Dianoea (di-a-noe’-a): The use of animated questions and answers in developing an argument (sometimes simply the equivalent of anthypophora).
“How do you make pancakes? Don’t ask me! How do you do you jump through the eye of a needle? Don’t ask me! Why do leaves fall off trees? Don’t ask me! What kind of feather do pimps wear in their hats? Don’t ask me! Ask Google you little pains in the ass!”
I was sick of my two kids asking me questions all the damn time. This was the enth time I tried to steer them to Google. For some reason they were Google resistant. They would say things like “You were in the Army. You know things.” I had no idea how that qualified me for anything beyond saying “hut two three four.”
So, I instituted weekly meetings to remind my son and daughter that I didn’t know much and they shouldn’t depend on me for any kind of advice.
To some extent I was lying. I knew a lot, and probably, it wasn’t the kind of stuff they would ask me—like how to jam a cruise missile, the location of secret army bases around the world, the map coordinates of the White House Command Bunker, the location of Pat Nixon’s mole, and the secret ingredients in many ethnic foods. I gathered this information when I was spying for France during the 70s. I reported directly to Georges Pompidou and shared many secrets with him. I would fly to Paris once a month and shared the intelligence I had gathered. Eventually he wanted me to learn French and wear a beret and blue striped boatneck pullover. He also wanted me to smoke Gauloises to prove my loyalty. That’s where I drew the line. I quit and briefly went to work for Finnish Intelligence. It was unbelievably boring. I spent most of my time smoking a pipe and mending nets. These two activities were integral to my cover observing and hanging out with Russian cod fishermen who were allegedly abusing their Finnish work visas by smuggling nesting dolls (Matryoshka dolls) in their over-sized rubber boots. They were caught when I arranged to have KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Shake your Booty” played very loud over their ship’s radio. The Russians starting dancing to the music and their oversized boots fell off, spilling the concealed nesting dolls on the ship’s deck. After this accomplishment, I gave up spying, moved back to the US, got married, and started a family.
I am committed to protecting my children by not answering their questions—not even if they ask me what time it is. I will yell “Google it!”
POSTSCRIPT
By the way, I have hidden this disclosure in my sock drawer and will destroy this copy. If you are reading it, I have screwed up.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu.
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