Epitrope (e-pi’-tro-pe): A figure in which one turns things over to one’s hearers, either pathetically, ironically, or in such a way as to suggest a proof of something without having to state it. Epitrope often takes the form of granting permission (hence its Latin name, permissio), submitting something for consideration, or simply referring to the abilities of the audience to supply the meaning that the speaker passes over (hence Puttenham’s term, figure of reference). Epitrope can be either biting in its irony, or flattering in its deference.
Tell me more about what’s the meaning of that grease on your hands? You don’t have to answer, I will. Clearly, you’ve been touchin’ grease with both hands—two hands, left and right hand—10 fingers, palms and everything. You disappoint me with your naïveté. Don’t tell me you’re a mechanic. You are half-naked and look depraved. That alone is enough to get you arrested here in Napville City.
Don’t try to get away, or I’ll shoot. “Sir, we’re pole dancers and we’re experimenting with using grease for a better spin on the pole. We just tried it out with that oil pan drainpipe and it doesn’t work very well. It is too slippery and you go flying off the pole. We’re about to try toothpaste. It is expensive, but if it works we’ll get more tips stuffed into our costume bottoms. The toothpaste’s abrasives improve pole spin without being too slippery.”
You’re lyin’. I’ll ask you: What’s that pickup truck doin up on that lift over there: No, I’ll answer: you’re you’re doin’ some thin’ to that truck. You’re stealing its grease. “No! This is my brother’s repair shop and that’s his truck. Ask him.” One of the women said. “Yes sir” her brother said, “That’s my truck. I told them they could have some grease. Anyways, they got the grease out of that drum over there.” That looks like a barrel to me Sonny. Why do you call it a drum? Confess! “We in the repair business call it a drum. If we were a brewery, we’d call it a barrel. Who the hell are you anyway?”
My name is Nosey Camboroni and I been sticking my nose into other people’s business ever since I got a Colombo detective set when I was 14. I’m 28 now and still making a pest of myself, finding something to “pin” on everybody I meet, getting arrested for harassment, paying the fine, and then, going looking for my next perpetrator to question with skill and insight into the human mind. Just the other day I was behind a woman in the line at the grocery store. She started paying with food stamps. I asked to see her US passport, if she knew who Johnny Cash was, and if she could recite “The Pledge of Allegience.” She kicked me in my privates and yelled “You Goddamn creep, leave me alone.” Her anger was a sign that my interrogation had hit home. The police disagreed, apologized for my “crazy” behavior, arrested me, and sent her on her way.
So, what does this example tell you! I’ll tell you: things are falling apart. Criminals are everywhere, but I’m the one in jail for good detective work that is disrespectfully called “harassment.”
Maybe if I had a “Colombo-Mobile” I would have more credibility. A never-washed Ford Fairlane would do, filled with candy wrappers, crumpled tissues,, empty soda cans, and empty coffee containers. The radio would be stuck on NPR and the defroster would be broken. I would patrol the streets of Napville City. Maybe I could have a show on Tiktok: “Detective Nosey.”
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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