Litotes

Litotes (li-to’-tees): Deliberate understatement, especially when expressing a thought by denying its opposite. The Ad Herennium author suggests litotes as a means of expressing modesty (downplaying one’s accomplishments) in order to gain the audience’s favor (establishing ethos).

It was no great thing. So what, I earned a PhD when I was 11 years old. My dissertation “Calculated Lobbing” received the “Popular Mechanics” “Scientific Breakthrough of the Year Award.” It became a bestseller among baseball coaches and was made into the smash hit movie “Knuckleball” starring Robert Dinero as Goofball Johnson, the Little League pitcher who never lost a game. It won a pile of Academy Awards and is still frequently viewed on Hulu.

As far as I’m concerned this is all “dust in the wind,” not worth dwelling on here tonight. Like you, I’m looking toward the future. My latest creation will help make the future bright, offering peace, love, and happiness in return for a modest subscription fee. Once installed in your brain, your step will become lighter, your outlook will become brighter, and love will rain down on you from the heavens like coins of gold pouring from an angelic vault.

Made from three micro-stainless steel paperclips clutching a tiny cats-eye marble, and powered by an unobtrusive solar battery mounted on top of your head, the “Savior 25” will operate silently and flawlessly—just avoid thunder and lightening storms and airport security scanners. I have one implanted in my brain, topped by a solar battery, and I feel great. My world is paradise. Being a multi-billionaire helps, but it doesn’t account for what I’m feeling now. The “Savior 25” is the ultimate supplement—no prescription needed!

Although I created the award I’m receiving this evening on Zoom, I still more or less deserve it. But not enough. I will continue to break new ground, but I will not totally save humanity, I leave that to God if he so chooses. I will make incremental baby steps toward the world’s salvation. It isn’t much, but it’s all I can do from my prison cell. My accountant died, but it was an accident and I got 50 years.

Thank-you and God bless you.

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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