Enantiosis (e-nan-ti-o’-sis): Using opposing or contrary descriptions together, typically in a somewhat paradoxical manner.
I’m a genius. I’m a loser. I invented an under-sink water cooler so you don’t have to let the water run before you get nice cool water. Just imagine—instant cold! More space in the refrigerator! You no longer need ice to make ice water. You’ll drink more water and be more healthy. I hooked the prototype up to my sink and it worked like charm. I was in the process of getting a patent. I was in line to be rich. Then, one night I heard banging around in my kitchen. I grabbed my .357 from beside my bed and crept downstairs. It was the Mario Brothers!
They had removed my “Fauca-cooler” from under my sink and were stuffing it in a big tool bag. I asked them what the “F” they were doing. Mario told me that my device wasn’t authorized. It would be destroyed and all traces of its existence would be removed. And Luigi said, “If you don’t like it, you’ll be removed too.” I instantly aimed my gun at Luigi: “You have broken into my house, you’re stealing my property and have threatened me. If you don’t leave now, I will shoot you—I might even kill you.” Luigi and Mario both laughed at me. Mario said: “My good man, have you forgotten that we’re animated characters who live in a video game?”
They looked real to me. Although they seemed slightly transparent if I looked hard. The insanity of the whole situation had taken a huge uptick. So, I aimed at Luigi’s head and pulled the trigger. The .357 was really loud in the kitchen. I could smell the burnt gun powder. Luigi was standing there with a hole in his head, unfazed. “You shot my brother, you asshole!” Mario yelled as he swung a pipe wrench at me. It knocked me unconscious.
I awoke in a cartoon sewer pipe. I had become a cartoon. I could kick and punch with my cockroach feet. My antennae squirted yellow polka dotted blue snot that would probably glue my adversaries to the ground, stopping them in their tracks when I showered them. Also, I discovered I was extremely fast and was very good at getting away from pursuers—from enemies. I had all the mushrooms I could eat. However, I wanted out! I wanted to go back to being a break-through inventor. I never should have shot Luigi. I felt like Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz.”
Then I woke up again. I was in my bed. I realized immediately that I had had a “Reefer-mare.” My neighbor Daisy had given me an ounce of “Blip” for my birthday. It is rumored to be the most potent pot on the planet. I had smoked a giant 6” spliff and became beyond stoned—there were little men dancing on my bedroom ceiling with giant ants in red tutus, when I passed out. That’s my loser side—I can’t say no the reefer. Ever since I was 12 I’ve been huffing the stuff.
Anyway, my invention is still successfully producing cold water under my sink. I’m trying to get off the pot. I don’t want to squander my millions on hallucinations. I am in love with Daisy, but it is weird that she always wears the same yellow dress.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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