Hysteron Proteron (his’-ter-on pro’-ter-on): Disorder of time. (What should be first, isn’t.)
I woke up wearing only my underpants on a bus driving in reverse on the New York State Thruway, going at least 70 mph. Everybody on the bus was in sartorial disarray. Nobody was naked, but I was the least clothed. The woman sitting next to me was wearing socks on her hands. The man walking up the aisle was wearing a necktie, boxer shorts, Birkenstocks, and knee-high black socks with birds embroidered on them. The bus driver was wearing a bus driver hat, underpants, a peace medallion, and flip flops. He seemed to be enjoying himself, driving us backwards to our doom. I looked out the window and saw that all the other traffic was going backwards, then instead of getting later, it was getting earlier. When it got to setting, the sun started rising. “This is so irritating” said the man across the isle wearing a top hat, red bikini briefs, and blue bedroom slippers. “Last week I was on my way to a funeral and was redressed from somber black to some kind of neon jogging shorts, a Taylor Ham advertising T-shirt, and hot-pink pumps. It was hard saying goodbye to Aunt Crystal in that get-up, but everybody else was dressed inappropriately, so I fit right in.”
There was only one person on the bus who looked normal—jeans and a t-shirt and Nike trainers. He had ear buds in his ears and was obviously listening to music, bobbing his head up a down to the beat. I said hello to him. He didn’t acknowledge me. He just kept bobbing his head and started tapping one of his feet. I started to get angry, so angry I pulled out his earbuds. A high-pitched sound came out of his ears. It was painful to listen to—the passengers were screaming and holding their ears. “You fool!” He yelled. I quickly stuck a Marlboro 27 in each of my ears, so the high-pitched sound wasn’t affecting me that much. I noticed there was an eye peering out of his ear. It was hazel and quite captivating. Ear buds boy stuck them back in his ears, covering the eyeball. He said, “Look, this isn’t my fault. It squirmed into my head through my Bluetooth earbuds. I wore them too much and it gave the creature an opening. It “integrated” with Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Burnin’ for You’ and infected my mind to the point of betraying Humanity by depriving them of their clothing autonomy and becoming dupes in the creature’s cause, not to mention her institution of “backwardness” in time and place. Right now, she is mocking me inside me head. She wants me to throw you out of the bus and kill you. Are you ready?”
I yelled “Screw you!” I hit him in the face as hard as I could and reached over the bus driver’s shoulder, turned off the bus’s ignition, and pulled out the keys, opened the door, and jumped out when the bus slowed down enough. As the bus rolled to a stop, I heard screaming and the passengers came running out of the bus normally dressed. Something big had happened to turn things around, including the bus which had somehow gotten turned in the right direction on the Thruway. I looked at the earbuds boy sliding down the bus’s steps. He looked like he was going to die. The eye looking out his ear looked cloudy—it had lost its charm. With his nose bleeding the life out of him, earbuds boy spoke with a woman’s voice: “I am the granddaughter of Circe. I use my musical stylings to waylay lovers of bad music on their wireless listening devices. Together we use my magic to induce people to dress badly and forget the difference between forward and backward. My grandmother turned men into goats and pigs. I turn them into fashion disasters going backwards through life. You have defeated me for now. I will return.”
After this fiasco, the FCC passed a law regarding wireless earbuds: they were not allowed to be worn more than one hour per day. Violators would be subject to a $1,000 fine and 3 years in prison. Also, people were cautioned to wear smart watches and pay attention to sunrise and sunset.
I moved to Florida. I had grown accustomed wearing only underpants and I hoped Florida’s warm climate would afford me the opportunity to wear them year-round. I was wrong. I was arrested. Now, I wear a Speedo banana hammock all he time,
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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