Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.
I flew to the rooftop, landed softly, and screeched like a duck being strangled. It was a rather unpleasant sound, but it alerted the babes that I was back in town. I had migrated in from Florida and was looking forward to a good time in Central New York, just north of Utica.
The babes called back to me in a chorus of wantonness, like 500 Eves calling to Adam in the Garden of Eden. I went to my lair-nest and and transformed into a human self. I had 100s of human templates I could employ. I always chose Richard Nixon on my first night out. North of Utica is staunchly Republican and Nixon was considered bold and sexy with a wry sense humor. I was a 27-year-old Nixon—he could have all the action he wanted, as often as he wanted it.
I was one of three transformer birds left in the world. Although were were 99.9% immortal, we could be killed by a pencil stuck in our right ear. The other two transformer bids lived far away—one in Peru and one in Australia. They did well and weren’t under threat. In Peru and Australia, men enjoyed sharing their wives and girlfriends and didn’t mind the transformer bird’s intrusion into their lives. Not so in Central New York. I knew the men had heard my call, and the fevered response, and would be hunting for me. As young Richard Nixon, the men wouldn’t recognize me anyway. There were about 100 babes lined up at my nest. I had the power to make my nest disappear, along with me, by clapping my hand twice. It was 7.00 am when I came to the last babe in line. She had told me she had voted Republican since she was 18 and she had been “screwed every time, and was disappointed.” I nodded. She said, “But this time I know I won’t be disappointed! Take me up to your nest Dick!” I couldn’t’t ask for a better way to end the night. I was back in Central New York doing what I was born to do! The best thing was that the babes forgot what they had done about fifteen minutes after they did it! So, they came back night after night until I flew back to Florida in October.
This week I was going out as a young Mick Jagger. He is the human most like a transformer bird. After that, I was Benny Hill. I kept going until October 15th and then headed for Key West, and became a young Ernest Hemingway. Nobody Recognized me and I spent my winter in peace, resting up with a of couple cats.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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