Monthly Archives: April 2023

Antiprosopopoeia

Posted on April 5, 2023 | Leave a comment

Antiprosopopoeia (an-ti-pro-so-po-pe’-i-a): The representation of persons [or other animate beings] as inanimate objects. This inversion of prosopopoeia or personification can simply be the use of a metaphor to depict or describe a person [or other animate being].

Me: Hey Rocky! Did you get your nickname from what your head is filled with? Rocks? Ha ha! I think a better nickname for you would be Itch. You spend half your time scratching and pulling on the crotch of your pants. It is one of the weirdest habits I’ve ever seen & I’ve seen a few. Like the guy who constantly combs d his pubes with a tiny nit rake. Or the guy who had to put whipped cream on his armpits before he could go to the movies. Or the woman who drank her coffee from an enema bulb. Finally, I knew a guy who always wore three pairs of underpants.

Every one of these behaviors is a habit, and as the cliche says, “Habits can be broken.” Think of your butt sniffing dog. You broke him of the habit by punching him in the nose whenever he tried a sniff.

Your habit can broken too.

You: Really? I’ve tried everything—wearing mittens, taping it up with duct tape, wearing a pre-formed plaster cast on my crotch. Nothing works. It is like my hands have a mind of their own—they’ve torn off the mittens, they tore off the duct tape, they pounded the plaster cast until it broke. Nothing works! I am doomed to be known as “Charlie Crotch Itch.”

Me: I can help you. There are two paths: 1. You can have your hands amputated, or, you can try some of my “Hands Off!” An organic chemical compound that dulls your desire to grab, pull, and scratch. It was developed by Vikings who had unusually sensitive skin. They needed to take it so they could successfully raid their neighbors. Without it, they would stand on the battlefield itching and scratching and get whacked to death by a walrus-tusk wielding enemy.

You: Wow that’s incredible. I’d like to try some “Hands Off!”

Me: Ok. I have a bottle right here for $200.00. I’ll take a check. Take 10 in the morning, every morning, and you’re all set. The bottle has 30 tablets, so I’ll set you up with automatic refill. Give me your credit card information so I can process your recurring order.

You: Ok. This is great.

Postscript

He took the pills that night, before bed—not in the morning as directed. His penis grew four feet and strangled him. It was the first recorded instance of Peniscide. The person selling the pills was arrested, but was released to work at a chemical warfare facility in Maryland for the US Army. It is rumored he is working on a gas-emitting “Borsht Bomb” that will be deployed in Ukrainian restaurants frequented by Russian soldiers in occupied areas.

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text added by Georgia’s.

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Antirrhesis

Posted on April 4, 2023 | Leave a comment

Antirrhesis (an-tir-rhee’-sis): Rejecting reprehensively the opinion or authority of someone.

Me: “I gotta tell you, you’re off your nut.” I said “Eating a book will not make you smarter. It will make sick. This is the most asinine idea you ever came up with. Eating Plato’s Meno will not make you one bit wiser, even if you only eat a little bit— maybe a half-page per week. Read it, don’t eat it, for God’s sake!”

You: “Lookit asshole—you are the idiot here. Stop dictating my life’s course with your inflexible “down to earth” bullshit. You are, once again, rejecting something you could benefit from just because of your life in the Nerdy Sphere, where everything is careful-careful, tiptoeing around truth like it is a piece of dog crap on your carpet. Wake up num-nuts, smell the coffee and roses, and other things that are reminders of life’s joys. Instead, you’re going around like you’re sniffing wet dogs and cans of ‘4,000 Dead Fish Heads’ cat food.

I learned about book eating on the internet: ‘Swallow the Truth.’ There was a picture of the bearded Swami Litterati sitting in a red Cadillac convertible on a tropical beach. The website explained the benefits of ingesting books—how they would literally be digested by your body, and eventually your brain without having to put in the effort of reading. ‘Swallow the Truth’ has a cookbook for sale for $15.00. I purchased one. It shows how you can include book pages in a variety of dishes—making them really easy to swallow. My favorite is ‘Paperback Pizza.’

I have been eating Plato’s dialogues for the past year and I’m almost done. I’m still waiting for the ‘message’ to come through, but I have learned something very deep: Having faith in something that has no discernible affect on your life, is the faithfullest faith you could ever have, and if faith is all you need, nothing else matters—just faith with no return—with a foundation in futility. So, as I eat the dialogues to no effect, there is a lesson: futility is the pinnacle of human experience. Living life with no expectations of a return for your efforts will set you free. So, now I’m going to eat a page out of Plato’s Gorgias. I’ve moistened it and sprinkled it with powdered sugar to improve its taste. Here goes!”

Me: To impress me, he wadded up the page and stuffed it in his mouth and tried to swallow it whole without chewing. He started choking. I gave him the Heimlich Maneuver. I tugged and lifted and hugged and hugged. He was going limp and turning colors. I reached in his mouth to fish out the paper wad and he bit me. The ambulance arrived. The EMT guy had a thing like a drain snake with tweezers on the end. She shoved it down my friend’s throat, twisted it, and pulled out the paper wad. He took a big breath. My friend was going to live!

I went to see him at the hospital and he blamed me for what had happened. I told him to go fu*k himself and left, slowly wadding up a quarter-page of Heidegger’s Being and Time. I was sorely tempted to pop it into my mouth. But instead, I threw it on the floor and crushed it with my boot.

Definition courtesy of Silva Rhetoricae (rhetoric.byu.edu)

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.

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Antisagoge

Posted on April 3, 2023 | Leave a comment

Antisagoge (an-tis-a-go’-gee): 1. Making a concession before making one’s point (=paromologia); 2. Using a hypothetical situation or a precept to illustrate antithetical alternative consequences, typically promises of reward and punishment.

Ok, it’s true, the swimming pool has turned into swamp. But more importantly, it has become a local attraction since my friend Dr. Preedle accidentally discovered a heretofore undiscovered organism chuffing around the deep end. Once people found out about it, they came flocking around to see the amazing Preedle-Paddle-Rectus. The fence around the pool is working to stem the flow of curiosity seekers. Since started charging admission, we’ve made $500! The hats, key chains, t-shirts, and travel mugs are doing well too. We’ve named the organism “Bloppy” after his gooey exterior. We don’t have to feed him or do anything except make sure the pool is full of algae-laden dirty water. Bloppy has beautiful blue “eyes” (we’re not sure they are actually eyes—Dr. Preedle was working on this). Whenever people look into Bloppy’s eyes their bodies slump a little and they seem to find peace. I have experienced it a couple of times and I never felt better in my life. This is another selling point—we call it “Slimelightenment.” Bloppy seemed to enjoy making people whole. And he could smile, with his human-like lips.

He was as big as a watermelon. He was transparent—you could see his internal organs. He didn’t seem to have a heart, and that did not bother us because he was alive. As far as the other organs went, we were clueless. He had what looked like tentacles on his rear that propelled him around the pool very fast when he moved them. Also, almost miraculously, he would swim to me when I called—he had learned his name.

Then one morning I went outside to say hello to Bloppy. Dr. Preedle’s white lab coat was floating in the pool. I looked all for him—the University, the “Mean Beans” coffee shop, and few other places he frequented. I went back home and sat down by the pool, making sure the “Closed” signs were up. Bloppy came swimming over and I looked in his eyes. My anguish over Dr. Preedle melted away. All of a sudden Dr. Preedle’s hand emerged from below the water. Bloppy squeaked. “Uh-oh” I thought.

I was making so much money, I could not risk losing Bloppy and closing everything down. I pulled what was left of Dr. Preedle out of the pool, dragged his remains to the garden, and buried him. What was I going to do? I started bringing homeless people home under the pretext of a good meal and a swim in my pool. I would push them in the pool and Blobby would feed on them. There were always leftovers I had to dispose of. I had filled my garden with bodies, so I started driving them around in my car, and shoving them out in mall, school, and church parking lots.

I became the most notorious serial killer ever, even though nobody knew it was me. “I” was known as the “Parking Lot Killer.” I knew they would catch me eventually. All the parking lots were under observation, and some smart detective would eventually make the connection between the fact that all of the bodies were wet, and my famous swimming pool Bloppy concession. But I was stuck and nobody put two and two together yet, and I vowed to stay in business until they do. Besides, the homeless population is going down. Most people think that’s a good thing and so does Bloppy, who has put on weight and looks really healthy.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

A paper version The Daily Trope is available from Amazon under the title The Book of Tropes.

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Antistasis

Posted on April 2, 2023 | Leave a comment

Antistasis (an-ti’-sta-sis): The repetition of a word in a contrary sense. Often, simply synonymous with antanaclasis.

I thought I had cracked the woodchuck code by shifting to another animal with “wood” in its name. I new I would be beaten down by the woodchuck aficionados, and probably banned for life from “World Punsters” who want to preserve ancient puns and sayings like jam—like a jam on the road to change. What they get is progress toward no progress. When I unveiled my new “wood” question, woven into a pun at the annual meeting in Amsterdam, the audience threw mayonnaise covered french fries, and whole conical paper containers, at me like they had planned it ahead of my scheduled presentation. Soaked in mayonnaise, and accompanied by loud boos, I lifted my bullhorn and read: “How much wood could a Woodpecker peck, when a woodpecker pecks wood.” A wooden shoe went flying past my head. The delegation from Italy threw a headless woodpecker onto the stage. The Japanese delegation threw exploding origami woodpeckers. The Americans threw Woodpecker puppets with nails driven into their heads. There were hundreds of countries represented, but suffice it to say, there was hostility beaming from every corner. I was terrified. Then, somebody in a giant woodpecker suit came bursting through the entrance pushing a shopping cart.

“Get out of the way scum!” the giant woodpecker yelled, scaring the cowardly audience. It made it to the stage and told me to get into the shopping cart. People yelled obscenities as as we pushed our way to the exit. We ran to the University of Amsterdam where I had lectured 10 year before. The woodpecker took off its head. It was the girl who had called me a fascist for wearing a black shirt with my suit when I had lectured there. She had aged, but she was just as cute now as she was then. I was covered in mayonnaise, or I would’ve given her a big hug. As a joke, she started licking the mayonnaise off my face. We were both laughing, and things got serious. So serious, in fact, that I have made Amsterdam my home. I have continued my literary endeavors, and Sanna (the woodpecker) supports me. Currently, I’ve started revising aphorisms to align them more accurately with life’s 21st century vagaries. I’m working on “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.” My latest revision is “When the going gets tough, get going out of there.” I am making my revised sayings into wall hangings painted onto small pizza pans. I think they have great potential for the kind of moral realignment that world desperately needs.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

Paperback and Kindle editions of The Daily Trope are available on Amazon under the title The Book of Tropes.

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Antisthecon

Posted on April 1, 2023 | Leave a comment

Antisthecon (an-tis’-the-con): Substitution of one sound, syllable, or letter for another within a word. A kind of metaplasm: the general term for changes to word spelling.

I had a “cheeseborer” for lunch. I called it that because it bored right through me. It was like a cheese and beef flash flood. When I ate one, I made sure to sit by the restroom door.

Despite the trouble they gave me, I ate them anyway. Their taste was irresistible. People who ate at Stamper’s would fight over the tables by the restroom door, knowing they were going to have a torrential emergency soon after finishing their BM Burger (what I called the Cheeseborer). I started thinking about other foods where taste, not a quick poop, was the incentive for eating it, regardless of corollary consequences. The only thing I could think of was confections. Committing tubby-cide by sitting on the couch eating Little Debbie cakes all day, every day. There are probably hundreds of other examples, but what is so compelling about the BM Burger, given the risk involved—the risk of crapping all over yourself in a public place?

Most people lead a pretty hum-drum existence. Seizing on the BM-Burger’s excellent flavor as an excuse, they eat one, knowing they will experience the thrill of running to the restroom—with preliminary gas leaking from their butt, and pulling down their pants in a primal struggle, with the image of not making it pressing on every part of their body, weighing it down with terror, terror that is an incentive to pump the legs and cry out with animal sounds upon reaching the toilet intact. In one melodious whoosh, it’s over. It’s like scoring a goal or throwing everything you’ve got in a wishing well. You have to flush three times to make it all go away and prepare the toilet for the next person.

Stamper’s is at the leading edge of the emergent sport of Toilet Dashing. It is mainly a man’s sport, but some women are involved too. I think it’s just another fad like Rubic’s Cube or bell bottom pants. On the other hand, it could be a matter of mass psychosis like the dancing mania that swept across Europe from the 14th to the 17th centuries. If it takes on the scale of dancing mania, Toilet Dashing could spell the end of civilization as we know it with towns and cities awash in excrement and people hobbling around with their pant half down.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

Paperback and Kindle editions of The Daily Trope are available on Amazon under the title The Book of Tropes

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