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You can tell that a writer is trying to hide something from you when you run into one of those "Full disclosure" parentheticals in the middle of an article. Example: "Full disclosure: My views on the monetary roots of inflation have been tempered since supermodel Heidi Klum smiled at me in line at an ATM in New York."

The trick to the "full disclosure" rhetorical device is to reveal too much and too little at the same time. Parsing the subtext of the above disclosure, one can translate it thusly: "Full disclosure: My knowledge of the American banking system is limited to the balance on my ATM slip, and the last time a woman came on to me was when Paula Ferguson handed me a note in 8th grade that said 'I think you're a dreamboat.'"

The full disclosure/non-disclosure trick is common in financial advice columns. "Full disclosure," the stock market analyst writes. "I hold shares of Acme Techinfotronicsmatrix in my IRA." What he doesn't tell you is that he's the love child of the CEO and Wanda Turner, a woman who temped at the company 35 years ago, and is looking to dump the stock like a hot rock as soon as suckers like you buy it.

The political "full disclosure" is usually intended to puff up the credentials of the writer as someone who is so close to the white-hot blast furnace of Washington power that his plastic "Fred Thompson '08" water bottle melted. E.g.-"Full disclosure: While I was not actually alive at the time of the 1945 Yalta summit, my ideas have generally been credited as the inspiration for Winston Churchill's 'Iron Curtain' speech and the theme song of The Pinky Lee Show."

Scientific "Full disclosures" are often little more than attempts to intimidate potential critics of the writer's views. "Full disclosure," writes a proponent of the controversial "cold fusion" theory - "I am the spawn of shape-shifting mud vipers from the planet Glzorp, who have been cross-bred with blood-sucking humanoids. So watch it."

Once you understand the sinister intent behind this highly deceptive device, you'll be better prepared the next time you bump up against the left parentheses of a "Full disclosure" scam to plumb the author's hidden agenda.

Full disclosure: Web "Cookies" have been implanted on your computer while you read this article, and I have applied for a Home Depot credit card in your name.

- Con Chapman

Con Chapman is a Boston-area writer whose works include The Year of the Gerbil, a history of the 1978 Yankees-Red Sox pennant race, 10 published plays and two novels, Making Partner and CannaCorn (Joshua Tree Publishing). His articles and humor have appeared in magazines and newspapers including The Atlantic Monthly, The Boston Globe and The Christian Science Monitor.