Category Archives: eulogia

Eulogia (eu-lo’-gi-a): Pronouncing a blessing for the goodness in a person.

She hit me again with her hickory stick. I said “God bless you.” I was at “Madame Hurty Butt’s,” the most popular house of pain in New York City. For only $200 per hour, I could get my cheeks striped red and revel in the guilt the stick beat out of me. Afterward, I reveled in the burning pain of sitting down as a nearly spiritual echo of my well-deserved punishment.

My “Retributer” Miss Mortify would give me an extra 10 minutes of caning free of charge if I peed in my pants. I never missed. I brought a clean pair of underpants and jeans to change into and got my extra 10 minutes every time. I was on the top of the world but being on the bottom!

Then, my wife started asking questions. After all those years, she noticed I winced when I sat down for dinner. Then one night when I left the lights on when I came to bed, she saw the red stripes on my butt. Of course, she asked me what the hell was going on. I decided it was best to tell her.

When I was nine I had a pet box turtle named Trudgy. Trudgy was on my bedroom floor. Innocent Trudgy. I was jumping back and forth over him. I thought it was funny how he moved his eyes around. Then, he retracted into his shell. I got mad and stamped my foot on him and crushed his shell and killed him. I ran and got my shovel and pail out of my sandbox, scraped him off the floor, and shoveled him into my pail. I took him downstairs, dumped him the garbage and rinsed out the pail. Then, I cleaned the spot on the carpet and didn’t say a word about what had happened. But, from that day forward I’ve had a burning in the pit of my stomach that only caning can assuage.

I discovered the ameliorating influence of caning in the sixth grade when Miss Merryweather would discipline me after school for infractions during class. I started being bad so I could have my daily lessons and forget Trugdy’s murder for awhile. Then, when I was in the seventh grade, I got an after school job at a movie theatre. My boss was horrible—she kept pointing out all the “bad” things I did and giving me the kind of punishment I needed—cane with pants down. When I turned 18, I started going to “Madame Hurty Butt’s” and I’ve been happy ever since.

My wife told me I qualified as a genuine pervert. She told me she had been experimenting with different modes of stimulation and would like to try “red-striping” my butt herself instead of me paying $200 per hour.

We tried it. Her wrist action is phenomenal!

Definitions 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.

Eulogia (eu-lo’-gi-a): Pronouncing a blessing for the goodness in a person.

I loved saying “God bless you.” It made me feel powerful, granting God’s blessing. Me, tuning in, at right moment, to give God’s blessing, to make it official in words. God bless you! I knew God appreciated it, I just knew. It was at the core of my faith in the one almighty invisible God.

At first, my criteria for what God would bless were rigorous. If I witnessed a life-saving event, I would give it God’s blessing. Lesser good deeds didn’t qualify, like holding a door open or helping an elderly person cross the street.

I started hanging out near the fire station. I would follow the firefighters and watch for blessworthy events and run up and bless the person performing the deed, or who had already performed it. Even when they failed, I blessed them. For example, there was an old man who died from smoke inhalation. I blessed the firefighter who had failed to resuscitate him. The firefighter asked me “what the fu*ck” I was doing. I told him I was blessing him on behalf of God for his saintly efforts. He told me to “go fu*k” myself and threw one of the dead man’s shoes at me.

Subsequently, I was banned by NYC from attending fires and rescues. At first, I didn’t know what to do. Then, I realized that God would probably bless anything a person did that wasn’t evil. After all, He blessed sneezes.

Once I relaxed my standards, unlimited “bless you” opportunities opened up for me. My first “bless you” under my new standards was a man who washed his hands after peeing in the Burger King restroom. I walked right up to him and said, “Bless you.” He hit the button the hand dryer and ignored me, but I knew I had done the Lord’s work.

In order to reach a larger group of potential saints and increase God’s reach, I moved my “bless you” operation exclusively to the subway. I started dressing like a priest to make it easier for God to recognize me as his trusty minion. Anybody I encountered on the subway that seemed good, I would bless. It was out of my purview to damn all the miscreants I met on the subway like the weird people squirming around on the floor, incessantly farting, or talking to themselves.

I would bless people who just sat there blankly staring or looking at their phones.

Then it happened.

Somebody wrote an article about me for “The Daily News.” She called me “the Blesser.” I was characterized as “a fake priest with a fake belief in God, who mocked truly religious people with his bogus willy-nilly blessings. Beware!”

And then I thought: the kid with a crutch in “Scrooge” had said “Bless us everyone.” It’s a low-standard blessing that nobody ever criticized. In fact, it made some people cry to see a boy who should’ve been embittered by his gimpy leg, offer his blessing to everyone—no exceptions.

I wrote a letter to the “Daly News” rebuking the author of the piece about me. My faith was stronger than ever. I believed I had redeemed myself and God had spoken to me.

I made a sign that said “I’ll bless you. $1.00.” I said “God bless you” as I headed for Times Square.

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.

Eulogia (eu-lo’-gi-a): Pronouncing a blessing for the goodness in a person.

I refused to say “God bless you” when I witnessed a sneeze. If I was alone with somebody, there was this awkward silence while the person who sneezed waited for me to bless them. I never did. I stopped blessing sneezes when I realized there was nothing about a sneeze to bless. It was a loud noise, sometimes accompanied by spraying mucous. Definitely not worthy of God’s blessing. So, I either remained silent or said “good one.”

I went to my girlfriend Delilah’s home for Thanksgiving Dinner. I didn’t know how religious they were, or I would’ve stayed away. There was a life-size cardboard cutout of Jesus on the cross leaning up against the end of the entryway hall. As I came through the front door, Delilah’s dad said “Yolalda hoolala lo loo loo balalaikaama Nam!” He was speaking in tongues. He put his hand on my forehead and I said “be bop a loola” and fell on the floor. Delilah’s father picked me up and said “We might like you boy.” I brushed myself off and went into the dining room and sat down next to Delilah. Her father said, “I’ll let you sit side by side, but I will not permit you to fornicate at the table, or touch each other. Hallelujah!” Delilah giggled and grabbed me under the table. I thought her dad would stab me with the carving knife if he caught on.

Then, there was a payer by Delilah’s Uncle Mick. The prayer was about 30 minutes long and spanned a lot of territory, from FOX News, to his car’s spark plugs, to the soft inexpensive toilet paper he had found at the supermarket, to Tik-Tok, to ham and pineapple pizza, and a myriad of other blessed things, ending with his zero-turn lawnmower. When we had all said “Amen,” Mick Sneezed,

Everybody but me said ”God bless you.” I just sat there silently as Delilah’s mother carried out the turkey. It was made to look like Mt. Sinai, with Moses receiving the Ten Commandments, surrounded by baby rutabagas decorated like golden calves with little marshmallow people dancing around them. I thought I was off the hook until Delilah’s fathers said “ You failed to offer God’s blessing to Uncle Mick—a righteous man. You have transgressed mightily. Accordingly, you may partake only of Brussels sprouts, like bitter herbs, the least savory of all the Thanksgiving fare.” Delilah squeezed my crotch under the table, so I stayed.

After dinner we discussed a Bible verse: Psalm 34:8 – “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!” Delilah’s father took a bite of pumpkin pie and said “Yea this piece of pie is anointed with eggs, vessels of life and perpetuation. Wherefore thou pumpkin is mixed with the spices giving it life—making it pumpkin pie. Amen.” A lot of people said a lot of things at dinner, but Delilah’s father was the craziest.

Delilah squeezed my crotch twice. That signaled urgency, so we left. Nobody noticed. They were discussing loving your neighbors. Delilah’s father had his arm around his neighbor Ms. Eden.

When we got to my house we watched a couple of episodes of Peroit and dealt with the urgency. When we were done, I called a cab for Delilah and she went home at 9:30.

This was the most bizarre day of my life.

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.