Monthly Archives: May 2025

Pysma

Posted on May 6, 2025 | Leave a comment

Pysma (pys’-ma): The asking of multiple questions successively (which would together require a complex reply). A rhetorical use of the question.

If there was only one direction to go, which way would you go? Would you go right? Left? Straight? Up? Down? Or, would you just stand there, frustrated? Maybe you’d sit down and start crying. Maybe you’d just turn around and go back to where you came from—back to your little tent where you left your girlfriend sleeping, hoping to escape from her once and for all.

Your relationship has been a four-season camping trip. You have enough camping gear to open your own North Face. You have enough fleece hoodies to dress a herd of sheep. You try and wear five at a time to get your money’s worth, but you end up shedding them, leaving a trail for scavengers to follow, fighting over your discarded hoodies. It was sickening to watch—the pushing, the shoving, the cursing: these people were deeply disturbed. What was worse, they were my family. My big brother Gil always won the fight. He was 6’4” and wouldn’t hesitate to punch my mother, kick my father in the testicles, and hit my little sister in the face with a Pondorosa Pinecone—big as a shoebox with little pointy things all over it. Ouch! Gil tried to light my sister on fire one time, but she wouldn’t burn. Her clothing was fireproof—a Girl Scout uniform, and Gil didn’t have any petroleum products to get it going. That’s when he grabbed a pine cone and let her have it in the face.

My girlfriend woke up and was screaming “There’s a scorpion on my boob,” Trying to make light of it, I asked her which boob. She became furious and came running out of the tent. The scorpion fell off her boob and she calmed down. The scorpion jumped on my leg and skittered into my shorts. It tickled, but I was doomed. There was no way I could get the scorpion out of my shorts without it stinging me.

Then, Gil showed up. He grabbed the can of camp stove fuel and doused my shorts. He flicked his BIC and was about to set me on fire when the scorpion ran down my leg, apparently repelled by the camp stove fuel. I tore of my shorts and threw them on the ground. Gil yelled “Fire in the hole!” and torched them.

I had brought 22 pairs of shorts for camping. Now, I had to decide which pair to wear. I settled on the “Trail God” shorts. The seat of the shorts was made of Kevlar, in case some yahoos dragged you around in the woods before tying you to a tree and dangling a coral snake in front of your face.

The shorts have 19 numbered pockets and an APP for inventorying what’s in the pockets, by the numbers. It is unbelievably convenient, The APP displays a map of your pants on your cellphone. It’s amazing. But best of all is the “Hiker’s Safe.” It’s a keypad-operated safe on the inside of the shorts. You can safely store your valuables on the trail. It is made out of aircraft grade titanium—light weight and indestructible. I carry my credit cards and my passport in my “Hiker’s Safe” and I’ve only been robbed twice. Most hikers have been robbed 10-12 times. So, my “Hiker’s Safe” has put me ahead of the curve.

So, my family had shown up at the campsite and they were waiting for me to sprinkle the ground with unused and unwanted items to fight over. I had not thought about what to chuck, and they were looking impatient. I had to grab something fast. I grabbed a spatula from inside the tent and threw it on the ground. They looked at each other nonchalantly, and then, dove on the spatula. Gil came out of the melee holding the spatula and waving it around his head. I told them all to go home and they left mumbling.

My girlfriend and I resumed our campout. I was going to make bacon, but realized in my haste, I had given my only spatula to Gil. How stupid of me. I needed to replenish my spatula supply as soon we got home. Hello Amazon!

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

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

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Ratiocinatio

Posted on May 5, 2025 | Leave a comment

Ratiocinatio (ra’-ti-o-cin-a’-ti-o): Reasoning (typically with oneself) by asking questions. Sometimes equivalent to anthypophora. More specifically, ratiocinatio can mean making statements, then asking the reason (ratio) for such an affirmation, then answering oneself. In this latter sense ratiocinatiois closely related to aetiologia. [As a questioning strategy, it is also related to erotima {the general term for a rhetorical question}.]

There is a reason for everything. Think about it. What does it mean to say “This had to have happened for a reason”? This is often said when everybody is mystified about why something happened, as if saying “it must have happened for a reason” absolves people from looking for the reason. But, when they realize it did actually happen for a reason, they want to know what the reason is. They know they can’t do it alone. That’s when they turn to me “Cam” (short for “Camshaft”) Vontell, Private Detective: “The Truth Hunter.”

I make it clear to my clients that I have magical powers, and no matter how far-fetched it may seem to be, the results of my detecting are unerring. I suffered from acute paranoia for five years, living among a group of paranoid men at “Beaver Tail State Sanatorium” in Beavertail, Montana. We spent our days searching for truth behind everything, concealed in the invisible reasons behind everything—reasons that our Overlords cleverly and secretly had for everything that made reality tick without our awareness. When we came to the powerful insight that our awareness was unaware, we started speculating further, to retrieve our freedom and put us back in control of the secret forces propelling us through life.

The most paranoid member of our group was Bunny Manson. He invented the “Motive Game.” We would do something, and then avow a motive for doing it. I might say “I tied my shoelaces so my shoes wouldn’t fall off.” The other players would call me a liar and then think of the “real” motive, never believing the avowed motive. A player might say: “Liar! You are a narcissist!” The game prepared us to play the game of life, thinking outside the so-called box, using counter-intuition and irrational speculation to discover the “truth” in the powerful hidden causes and motives that form the foundation for the natural and social orders.

So, there’s a hidden reason for everything: Your mother died of natural causes? Ha! You dupe. She was run over and mangled by a truck. Her body was reconstructed by robot surgeons in a clandestine mortuary located in a cave somewhere in Nevada. She was transported home on a government-owned train, “The Federal Necro-Express.” Clearly, she arrived this morning, dressed for her funeral with that cute little smile on her face. Case closed. When Cam Vontell says “Case closed,” the case is closed, no questions asked. The end.

By the way, I love to say “Case closed.” It works every time to make a client think we’ve discovered the truth. I target clients that are wrapped up in conspiracy theories. They’ll believe anything. I think most of them suffer from non-clinical paranoia, but somehow, they get along, living under the dead fist of the deep state.

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

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

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Repotia

Posted on May 4, 2025 | Leave a comment

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

I don’t know why the bride and groom asked me—Hoo Doo Miller—to give this speech today. However, I do sort of remember being friends in high school. When we graduated, Thaddeus got drafted and had to leave Charlene behind when he went off to fight in the Vietnam War. When he came back home he had PTSD. We used to sneak up behind him and light off packs of firecrackers. He’d yell “You fu*kin’ gooks” and try to find a place to hide.

I avoided the draft with bone spurs, so I had no idea what he was going through. I just thought it was funny as hell. I still do. See this pack of “Black Cats”? Be ready during the reception Thad—you better find a bunker to hide under because I’m going to blow these babies off when you least expect it! So, fair warning! Ha! Ha!

So, I “took care” of Charlene when you were off fighting in the war. I promised you I would. But, I took care of her too well and she got pregnant about a month after you left. Charlene got an abortion and we went back to normal, living together and partying hard. When I lost my job at the jelly factory, Charlene came through for us. She stood outside Denny’s and would go on blind dates with men who pulled up and asked her out. She went on enough dates to earn the $325 we needed for rent. I got a job the next day selling cars and would be able to cover the rent with my salary.

Nevertheless, Charlene kept going on dates unit she got a rash “down there.” She went to the doctor and got some ointment. The rash cleared up and she never “dated” again.

When it came time for your tour of duty to end, Charlene moved back with her parents to wait for your return. She would stay over with me a couple of times a week—she always told me I made her feel like a rocket blasting off. I appreciated that. I always fancied myself as a lady’s man!

Then, there’s the tattoo, but I’m not going to talk about it in mixed company. Thad: you’ll just have to find it yourself—it’s on her body somewhere! “Seek and ye shall find.” I think it’ll be a fun thing to do on your wedding night!

Well, I’d like to propose a toast now, to the bride and the groom! Hold your glasses high!

May all your hills be downhill, your days filled with cloudless skies, and your showers steaming hot, Thaddeus, to wash away your anger and, Charlene, to wash away your shame. God bless the newlyweds.

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

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

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Restrictio

Posted on May 3, 2025 | Leave a comment

Restrictio (re-strik’-ti-o): Making an exception to a previously made statement. Restricting or limiting what has already been said.

“I’m going to kill you. Well, that’s not quite true. I intend to seriously injure you. It won’t be fatal, but you’re going to be going to the ICU at Don Knots Memorial Hospital—they’ll do a great job on your lacerations, broken bones, and what’s left of your tongue after I cut it out. I want you to get out of that fetal position right now. Roll over on your back and get ready to be seriously injured.”

I was a hit man—I didn’t shoot them, actually, I literally “hit” them with fists and blunt objects—sledge hammers, barbells, baseball bats, crowbars, etc. Actually, I did some kicking too. Nothing sends a rib to hell like a good hard series of well-placed kicks.

My next hit was at the public library one town over. This guy who worked at the local shoe factory lacing shoes wanted his library fines forgiven. $16.55 didn’t seem like much to contract a hit over. I didn’t argue with him, but I thought he was crazy. I went home, put on my steel-toed boots, grabbed my Yogi Berra Louisville Slugger (I had actually hit a home run with it back in the day), my trusty balaclava, and a couple of zip ties.

I got to the library just as it was closing. I slipped in the door and hid under a table. The librarian looked like a sweet elderly woman.

I was beginning to question what I was about to do. It just didn’t seem right assaulting a granny. Then the phone rang. She said “Look, you loser bastard—you can shove your library fines up your ass. What the fu*k do you think I am, your fu*kin’ fairy godmother?”

I was shocked. After what she said, I decided to give her a light beating—maybe just a couple whacks with the baseball bat and couple of harmless, but well-placed, kicks.

I jumped out from under the table with my baseball bat raised. “Give me $16.50 or I’m going to beat the shit out of you!” She sad “Fu*k you weasel.” And threw a copy of “Infinite Jest” at me—one of the heaviest books currently in print. The book hit me in the temple and knocked me out. I awoke to the sound of sirens. The librarian was standing over me holding my baseball bat. She had used my zip ties to secure my hands behind my back. That was it. I was going to jail. I heard the police banging on the doors.

Then, she gave me a hard whack on the head.

I’ve been in a sort of coma for 22 days. I can hear what people say to me, but I can’t speak. I can only nod my head. The librarian came to visit me. She told me I got what I deserved and she hopes I’ll spend 20 years in prison. She told me library fines cannot be ignored, or especially, forgiven: they must be pad.

Library fines teach morality and personal responsibility, two pillars of Western Civilization.

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

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

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Sarcasmus

Posted on May 2, 2025 | Leave a comment

Sarcasmus (sar’kaz’-mus): Use of mockery, verbal taunts, or bitter irony.

“What’s that on top or your head? A bird’s nest? Why don’t you just give it up and accept your hairless crainium? At least you could wear fake hair that matches your eyebrows!”

I was mean. They called me “The Slasher” because I could cut anybody down to size with my buzz-saw insults. Or you could say I was a insult surgeon removing peoples’ self-esteem with my cutting remarks.

I insulted everybody I met within 3 minutes. I had an uncanny ability to see their foibles. I would hurl the insults, making them stick with my sarcastic tone of voice. Often, my attributions were wrong, but I didn’t care. Once I said them, they became a “worry” for my targets.

I told a man his nose looked like a tumor with two holes in it. He covered it with his hand and ran away. I once asked a woman if that was a pair of dice under her sweater. She sat down on the sidewalk and started speaking in tongues. I was so pleased that I asked her out to dinner. She accepted my invitation. I didn’t have much money, so we went to Burger King. Speaking in tongues, she pointed at the menu—clearly, she wanted a cheese whopper, jumbo fries and a large Coke. We sat by the window. She pointed at her sweater and said something in Aramaic, one of the languages I studied in Bible college—Holy Rose College in San Jose, California. She told me her name was Mary and she woke up here in New Jersey two days after her son came back to life and teleported into the sky.

As much as I would’ve liked to believe her, I didn’t. Although she was speaking Aramaic, her story was too far-fetched to be true. I told her so and she lifted up her dress and showed me her stretch marks from her pregnancy. I still didn’t believe her. In fact, she was starting to bother me. I left her at Burger King and headed off to the Middle School. The kids there were easy marks—easily humiliated and ridiculed. I hung out at the entrance to the school bus and hurled insults and rude comments as the kids boarded their bus.

One day, the bus driver got off the bus and beat the crap out of me. He called me a “perv” and called the police. I was charged with “damaging children’s’ self-esteem.”

I am locked up in a psychiatric facility awaiting trial. I am undergoing “nicification“ therapy. It involves singing “The Wheels on the Bus” twice a day and studying and memorizing the “Golden Book of Compliments,” I don’t think I have a chance of reform. I told my cellmate he smelled like a skunk’s ass, and he beat me with his shoe. I spent two days in the infirmary. When I got back to our cell, he asked me to teach him how to be an insulting asshole. I made up a syllabus and classes will start tomorrow with “body shaming.”

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

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

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Scesis Onomaton

Posted on May 1, 2025 | Leave a comment

Scesis Onomaton (ske’-sis-o-no’-ma-ton): 1. A sentence constructed only of nouns and adjectives (typically in a regular pattern). 2. A series of successive, synonymous expressions.

Big bluebird! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I dropped my binoculars and got out my bird identification guide: “Bill Birdwood’s Guide to Every Bird on Earth.”

This was no normal bluebird. The only thing it had in common with normal bluebirds was its blue body and an orange patch on its chest. I couldn’t find him in my “Guide,” so I Googled with a description: “Huge bird with bluebird plumage. He looks like a feathered basketball and makes a growling sounds like an angry dog. I haven’t see him fly, and given his girth, I’m not sure he can. He is eating discarded cigarette butts off the ground. This is an especially good place to do so—we’re at the designated smoking area for employees of the adjacent life insurance company.”

I hit return on my keyboard and got an almost instant response. It was Bill Birdwood himself! He told me the name of the bird “Blue Ball Giganticus.” He didn’t list him in his guide because the Blue Ball is considered a mythological bird—like the Phoenix. He wrote, “But, if you’ve got a live one in your sights, you better run away faster than you’ve ever run before!”

So I ran. To my horror, with much wing flapping the Blue Ball slowly took off straight up like a helicopter with a frightening growl. I tripped and fell and the Blue Ball swooped down over me, dropping a cigarette butt on my outstretched body. It landed on my chest. I sat up, grabbed it off my pant leg and threw it as far as I could—about five feet. Then, the big fat Blue Ball landed on my shoulder—which was just wide enough for him to fit on. I was terrified.

Then, he leaned toward my ear and asked: “What’s the capital of Montana?” I told him I didn’t know, and that I’m really bad at state capitals. He said “Ok ok. What is an isosceles triangle?” I didn’t know. I told him I pretty much didn’t know anything. He kept asking me similar questions for about a half-hour. I couldn’t answer any of them. He gave up and called me a “bird brain” which I thought was really weird. After all that, he asked me if my refrigerator was running.

I knew that one! I said “Yes.” Then he told me I better go catch it. He asked if I wanted a cigarette butt. I told him I didn’t and he flew away grunting and straining. Now, I could add to my list of Blue Ball characteristics: can talk, eats cigarette butts, takes off like helicopter, and is boring to spend time with. I wondered why Bill Birdwood told me to run.

I found out when I started developing a taste for cigarette butts and began picking them up off the ground and storing them in my briefcase “for later.”

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

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

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