Category Archives: antanaclasis

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.


I wasn’t feeling well. It was like I’d fallen down a wishing well and crash-landed in one foot of water. I had been up all night trying to do my incomes taxes and submit them by today. It should’ve so easy. I had purchased “Turbine Taxes” to do my taxes. On the site it sys “Get your taxes done, and go have fun! $1.00.” Every time I tried to submit my taxes, I got an error message from the IRS saying “Alert! your tax preparation software is part of a plot to overthrow the United States of America.” I didn’t believe it and resubmitted five or six times. It had to be a hoax.

Suddenly there was a pounding on my door and it flew open with the help of a battering ram. “Up against wall subversive scum!” a guy in black with a gas mask on and a MAC-10 pointed at my head yelled. He pointed at my laptop computer and yelled “We are confiscating your little tool of treason and treachery.” “But my taxes aren’t done yet” I said, my voice cracking. “What, are you trying to be funny, wise guy?” he said, tasering me in the neck and stomping on my foot. I passed out for a second and fell to the floor temporarily paralyzed. I could hear them talking as they pretty much packed up my entire house—furniture, carpets, washer-dryer—pretty much everything.

I heard one of them say “‘Turbine Taxes’ rock! This has got be the most sophisticated technologically advanced computer scam ever perpetrated!” I was slowly regaining consciousness. These guys were crooks, not government agents. I was blind-ass angry. I had a loaded Glock in my desk. If I could get my hands on it, I could shoot the shit out of all five of them. Then, I realized they were wearing bullet proof vests. It would have to be head shots. I didn’t know whether I could do it. Then, my cat Worthless started hissing and yowling in the back bedroom. He sounded like a police siren. The robbing bastards yelled “Shit” and ran out the back door empty handed. One of them dropped his weapon! I crawled and grabbed it, got to the back door and pulled the trigger. It went “click.” It wasn’t loaded. The marauders were fake, although the Taser had done a number on me.

I bought Worthless a genuine diamond-studded collar (which he immediately pulled off), a five-pound bag of catnip, an aquarium where he could fish for tropical fish, and a heated kitty bed I knew he would never use. I’d always thought of Worthless as this “thing” who would steal my place on the couch, jump up on my bed at 3:00 am, and puke on the carpet every couple of months. Boy, was I wrong. Worthless had saved our home. I changed his name to Claws.


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

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.


It was my room, but it had no room. That’s all I had. It was all I could afford living in New York City. It was like my dorm room in college, only smaller. My bed was the size of a closet door. I had a cube-shaped refrigerator that looked like a black hassock with a door. All my “cooking” was done on a hot plate or in a microwave smaller than my refrigerator. I had one electrical outlet. That’s where I plugged in my appliances. The refrigerator stayed plugged in always. My kettle and microwave changed places when I needed to use one or the other, or to charge my phone at night. I had one chair. It was red and was smeared with different-colored stains from years of use without cleaning. It was a recliner, so I could have a guest visit and stay over night. I had a tray table that I used to eat my meals from, watching movies and scrolling through Instagram on my phone. There was a toilet, a sink and a shower lined up against one wall. The shower was a six-foot high rectangular metal box with a curtain. I had one window overlooking the air shaft and walked up eight floors to get to my little chunk of New York living!

In the past four months I had been gently mugged nine times on my building’s stoop in broad daylight by the same person. I’ve given his description to the police so many times I have dreams about dancing with him at the techno music club around the the corner. My bicycle was stolen when I forgot to bring it up to my apartment, where I kept it hanging from the ceiling. The windows have been broken out of my car twice. Some crazy women keeps jumping out of the alley by my building and yelling at me for not making the child support payments. If she keeps it up, I’ll probably make the payments just to get her off my back. The night before last I saw a homeless man pee on the subway floor, followed by a super-fart that woke a guy up who was sleeping in his seat. He must’ve been a Veteran because he yelled “incoming” and put his head between his knees while the homeless man held out a styrofoam cup and started singing the song about piña coladas.

That did it. I had to get the hell out of NYC before something really bad happened to me—like turning into a paranoid loser, a vigilante, or a cab driver. But then there was Shiela from work. She would sit on my desk and let me look up her dress. I asked her out at least twenty times and she always said “No way!” This morning she was late for work and was not dressed nicely at all. Then, I had the biggest shock of my NYC life: Sheila was the “crazy” women who jumped out of the alley demanding child support payments from me!

That night, l packed my meager belongings. I had heard a song about going to Kansas City on the XM 60s station. It sounded like a pretty cool place. The lyric, “They got some crazy little women there” was a little troublesome. I just had to hope they weren’t as crazy as Shiela. I was going to Kansas City; Kansas City here I come.


Buy a print version of The Daily Trope! The print version is titled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.

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

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.


You don’t care if my head is killing me, you still want to head to Jersey. We’ll be driving 90 billion miles while you’re driving me crazy with your non-stop blabber about Frank Sinatra, Jon Bon Jovi, Martha Stewart, and all the other Malox memory-makers from the so-called Garden State. But I‘ll drive us there as long as you pay for gas and tolls and food— good food, not the crap they serve on the Turnpike.

Ok honey, we crossed the state line. We’ve made it to the Homeland. So! Wait an ef’n minute! Holy shit, it’s Bon Jovi standing there! I’m pullin’ over to see if he needs help.

Are you ok Mr. Bon Jovi? Something the matter with your steel horse?

Bon Jovi: I’m wanted dead or alive. I missed a payment on my motorcycle. They put sugar in the gas tank: they give loan sharking a bad name. I almost hit that overpass abutment when the engine cut out. Here, hold this .357 while I push the motorcycle farther off the road.

Just then a black Cadillac pulled up. Somebody yelled “Drop the pistol shit stain!” I dropped the pistol.

I ran for my car with Bon Jovi right behind me. My wife was hiding in the trunk screaming. I yelled, “Give me the keys dammit!” She gave me the keys and we took off like a bat out of hell. I figured they would blow us off the highway, but when I looked in the rear view, two guys in black cashmere overcoats were dumping gas on Bon Jovi’s wheels. I looked again as one of them threw a lit match at the motorcycle, and BLAM it went up in flames. I floored it and we got the hell out of there.

As we drove away, I asked Bon Jovi why he would borrow money from a loan shark. After all, he’s a millionaire. He told me he’d lost touch with his New Jersey roots and was looking for inspiration—for the kind of Jersey-cred he’s known for. At that point a State Trooper pulled up on our ass. I pulled over. As I stood there with my hands up, I was reminded of what it was like growing up in New Jersey.

Needless to say we missed my mother-in-law’s birthday party, but Bon Jovi smoothed everything out with the law, and we made it back home safely.


Buy a print version of The Daily Trope! The print version is titled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.

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

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.


You made me pay the damn tolls and gas for this stupid trip to see your former boyfriend. Taking this trip to see that piece of shit is like asking “for whom the bell tolls.” I think it tolls for us. I’m just going to drop you off at Mr. Bozo’s and mail your stuff to you. Can you at least give me ten bucks for gas?


Buy a print version of The Daily Trope! The print version is titled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.

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

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.

I can’t stomach your stomach any more! When we first met you were slim and trim–you looked like a Greek God. Now, you look like a bloated Greek gyro.

For some reason you seem to be proud of your protrusion. Well, it does not make me feel proud to be with you out in public.

I hope you’re willing to do something about your overeating so we can cruise into the future together–I just don’t want to worry about having to give you CPR at some point, call 911, or listen to your so-called “friends” call you fatty names behind your back.

I’m not tired of loving you, but I do actually get tired defending you, worrying about you, and worrying about us.

For our relationship’s sake, please do something about your weight.

If you bring your dimensions back to where they were when we first met, there will be positive dimensions added back to our relationship that will benefit us both!

Just let me know how I can help. Together, we can do it!

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

Buy a print version of The Daily Trope! The print version is titled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99.

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.

Let’s ship it by ship!

What, are you kidding? If you’re shipping mail by ship you might as well be shipping chain mail! How utterly Medieval!

If you want the package to arrive before the end of Twenty-Fifteen, send it out via Fedex before 20:15! It will get there by tomorrow & it will only cost you $20.15!

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Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.

Let’s meet at the meet after you’ve run the run.

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

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.

The government certainly has the right to tax us, but let’s make sure the taxes are right.

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

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.

When your yacht  leaked, you bailed it out. When your business failed, you bailed out.

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

Antanaclasis

Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.

There isn’t much room, but at least I finally have my own room!

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