Cataphasis (kat-af’-a-sis): A kind of paralipsis in which one explicitly affirms the negative qualities that one then passes over.
You are a selfish, close-minded, prejudiced ass. But, I’m not going to waste your time telling you what you already know, instead, I want to talk about the asinine bullshit you fill my children’s heads with when they come over to play with Dick and Jane. I’m on the verge of not letting them over to your house any more. You’re an adult, Jim, so they believe you.
First: Betty and I are not space aliens and we did not steal them and our twins from a family in England and transport them here by matter exchange, a common means of travel, you allege, on our plant. Sure, the kids have a slight British accent, but that’s from watching Masterpiece Mysteries on PBS.
Our cat-like eyes are the result of drinking too much catnip tea. It is quite normal and has been documented in “Scientific Italian Magazine,” The condition has become permanent, but we don’t care because we love our catnip tea!
Second: you told my kids I don’t have a job because I don’t leave the house every morning clutching a briefcase like all the other Bozos on the block. Well, I’ll tell you! I work at night in the surrounding towns collecting donations door to door—mostly jewelry,, cash, and small appliances. People leave their doors open as a signal to me, and I quietly bag what they’ve left sitting out. Believe it or not, I have my own charity, “Golden Nest.” Most of what I collect goes to a family right here on our street, and the rest goes to the Police Vice Fund (PVF). PVF studies vice in the field, risking seduction and corruption, and getting caught with pants down or a slot machine handle in their hand. You poor deluded creep! Stop filling my kids’ heads with total nonsense!
Third: you told our kids we used to have four children and two of them (the twins) are dead: murdered. God, what a terrible thing to tell our kids! You made them fearful of us. They lock their bedroom doors at night and test their food for poison on Arfo, the family dog. If we wanted to kill them, we certainly wouldn’t poison them. We would probably drown them in the bathtub, hang them, or push them out an upstairs window. But we didn’t, Damn you!
We sent the twins, Kiki and Karl, to Ukraine, where they are listed as missing! Missing! Not dead! Their surrogate grandparents were taking care of them, but they’ve disappeared too, along with the kids’ passports and any signs that they were ever there. There’s no record of their plane tickets, which we bought online from Orbitz. We think maybe they cashed in their tickets and went to Disneyland. We’re checking on this theory. In the meantime we do not consider them dead because we have solid theories. So, shut up about “dead children.” They’re missing!
So, that’s it for now. Let’s try to be friends. After all, we’re neighbors.
Let’s get together on Friday. Bring your little wife Honey. Tonight, I have to work on the big silver thing in my garage. One of its parts has become defective, but I can replace it with any small appliance Tonight, I’ll be trying out a toaster.
Now, Carl, I’m going to make you forget this conversation and all suspicions about our family, my job, and where we come from. When I clap my hands, all that you will remember is our Friday dinner date. Clap!
POSTSCRIPT
Carl had his own secrets to keep and pretended to be affected by the spell. Carl was a Space Ranger and had had his eye on his neighbors, from the planet Tylenoll, where Carl came from too. He’d been surveilling them for nearly a year. He was getting ready to bring them in. He hoped he could unload the two brats when they stopped at Uturn. They didn’t deserve the same fate as their depraved parents, as required by Tylenollian law.
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
The Daily Trope 