Alleotheta (al-le-o-the’-ta): Substitution of one case, gender, mood, number, tense, or person for another. Synonymous with enallage. [Some rhetoricians claim that alleotheta is a] general category that includes antiptosis [(a type of enallage in which one grammatical case is substituted for another)] and all forms of enallage [(the substitution of grammatically different but semantically equivalent constructions)].
She opened up to his prodding. It was their wedding night and the time was right for doing so. If the truth was not made available on this night, it would be too late. She had told him many lies as she seduced him. Now it was time to share her spleen with him.
Now, a little tired out, Timmy lay there with a silly little smile on his face, partially from the MD-40 and partially from what they were about to do. She said “Wait! There is much I must tell you before we seal the deal.” He said, “Go on my dear. What could possibly go wrong? We are in love!”
I thought to myself “Everything could go wrong!” as I prepared to tell all. I told Timmy “I am not related to George Washington. The wooden teeth were not my ancestor’s idea. Martha came up with the idea when she was chopping parsley. I am just from a regular family residing in Maine who digs clams and sells lobster rolls by the side of the road. It’s called “Good Time Rolls.” They make a modest income during the summer months, and nothing at all during the winter. My sister Sally helps out by walking around the harbor making friends. Father is addicted to Indian Pudding. To stem his urge, he drinks molasses from a hot water bottle he keeps disguised under their bed. It is pitiful to see him in the morning with his lips stained brown and nearly stuck together. Sometimes I take a swig of molasses so he does not feel alone. When it touches my lip I know I could be cursed with the same addiction, inherited from my father. Oh Timmy, is this too horrible to bear?” “Far from it my dear! I find it intriguing and look forward to meeting your family, especially your sister Sally!”
Now it was time for the big one, “Timmy, I made love to 860 men before I met you. I never took any money, just baubles. I have a chest full of wedding rings, signet rings and pocket watches. They are my dowry—yours to do with what you will. I’ve only cheated on you 5 or 6 times. It was probably a mistake, but I couldn’t help myself. The gold watch and rings overpowered my trepidations.”
Timmy looked at the floor and then up at Nell with a beaming smile. “My mother was a whore! My father was addicted to Camembert cheese! We are one and the same, more or less. We will revel together eating Camembert, lettuce, bacon, and tomato sandwiches with Indian Pudding for desert. Think of it Nell!”
Nell thought of it. She needed a shot of molasses. but, she needed to still her longing for the sweet gooey liquid. Already, Timmy was on the phone setting up a “meeting” with her sister. She didn’t count on this, but it was no worse than anything she had ever done.
After he got off his phone, Timmy proposed they move to Maine. She agreed. After their wedding night, they packed their van and headed north. They pulled in at a rest stop in Massachusetts and Nell marched into the men’s room, sat down on a toilet and yelled “Next!” Meanwhile, Timmy was “taking a ride” in the van in the parking lot with a Swedish college student who was touring the US.
When they were through with the rest stop, and got in the van and merged onto the Mass Pike, they both burst out laughing.
POSTSCRIPT
Good marriages are built on firm foundations. Timmy’s and Nell’s was built on their shared inability to control their impulses. This is not a firm foundation. They agreed to have their marriage annulled but live together and share their exploits on a blog called “Fornication Nation” where they enjoy themselves in rest stops and parking lots across America. Clearly, this is a despicable way to live. At some point all of Nell’s baubles will be sold and the “fun” will be over. Timmy told me he’ll get a job in a parking garage. Nell wants to work at a rest stop in California. But, the worst is yet to be known,
Timmy and Nell contracted the same venereal disease, most likely from each other. The disease is extremely virulent and there is no cure. It is fatal.
POST-POSTSCRPT
Tmmy is lying in bed covered with pustules the size of croquet balls. His eyebrows have fallen out. His lips are dripping pus and his urinary tract feels like it is paved with shards of glass. His feet have fallen off, one of his eyes has exploded., and he has grown sizable breasts. Nell is marginally better. She is covered with small pustules that won’t stop itching. Her fingernails have fallen off and her legs won’t stop twitching. Her hair has fallen out and it has been replaced by a giant purple boil that looks like a watch cap pulled onto her head. Her teeth have fallen out and there is a nearly constant flood of foul-smelling ear wax pouring from her ears and running down her chest.
There is a lesson here somewhere. It isn’t “trust your lust.” I am Timmy and Nell’s son. They died disgusting deaths. They were disgusting people. I don’t love them. If you pity them, you are mentally ill.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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