Antithesis (an-tith’-e-sis): Juxtaposition of contrasting words or ideas (often, although not always, in parallel structure).
What you do and what you say are not worth observing or listening to. Your brain is a bellows blowing wind—a hurricane of nonsense, a typhoon of baloney, and you want me to follow your advice. You don’t know the difference between good and bad, right and wrong, in and out. Every time I’ve listened to your advice, things haven’t gone well. I’ll never forget my trip to Baghdad. I landed at the airport and the plane was surrounded by soldiers. The pilot was killed and we were captured. I spent 11 days in an Iraqi prison battling rats and cockroaches. The US arranged a prisoner swap and I escaped in a helicopter that came under heavy small arms fire as we exited the city.
I didn’t see a single artifact. All that you had touted went unseen. The trip was a total disaster and I almost lost my life. in fact, death was my companion the whole time I was there.
And then, there was the guided tour of chicken ranches in the southern US. I was excited at the prospect of meeting thousands of chickens. I was very fond of chickens. Back in Pennsylvania, I have five chickens that I collect eggs from. They follow me around the yard—it’s like leading a feathered parade. I thought meeting thousands of chickens would be a peak experience—like winning the lotto or driving recklessly. I was wrong. Bird flu reared its ugly head and I was forced to spend a month quarantine in Bucksnort, Alabama. I didn’t hear any bucks snorting, but I heard a lot of heavy equipment burying dead chickens—life was short for those bucka-bucka chickens, but all of them were destined for slaughter anyway—Colonel Sanders will have to wait: sittin’ in Kentucky pullin’ his beard. Anyway, when I finally got home my chickens were waiting for me. My nbrother had taken care of them for me. Two were missing. My brother told me he didn’t think I would mind if he ate a couple of them. He said he was drying their wishbones on the kitchen windowsill, and we could pull apart them after dinner.
I flipped out. I tied his hands behind him and led him to Crow Caw Cliff. I was going to push him off and see if he could fly. I decided not to push him and I forgave him after I cut him loose. I told him to get in his car and drive as far as he could and never come back. He whined and complained. I drew my little .22 auto and pressed against his forehead and told him to “Drive!” He drove. I never heard from him again.
Oh, then there was “invest all you have in Roundup.” I did. Two days later it was banned in the US for killing people. That’s when I should’ve killed you.
You are the dark at the end of the tunnel and the light from a burning house fire. Why am I still friends with you? I’ve come to the conclusion that it is an unbreakable curse.
Let’s go get a beer and call it a day. My chickens all died of natural causes—why don’t we fry ‘em up have a chicken feast for dinner?
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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