The Bloating Crumbs of Rhetoric

Swollen with rhetoric What is it about rhetorical questions? They seem so innocuous on the surface, but after holding them underwater for a few minutes they stop their playful thrashing and become sullen, like a two-year-old.

Taken out of context, such questions hold very little water, like dehydrated fish with no pensions to tide them over until the next wave of liquid assets arrives by land, by sea, or by the way outlined in section seven, paragraph three of the Uniform Code.

While codifying mere uniformity is hardly a solution in itself, applying a second layer of oil carries risks that extend beyond those generally considered appropriate when seafood is at stake. Certainly, beef is a different animal altogether, though the sum of its parts is in many ways equal to the whole, lock, stock, and barrel.

Of course, unlocking the powder keg won't keep it from rolling into the water during rough seas, but isn't it just like a two-year-old to use "no" as a hedge against inflation? Like your father's post-holiday belly, crumbs are easily brushed aside, but that won't keep them from accumulating under the table.



  1. Why do extended metaphors usually fall down like drunks after a liquid lunch? Why?

  2. Isn't it for much the same reason that brave Achilles fell into Ulysses' drink?