Adnominatio (ad-no-mi-na’-ti-o): 1. A synonym for paronomasia[punning]. 2. A synonym for polyptoton. 3. Assigning to a proper name its literal or homophonic meaning.
He said, “Give me a hand.” I said “Sure. How can I help?” He pulled a small meat cleaver out of his back pocket. “Put your hand flat on the table.” I put my hand flat on the table and he raised the meat cleaver over his head. At that second, I realized he wanted to chop off my hand. I pulled it away and he took off the tip of my pinkie as I pulled my hand off the table. He scooped it up and stuck it in his ear. He dropped the cleaver and ran out of the tent.
This guy, Mr. Redmond, was my Scoutmaster. I had heard that Scoutmasters were really weird, but this was really weird.
There was the story of the “Well-Done Scout.” His name was Nummy Randallson. Nobody knew why his parents named him “Nummy,” but everybody knew “Nummy” meant tasty. His mother insisted he wash with “Spice Bush Soap.” He got a bar for every holiday and followed his mother’s wishes, washing with “Spice Bush” twice a day. He brought his soap on a winter Boy Scout Camporee. When they went snowshoeing and sweated along the trail, Nummy smelled like spice. In fact, he smelled like pumpkin pie. He made everybody’s stomach growl. Christmas was only three days away and Nummy’s smell made them all think of their favorite Christmas dinner dessert.
Then, there was a blizzard. 8 feet of snow trapped the boys and their Scoutmaster in the mountains. They ran out of food after two days. Acute hunger set it. Nummy’s pumpkin pie smell drifted around their almost-collapsed tent. Every time a scout caught a whiff, they would see their Grandma cutting a giant-sized piece of pumpkin pie. They would look at Nummy with hunger in their eyes, clutching their stomachs in pain with hunger.
The Scoutmaster cracked. He invited Nummy outside. There was a dull thud. About a half-hour later, the Scoutmaster called the boys outside. He was turning a field-dressed Nummy over a fire. The scoutmaster was licking his fingers and laughing like a hyena. Troop 123 ate Nummy. It took ten days to reach them through the snow. They would’ve starved if they hadn’t eaten Nummy. They changed their mascot from a beaver to a pumpkin pie.
The Scoutmaster was sentenced to life in prison and Nummy’s parents were paid $5,000,000 in damages.
Back to Mr. Redmond: He was found hiding in a dumpster with my fingertip still in his ear. If the Boy Scouts had vetted him more effectively, they would have learned he was recently paroled from prison after serving 30 years of a life sentence for cannibalism—for eating a Boy Scout.
I tried to find out why he stuck my fingertip in his ear. The police told me that when they asked him he said “Ear wax” confirming his madness. I had my fingertip sewn back on, but I can’t bring myself to stick it in my ear. I use q-tips.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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