Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.
Time was flying, but I wasn’t having a good time. When time flies, it sounds like flies buzzing over a carcass. Well, I guess I can’t actually hear it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a sound. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have a sound—that I didn’t sound off all the time. I have a problem with saying out loud what I’m thinking—mostly with strangers. Yesterday I crossed paths a woman walking her dog. I yelled “That’s the ugliest goddamn mutt I’ve ever seen. Where did you get it? The ugly puppy mill somewhere outside of hell.” That earned me a “mean pervert” in return. That’s better than I’ve done other times. One time, when I was 10, I told my mother she looked like a whore. Her “boyfriend” held me over the edge of the balcony five stories up until I told her I was sorry. When I got older, I found out my mom was actually a whore and took care of most of the men in our neighborhood. She made a ton of money, so we never talked about it after my outburst.
When I was 17 I was walking down the street and saw my neighbor’s wife Mrs. Peloni bent over working on the flower bed in front of her house. I said: “Hey babes. Nice cheeks. Want to get a room at the motel.” She yelled to her husband: “Herb, it’s that crazy little bastard from down the street again!” Herb came out the front door holding a newspaper which he rolled up and beat me over the head with after he pushed me to the ground. I was starting to see stars when he let up and kicked me and told me if he ever saw my “perverted ass” within 100 yards of his home again, he would call the police and have me arrested.
I figured I had some kind of diagnosable illness. I went to the doctor, and yes, I have a disease: Blurto’s Syndrome. It is named after the 18th century priest, Father Judas Blurto. He was banned from preaching after he told his congregation that they were “A boring herd of sinful cheap-ass flesh bags with no hope for salvation.” This is something 99% of clergy believe, but never say out loud because they are able to keep their mouths shut.
There are only two known cures for Blurto’s. The first is to have your tongue cut out. The procedure is not covered by insurance because Blurto’s is not recognized by the AMA or the FDA. So, people who want their tongue excised have to be incredibly rich, or willing to go Juarez, Mexico, where the amputations are performed in delicatessens and butcher shops for $1000.00. The operation takes months to heal and patients often die from complications due to unsterile meat cleavers and butchers knives.
The preferred method of managing Blurto’s is wearing a gag—a silicone ball gag. Normally used in adult bondage activities, the ball gag is a perfect remedy for Blurto’s. It is light weight and removeable and effectively garbles your speech without removing your tongue. Also, if you feel like letting your Blurto’s lose, you can do it, although it isn’t recommended that you do so.
I wear my bondage ball in public. I wear a t-shirt that says “I have Blurto’s.” I also carry pamphlets explaining what Blurto’s is.
I met a woman in the grocery store dressed in black leather. She said: “Well, you look like a worthless little wimp. How’d you like to come hang out in my dungeon?” I shook my head “No.” She slapped me in the face and said “Move it goat butt. You always answer ‘Yes’ to Madame Spanky.” I moved it. I can’t begin to describe what we did, but when I took off my ball gag and went full Blurto, things went insane.
I’m living in the dungeon now. I have my own leather suit, leather carpet, leather-covered coffee mug, and leather sheets on my bed. Madame Spanky keeps me in line, disciplining me when I’m bad, which is all the time.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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