Acoloutha: The substitution of reciprocal words; that is, replacing one word with another whose meaning is close enough to the former that the former could, in its turn, be a substitute for the latter. This term is best understood in relationship to its opposite, anacolutha.
My car was the automobile of the year. It had every possible option from leather seats to a triple tone pant job—black, gray and red. It had a chrome bowl of ice cream for a hood ornament and a mink dashboard. The doors had no handle. Instead, you whistled “Oh Susana” and they popped open. There was a bar in the back seat, and the seat vibrated when you pushed a button on the arm rest. The engine was 600HP—top speed 260MPH. The front seats folded into a queen-sized bed. There were concealed storage compartments under the floor. I kept them full of $100 bills. I used the money for gas, food, and motels when I was traveling around America and going to state fairs in the summer and ski resorts in the winter. By the way, my car had all-wheel drive. I could drive at a 90-degree angle with no trouble. I was famous for climbing Niagara Fall’s and driving down-river to Buffalo. Oh, I almost forgot! My car’s horn had tree settings: machine gun fire, Ricola Alphorn, and cheering football fans.
One day I was cruising down the wide open highway at 240 MPH. The landscape was a blur and I was listening to Ozzie’s “Crazy Train.” Suddenly, another car passed me like a bat out of hell—maybe it was going 300MPH. All I saw was it was red and had towering tail fins. I knew I would never catch him, so I kept cruising at 240. Then I saw the car pulled over on the road shoulder ahead. The driver was standing by it waving at me. The driver was wearing a bathrobe and combat boots and was holding a bottle of kefir, and, by the way, the driver was a woman. I said “Hi” and she splashed me in the face with kefir. It was peach flavored and quite tasty.
She asked me where I was headed. I told her I wasn’t sure—maybe Ft. Collins. She laughed and told me nothing much was going on there and that I should try Las Vegas. She apologized for splashing me with kefir. I told her it wasn’t a problem. She asked me if I wanted to drive in tandem with her to Vegas. I agreed and we jumped in our cars, started them up and took off. I led the way because my car was slower than hers. We had a great time in Vegas! We saw Wayne Newton 15 times and learned “Danke Schoen” by heart. We saw Cher also. She does not look a day over 70.
It came time to part ways. Her name was Buffy, and I was falling in love with her. I asked her if she wanted to take another tandem ride to New Orleans. She said “Sure honey, let’s go.” Off we went. I was hoping.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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