived, stood trial, and went to prison. The newspaper headline read: “Fart Foils Robbery.” For foiling the robbery, I made the Cliff’s employee of the year! I got to stay in Cliff’s mansion for two weeks. He wasn’t there, but his daughter Cliffetta was there. I asked her to marry me. She said no, and that was that.
I went back home. That’s when I thought of the idea of tactical farting. I wrote a book and set up a blog—they had the same title: “Tactical Farting: Winds of Change.” Anything you imagine, tactical farting will help you accomplish: from solitude to self-defense. The book outlines how to tactically fart—the steps, the exercises. The blog has real-time videos of tactical farting in action. One of my favorites is titled “Family Reunion.” It follows Jim to his family reunion, where all the relatives he hates are celebrating. He blows a one-minute megaton ass-buster blanket fart and chases everybody away. They get in their cars and drive recklessly, colliding with each other in the narrow driveway. What a tactical farting triumph! Kudos to Jim!
Anyway, this is my final seminar. It’s been a gas, but I’m winded.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.
The Daily Trope 