Category Archives: adnominatio

Adnominatio (ad-no-mi-na’-ti-o): 1. A synonym for paronomasia[punning]. 2. A synonym for polyptoton. 3. Assigning to a proper name its literal or homophonic meaning.

The 8th grade was a time of relentless unending bullying: beat up the weak, ridicule everbody else. I specialized in ridicule. I was an influencer with a sizable following paying me tribute to pick on somebody else. I was making around $50 per week that I put in my college fund—a noble use for what amounted to extortion.

I had already driven 3 kids to drop out of school. They had to get jobs because, as dropouts, their parents would not support them in any way—not even feeding them. Miles worked at the “Fender Bright Car Wash.” He sprayed off the cars’ tires at the start of the wash, and then, ran around to wipe the cars down at the end of the run. “Ricochet” Rebcca worked at a rifle range—at “Full Auto.” She had been slightly wounded 12 times. She was lucky she wasn’t killed. She had a curiosity problem and would walk into the line of fire to look at a shooter’s target before they had finished shooting. Then there was “Treasure Ted.” He works for the police looking for dead bodies and buried loot with a metal detector. So far, he’s found a skull loaded with gold fillings and a wedding ring that is engraved “Too Bad, 1946.” While all these people’s dismal lives are the direct result of my first-class cruel bullying, my current favorite is “Ray,” my current victim.

I aim at him and make a buzzing sound like a ray gun whenever I see him. He stiffens up, like he goes catatonic for a minute. When he stiffens, I stick my finger in his ear and buzz again. His body goes into a massive tic that lasts another minute. All the kids gather around pointing at him and buzzing. His eyeballs roll and then he snaps out of it. He doesn’t remember anything. It is great fun! Today, I’m going to to accost Buzz in the boys locker room and give him a good buzzing.

It was a mistake. I aimed at buzz. Naked Buzz caught on fire like he’d actually been hit by a real ray. I got burned trying to push him into the showers. My gym suit caught on fire and I was severely burned. Buzz burned to a crisp. I had killed him with my “buzz.” I told the police he was trying to light a joint when he went up in flames. Despite my injuries I was able to plant a lighter on the floor in front of his locker. The police bought my story.

Since I’ve been in the hospital, I’ve decided to quit bullying. But I took one last run at it. The guy in the bed next to me had been blinded by a defective pressure cooker. I said to him: “I see you’re blind. Can you see the point I’m trying to make? I can’t see your point of view. You must see this is fruitless. ”

He was furious. He told me that once he gets a seeing eye dog, he’s going to train it to eat me.

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

The Daily Trope is available in an early edition 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.

Adnominatio (ad-no-mi-na’-ti-o): 1. A synonym for paronomasia[punning]. 2. A synonym for polyptoton. 3. Assigning to a proper name its literal or homophonic meaning.

My parents had named me “Mark” after one of Christ’s disciples. When I was around five, they told me the story of Mark and why I had been named after him. I was really proud of my name until around the 6th grade. The class bully, Dillard Trimp, started making fun of it. He called me “Skid Mark” or “Skid Mark Mark.” He said I made “Low marks.”

It was especially humiliating because I had been battling my chronic skid marks since I stopped wearing diapers. My mother didn’t help things much. She claimed they were indelible and would hang my underpants on the clothesline for everbody to see. I was humiliated. Kids would walk past and make the sound of a revving motor, and then a skidding sound and then point at the clothes line and yell “Wow! Look at Mark’s marks.”

Soon everybody was calling me Skid Mark, even my teachers: “Skid Mark, I’m still waiting for your writing assignment,” Sad Miss Turnbull. Everybody would sniff the air, some kids would ask “Do I smell a mark?”
I didn’t want to go to school any more. I felt so bad, I thought about running away from home. I HAD to get rid of my skid marks so when my mother hung out my underpants they would be hanging frosty white on the clothesline.

I bought a can of white spray paint. I painted over my skid marks and threw my underpants in my laundry basket. Two days later when my mother hung out the laundry there were my underpants, skid marks and all. The paint had washed off, but not my skid marks. I was devastated, but I would not give up.

Next, I went on a cream of wheat and rice diet—an all white food diet. My mother protested, but I talked her into it. After one day, I couldn’t wait to poop all-while poops the next morning. My skid marks would blend into my underpants and I would be saved. It didn’t work. My poops were the same old brown color. Finally, I came to the conclusion it was my wiping technique that was to blame.

I Googled “How to wipe your ass.” There was a video on YouTube that was very helpful. I tried the technique. The doctor in the aloha shirt in the video made it seem really easy. What I had been doing wrong was wiping across my crack instead of up and down it. I had this unwarranted fear that if I wiped along my crack it would grab me and not let me go. I’m not sure where this idea came from. My entire life I had been in denial, but the YouTube tube video had brought it to conscious awateness so I could confront it and combat it. I think I may have gotten the idea of my crack grabbing mu hand from a movie I saw where a diver gets his foot clamped by a giant clam. He can’t escape and he drowns. It was easy to see the connection between my crack and the giant clam! That’s where my wiping problem began—I was afraid of getting trapped in my crack.

The next morning I ate breakfast and headed to the bathroom for my daily poop. I followed the wiping instructions and pulled up my underpants. When I got home from school I ran up to my bedroom to check my underpants. No skid marks! I ran downstairs and told my mom. She shard my joy. I hugged her and cried. She pushed me away, smiled, and said to me, “Now Mark, we’ve got to work on that little bit of leakage on your pants after you pee.” I said, “You’re right Mom. I’ll Google it!”

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.