Category Archives: antenantiosis

Antenantiosis (an’-ten-an’-ti-os’-is): See litotes. (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]).

Me: I’m not a genius. I never have been. I never will be. I am undeserving of the designation. Rather, I’m a nut case. I’m not totally crazy yet. I’m not close, but I’m moving in that direction. The police are looking for me. I aimed my finger at a police officer. I didn’t even say “bang bang.” He chased me down the street and ran out in front of a delivery truck and was killed. That certainly wasn’t my fault—he was just terminally over-zealous. Nobody knew he was chasing me, but I’m guessing CCTV will do me in, like it does on all the British detective shows. So, here I am to hide out, Luther. You’re my best friend and you can help me hide out if you can forget the ‘incident’ with Shiela. Did I get her pregnant? Judging by the baby stuff scattered around, it looks like I might be right.

You: You’re right, you are crazy. Wait here so I can go to Dick’s and buy a handgun and blow your head off when I get back. I think a .357 magnum will do the job.

He ran out the door. Shiela came down the stairs carrying the baby.

Me: Oh my God! He looks just like me! The birthmark on his cheek that looks like Argentina looks just like mine! Does he make foghorn sounds when he sleeps?

She: Yes he does. He sleeps in the garage with a space heater. He’s 14 months old and somehow he managed to get a tattoo of a teething ring oh his shoulder. We named him “Chock” after “Chock Full O ’ Nuts” the heavenly coffee. Luther, his fake father and my husband too (as you know) wants to leave Chock at the mall in a picnic basket. He says I spend too much time fussing over Chock—bathing him, feeding him, dressing him, changing him, reading a bedtime story to him.

Me: I thought I was crazy. Luther’s clearly orbiting around cloud cuckoo land. I thought my hallucinations were bad, but Luther’s got some sort of murderous paranoia going.

The door flew open and there was Luther holding a .357 in each hand. He aimed at me and pulled the triggers! The guns weren’t loaded. While Luther struggled to shove some bullets into the empty cylinders, I ran at him with an unopened pack of Pampers. I put it over his face and held it over his face until he stopped struggling. He was dead. I was relieved. Shiela and I looked at each other like a jail cell had opened.

POSTSCRIPT

It was determined I acted in self-defense, although there was some question about the guns being unloaded. Shiela and I got married and we are raising Chock to be a wise and gentle person. I’m on Lithium, so my madness is a thing of the past. Every once-in-awhile I flip and Shiela and Chock lock me in the basement, but that’s rare. When I lose it, I imagine I’ve become an ironing board and there’s a hot iron gliding up and down my back that stops and scorches me, and then, moves on. I do a lot of crying out in pain.

We visit Luther’s grave every few months and brush the pebbles off that have accumulated.

Definition 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.

Antenantiosis (an’-ten-an’-ti-os’-is): See litotes. (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]).

I am completely undeserving of this award. I’ve never done anything remotely close to the award’s intention. When I walked barefoot across Afghanistan, I wasn’t thinking about awards. I was thinking about saving my sorry ass from the Taliban who had stolen my shoes. They walked along with me, poking me with sticks and yelling at me through bullhorns. They did that for three days and turned around and left me as we approached an oasis controlled by coalition forces. They kept my shoes. The Americans thought I was hilarious. A Special Forces guy told me I was nearly “defeeted.” The medic bandaged me up. Suddenly we were under attack. The Americans jumped into their SUVs. One of them tried to carry me, but he was wounded in the leg and dropped me. I was stuck. And guess what? The attackers were the same Taliban who had stolen my shoes. Anyway, they let me go because I would die anyway. But I didn’t. I was picked up by a small Afghan circus troupe. They sold elixir as part of their act: Kabul Kaboom. It is a mixture of opium, juniper bark, rose petals, currants and the “No Name” ingredient, which was very special. The troupe made me work for my keep. Since my feet were a mess, they made work the “Hoister Chair.” They would hoist me into the air and then drop me on a pile of camel dung to the great delight of the audience who paid to watch. One night after being dropped into the dung nine or ten times, I took a swig of Kabul Kaboom which I had resisted doing up until then because I thought it might kill me. My feet healed the second I took the jug away from my lips. It was 2.00am, but I started walking anyway. By bare feet had turned into some kind of leather—I could walk across broken glass and feel no pain.

After walking for 3 weeks, I arrived in Kabul. I couldn’t get a ride along the way because the Kabul Kaboom had made my feet stink. I’d get into a car and everybody would start coughing and yelling, and I’d get shoved out the door. I’ve since gotten the stink under control, or I wouldn’t be here today to partake of your generosity and humbly accept this year’s Pedistench Award.

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

Buy a print version of The Daily Trope! The print version is titled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.

Antenantiosis (an’-ten-an’-ti-os’-is): See litotes. (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]).

We all know it wasn’t an insurrection. It was, as a matter of fact, just a raucous display of our patriotic fervor. What’s wrong with that? And please, my fellow militia members, I shouldn’t be praised for the minor role I played in making it happen. Buying bear spray in bulk just took a credit card and my pickup truck. The bullhorns were donated by the Russian embassy, and using flag poles as clubs was just a random thought in my motel room the night before. I’m sure glad I could share it with you: it was you who utilized it, cracking a few skulls trying to “Stop the Steal.”

I will fade back into the shadows now, a small part of a big deal, but not a big deal myself. May our one true Christian God bless us and keep us pissed off until we meet again.

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

Buy a print version of The Daily Trope! The print version is titled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.