Diasyrmus (di’-a-syrm-os): Rejecting an argument through ridiculous comparison.
“Your point is like a dull rubber knife.“ That was a pretty good one. I said it about the student’s argument in front of the whole class. I said ”I’m calling your parents this afternoon and telling them to quit wasting their money on your tuition.” That was one of my favorite put-downs. I make at least three students cry per semester with it and other insults. I said “What’s the matter Betsy Wetsy? Got pink eye?” She was crying! I handed her a tissue. I met my quota for the semester. But, I was going to go after a fourth victim.
It was Percy. He sat in the front row. He wore glasses so thick that his eyes looked like cucumber slices with peppercorns stuck in their centers. He wore blue Birkenstocks and T-shirts with stupid things on them. Today’s stupid t-shirt had a picture of Donald Duck that said “Duck!”
I said: “Your essay is titled ‘Karl Marx: Fiend?’ When I finished reading it it was clear to me that you’re the fiend. What you wrote about was more like Carl Skidmarx—the Swiss pervert who travelled around Europe leaving indelible skid marks on hotel bedroom sheets.” I was stretching it. I was making it up, but I was having trouble coming up with something any better. Nevertheless, I was upsetting him. He was trembling and ripping up his paper. I smiled and said, “The trashcan’s over there, lamo.”
He threw his shredded paper on the floor and stood up with his fists clenched. He picked up his laptop and came toward me holding it menacingly. I pulled open my desk drawer and fished out the little .25 auto that I kept there specifically for these kinds of episodes. I jacked a round into the chamber and it jammed! So much for self defense. The student said “I am President of ‘Students Opposed to Harsh Criticism’ and we are at war with people like you!” He hit me across the face with his laptop. I went down and he hit me again. I had a concussion, a bloody nose, and a black eye. One of the students called 911 and Campus Safety showed up. They tasered Percy, handcuffed him, and took him to the police station.
Even though I was beat up and nearly killed, I was cited for keeping a loaded handgun in my desk. I was put on administrative leave for the rest of the semester. My replacement was the Queen of Namby Pamby. Everybody got at least a B+ from her along with a nearly criminal confidence in their writing abilities. Her lack of rigor infuriated me. I stole her briefcase and burned it in my fireplace. It smelled like pot.
I was the chief suspect for the theft of her briefcase. The police searched my house and found the briefcase’s ashes in my fireplace. I was arrested for theft and destruction of property. I received a suspended 6-month sentence and was fined $500.00. On the other hand, for nearly killing me, Percy was released uncharged—it was determined that his violent outburst was my fault.
The whole thing was humiliating, but Ms. B+ Namby- Pamby has forgiven me and says she “appreciates” my “muscular prodding, and straight hard style of inserting my thoughts into my students.” I didn’t know how to respond, but it seemed that she was making some kind of a romantic overture.
So, I asked her out.
We went to Billy’s Bar. There was Percy standing there. We made eye contact and greeted each other. He was the last person in the world who I wanted to see. He walked up to my date and put his arm around her waist. She said, “Oh Percy! Not here. Not now.”
I flipped out and left the bar. She ran after me yelling: “Wait! We can do it later at my apartment. I have to take care of Percy first, but I promise you’re second in line!” I said to her “What you’re saying sounds like a toilet flushing with a broken float.” Ah—I was getting back my insult mojo after weeks of brooding in my apartment on administrative leave. “What made you dress like a diseased kidney tonight?” I asked sarcastically. Then, I said “You smell like a donkey’s ass.”
That did it. She picked up a rock and threw it at me. It hit me in the forehead. I drew my .25 auto and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She yelled “Go ahead and shoot me!” I told her I couldn’t because the gun was jammed. Then, she asked for a ride home.
I drove her home and then went to the Emergency Room and got 25 stitches in my forehead. I drove home and watched my idol Don Rickles on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. I loved it when he called people “hockey pucks.”
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu
Daily Trope is available in an early edition 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.
The Daily Trope 