Epitheton (e-pith’-e-ton): Attributing to a person or thing a quality or description-sometimes by the simple addition of a descriptive adjective; sometimes through a descriptive or metaphorical apposition. (Note: If the description is given in place of the name, instead of in addition to it, it becomes antonomasia or periphrasis.)
“Hey! It’s Joey baloney!” People would say (or yell) when I came through the door. They nicknamed me “Joey Baloney” in middle school. My mother made me a baloney sandwhich for lunch every day. I asked her for peanut butter and jelly once and she ran at me holding up her mustard knife. I barely got out the front door. She stabbed the door behind me. Two days later, I asked her why I had to have baloney every day. She twitched all over and spun around with the mustard jar in one hand and the mustard knife in the other. “It’s the message” she said with fear n her eyes. “What message?” I asked politely.
“It was the ghost of Mickey Mantle, the greatest of all New York Yankees. He wanted me to save the world one baloney sandwich at a time. Right there, on the spot, I swore my allegiance to the “Baloney Brigade.” Since he was a great ballplayer and an angel too,. I believed him and complied. As “Joey Baloney” soon you will take your place in the Baloney Brigade making baloney sandwiches by my side—smearing on the mustard, slicing the bread into delightful triangles.”
My mother was clearly nuts, but only about baloney. Otherwise she’s normal. So, I decided to play along. We each made each other a baloney sandwich every day. Mom got me my own jar of mustard and we shared the knives from the silverware drawer.
Then, I got an idea. I got my sketchy friend “Sticky” to get me a signed Mickey Mantle baseball. Through his connections, he got me one for $50.00. It was nearly my life savings, but I wanted to cure mom. I wrote “Mission accomplished” over Mickey’s signature on the baseball. Then, when she was making lunch, I threw the baseball through the open kitchen window. It hit mom in the chest and landed in the sink. Mom started to cry and yelled “Praise God. Praise Mickey Mantle. We are saved.”
Something grabbed me by the shirt collar and pulled me into the lilac bushes behind the house. It was Mickey Mantle’s ghost and he was mad. He told me I had better get my mother to work on the baloney sandwiches again or the world would end. I wondered if it was possible for a ghost to be crazy. In Mickey’s case, I thought it was. He said, “You must think I am crazy, but I’m not. Once I explain to you the baloney-doomsday connection, you will be eager to get your mother back to work.”
I am unfamiliar with physics, so Mickey put the explanation in layman’s terms. What he said scared the hell out of me. I told mom of my “Mission Accomplished” ruse. She pinned my hand to the cutting board and said, her voice shaking, “you almost wiped us out.” I sad, “Get back to work. I’ll call 911 and get a ride to the emergency room.”
Joey Baloney is back. Together me and mom are saving the world with one baloney sandwich at a day. Every once in a while Mickey stops by for lunch. Since he’s transparent, you can see his sandwich inside him. He opens his robe and we all laugh. Angels don’t have privates, so he does not have to worry about embarrassing mom,
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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