Medela (me-de’-la): When you can’t deny or defend friends’ faults and seek to heal them with good words.
You’re not funny. With all your comedy stylings the only thing that’s made me laugh is your ineptitude. You can’t even do a knock knock joke right. Like this one you recently told at a party: “A man with a kaleidoscope walks into a bar. Who’s there?” Somebody said: “A man with a kaleidoscope?” Everybody laughed at you. The was no knock knock. You should stop telling jokes.
There are so many other things that you’re good at. One thing’s for sure, you’re good at using your electric can opener! You can make a can rotate without spilling a drop! Same goes for pop tops. POW! Goes the soda can when you pull the ring. Same goes for sardines—I’ve seen you pop a sardine can with sardines packed in mustard without dripping it all over the kitchen counter like Joey does. He’s such a slob—he never wipes up his trail of spills. The cat ends up licking it up and puking in a corner of the living room.
Another thing: you’re good at walking. You go in a solid straight line, unless there are obstacles in your way, like your baby Buster playing on the floor, or a toy, or a pair of shoes, or an empty gin bottle—you go around them. You’ve only stumbled over Buster once, and that was at night. Remember? You forgot to put him in his crib when you passed out on the couch. When you got up to pee, you kicked him a across the living room. At least you didn’t step on him. That might’ve killed him. But you know, you learned a lesson from nearly killing Buster, and that’s really good.
But, do you know what you are really, really good at? Being a contentious pain in the ass. When was the last time you agreed with me about anything? You want to argue about the day of the week, the time of day, how old you really are. It is maddening, but it has made me a better attorney. When I point out that everything is contestable, the prosecution is visibly shaken. When the prosecution says “The defendant was seen exiting the liquor store waving a pistol with one hand and clutching a wad of cash and lotto tickets with the other,” I say “Everything is contestable. Try and prove it. I bet you can’t. Nah! Nah! I’m waiting. Cat got your tongue bumpy butt?” It never works, but it makes me feel tough and strong. Being in contempt of court is a badge of honor for me and a testament to the positive influence your craziness exerts on me. That brings me to your talking to yourself, or should I say to “Sir Dottlescone” your imaginary lord protector from the 15th century.
When you converse, your British accent is quite good. I don’t know about Sir Dottlescone, because I can’t hear him. But, I believe he frequently tells you to do naughty things like steal cars and stand naked in your bedroom window. Our cul-de-sac has been packed with hooting teenagers and neighbors have been standing on their sidewalks in awe for 2 weeks now. Thank God, Sir Dottlescone hasn’t told you to kill anybody. Although I did hear you say something about “the rude shelf stocker at Wegmans” and how he should be flayed. But your dramatic skills are admirable—the one-sided impromptu dialogues with nobody who is actually there, are amazing. It’s like a two-sided soliloquy.
Anyway, now you can see—you stink at comedy, but you’re great at other things. We’ll keep you off of your medication so you can continue to pursue those “other things” without missing a beat. Can you ask Sir Dottlescone where my credit card is?
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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