Category Archives: inopinatum

Inopinatum (in-o-pi-na’-tum): The expression of one’s inability to believe or conceive of something; a type of faux wondering. As such, this kind of paradox is much like aporia and functions much like a rhetorical question or erotema. [A paradox is] a statement that is self-contradictory on the surface, yet seems to evoke a truth nonetheless [can include oxymoron].

“I can’t believe you ate the whole thing.” I was mimicking an old AlkaSeltzer commercial that was popular at the time. Actually, I could believe it, but as a figure of speech I “couldn’t believe it.”

Eddie “Oink-Oink“ Malone had just eaten his entire birthday cake. He had blown out the candles after we sang, pulled out the candles, and began stuffing the two-layered chocolate cake into his face like he was feeding it into a chipper. As you can tell from his nickname, “Oink-Oink” had a problem.

He would eat uncooked pork roll right out of the cloth covering. Once, he carved a hole in a watermelon big enough for his head, put it on his head, and spun it around like he was making a smoothie. With the seeds and everything, he was unsuccessful, but that didn’t stop him. He sliced the watermelon up and ate it, and two more, like a normal person.

Once he filled a watering can with baked beans, took the sprinkler-end off and drank them down. It was insane to watch—he made his signature oinking sound as he swallowed the beans, and then started farting almost nonstop as he finished them off. It was “disgustingly beautiful” to witness, especially with the watering can gimmick she used to deliver the food to his face.

I think his greatest food feat may have been the use of an electric paint sprayer to deliver pea soup to his open mouth. All the kids in the neighborhood gathered in his basement to watch for twenty-five cents each. I introduced him. “The amazing Oink-Oink will consume the pea soup in this paint sprayer as I squirt it in his face from five feet away.” My aim wasn’t perfect, but we pulled it off. The audience cheered and clapped its hands. They chanted “More, more, more!”

The very next day we were ready for another performance. We filled a bucket with tapioca pudding. Oink-Oink stuck his head in the bucket. His head got stuck and he nearly drowned. I got the bucket off his head just in time and he choked up a stream of tapioca all over the floor. Our audience panicked and ran away. That was the end of it.

Oink-Oink was diagnosed with an eating disorder. By the time he was 18 he weighed 350lbs. He wrote a book “When I Die Bury Me In Lasagna” and toured the U.S. giving lectures on how to cope. He would often end a lecture by spraying his audience with hot pea soup.

He made millions of dollars and died of heart failure at the age of 49, leaving behind his wife Petunia, and his triplets, Ham, Pua, and Wilbur.

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.

Inopinatum (in-o-pi-na’-tum): The expression of one’s inability to believe or conceive of something; a type of faux wondering. As such, this kind of paradox is much like aporia and functions much like a rhetorical question or erotema. [A paradox is] a statement that is self-contradictory on the surface, yet seems to evoke a truth nonetheless [can include oxymoron].

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! You got a C+ on your biology assignment!” Anything I did that wasn’t a disgrace or a sign of my “feeble” intellect was met with my father’s expression of disbelief. It was his way of registering his judgment of my abilities—he believed it, but he said he didn’t.

I thought my biology teacher was a really hard grader. My biology project created a new life form—a new species of hamster. I called it “Giant Hamster,” I had bred a Dwarf Wallaby and my hamster Barbara. The Giant Hamster weighed about 4 kilos and could jump 15 feet. He had huge beaver-like teeth and ate two bowls of hamster pellets every day. I made a five- foot hamster wheel for him in metal shop at school. He loved to play on it. I named the Giant Hamster “Gorgo” after my favorite movie reptile monster. His fur was a beautiful shiny brown color. I had taught him three tricks: fetch, roll over, and play dead. He taught himself to balance a roll of toilet paper on his nose. He had two troublesome characteristics: farting loudly, and humping peoples’ legs. His farts sounded like gunshots and would send people diving for cover. He sounded like a semi-automatic rifle. I would warn people when we visited them, but it didn’t help. The worst was when he blew a burst on the subway. Compared to his rifle-fire farts, his leg humping was minor. I knew if I had his balls cut off that the humping would cease, but he wouldn’t be the same Gorgo. I made him a humping restraint from a bungee chord that kept him from mounting peoples’ legs in public. I bought him a mannequin and put it in my room. He would mount one of its legs two or three times per day. He favored the left leg.

My “Biology Project Show and Tell” was a disaster, but it earned me a C+, the highest grade I had ever gotten, but still, I thought I deserved a higher grade. I started out with Gorgo doing his tricks. He finished doing his tricks and I lifted the roll of toilet paper off his nose. The class started applauding. Then, he scurried under Miss Trumble’s desk. She yelled “Oh my God, get it off my leg.” I told her to just back up her chair and I would pull him off of her leg. The second she moved Gorgo started firing farts that sounded like a semi-automatic rifle.

It was total chaos. Then, the classroom door burst open. The leader of our school’s SWAT team told everybody to “Stay where you are and shut up.” As soon as the room went silent, Gorgo jumped up on Miss Trumble’s desk. All five members of the “Borly High School SWAT Team” aimed their weapons at Gorgo. I jumped between Gorgo and the SWAT team. “My Giant Hamster’s farts sound like gun fire, aside from leg humping, he’s harmless” I yelled. They lowered their guns. Peace was restored.

I admonished myself for forgetting to put Gorgo’s anti-humping restraint on him when I took him to school. I took the blame for everything that had happened. I didn’t tell my dad. Even with the catastrophe, I thought I deserved at least a B+.

Two nights later, Gorgo got out of his cage, ate a three-foot hole in my bedroom wall, and escaped. I think he went feral and stays away from people. I don’t miss him.

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.