Category Archives: cataplexis

Cataplexis (kat-a-pleex’-is): Threatening or prophesying payback for ill doing.

My parish priest told me: “You’re on the highway to hell. Eternal burning is your fate. You will sit on a barbecue grill turned up all the way until the end on time—until Armageddon. Now, go home, there’s no reason for you to be sitting here in a pew. Go, Go home!”

I was hurt. I lived in a town without pity. When it came to religion, I got no pity whatsoever. I had been born with two little horns on top of my head. I wore a hat, but everybody knew I had horns. This was so because I wasn’t allowed to were a hat in many venues “out of respect.” Why didn’t people respect me and let me wear my hat to hide my deformity? Father Flanagan told me in no uncertain terms that it was the other way around and if I didn’t tow the line I’d end up buried way deep in hell and Satan would make me into a urinal. Once again, I felt the pain of my status as a horned boy. I decided to have them sawn off and then move out of town. I did a go fund me site to raise money for the surgery. People laughed at me. They called me “Horny Man,” inflicting more pain. So, I had to go DYI and saw off the horns myself. My father had a bandsaw in the garage. I had used it to make a duck lamp and wooden box to hold my small collection of baseball cards.

I flipped on the band saw’s power. It cranked up to full speed in about five seconds. I held a mirror over my head so I could see what I was doing. I shoved my head toward the blade. Suddenly the band saw shut down. A voice said, “What the hell are you doing son?” I looked up. It was Satan standing there holding his pitchfork. I was elated. I was saved. I was immortal. Satan said, “Get back to school. You have a big future ahead of you. Anybody who won’t let you wear your hat, I will strike them dead and ship their souls off to hell before they know what hit them.”

I quickly developed a diabolical laugh and was easily able to scare the crap out of my tormentors. Having Satan as my Dad was a real Godsend—ha ha. That’s a joke.

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.

Cataplexis (kat-a-pleex’-is): Threatening or prophesying payback for ill doing.

Husband: You have done me wrong. I am on fire with anger. You ignited my matchbook collection. They traced my travels through the 70s. The 100s of bars I hit, slowly building my collection of East Coast matchbooks, sometimes going to a bar just to get a matchbook.

My collection won first prize in ‘78 in the National Assemblers Sweepstakes. All you cared about was the giant wine glass I kept them in and how “ugly” it looked as a centerpiece on the dining room table. It was an icon—a token of excellence from a time gone by, along with my disco suit folded in the chest up in the attic waiting to be resurrected as time reaches back to the past and time returns us to the good times when bell bottoms flapped and the top three buttons of our shirts were unbuttoned revealing our manly chests. It is people like you who want to obliterate my past, to make me a living anomaly—a doorway to nowhere, a highway to hell. A living landfill.

Well baby, we know we all collect something. We gather together objects that are the same in some way—like matchbook! My beloved matchbooks! Damn you! Well, have you seen your thimble collection lately? I know, your answer is “No.” That’s because I have—that damn tray with your carefully arranged thimbles—metal, wood, ceramic, rubber, plastic—antique to contemporary. I’m especially going to enjoy crushing the Mary Todd Lincoln thimble she used to repair the seat of Abraham’s pants because he insisted on wearing cheap suits for at least four-score and seven years. Then I’m going to grind up the Winston Churchill thimble—made of rubber and used by his doctor to examine Churchill’s prostate. It saved Churchill’s life when it was discovered he had an enlarged prostate and stopped eating fish and chips. Then, there’s the John Glenn thimble he carried to moon in case his spacesuit got a leak, he could sew it shut. Part of his training involved sewing classes. He was supposed to embroider a lunar landscape, but was unable to do so because of “issues” with the lunar lander. I can’t wait to turn the John Glenn thimble into dust, along with commie dictator Kennedy’s portrait on the tip.

Wife: Where are my thimbles you loon?

Husband: At the divorce lawyer’s. I’m holding them hostage until you beg for my forgiveness for destroying the greatest matchbook cover collection ever.

Wife: If you must know, I staged their demise—I burned random matchbooks to account for the collection’s absence from the dining room table, I had a crystal chalice made for it for your birthday. It was a bad decision, but all’s well that ends well. Right?

Husband: Well umm . . .

Definition 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.

Cataplexis (kat-a-pleex’-is): Threatening or prophesying payback for ill doing.

May your nose fall off and land on the floor. You, Carl Peek, have wronged me, Ned Aiken, super-beloved middle school teacher.

You have slighted me. You have dragged me through the mud, by the feet, on a freezing day. You scoundrel! You skunk! You rotten banana! You unlaundered garments! You basket of moldy bread! You dead battery in a power outage! Your guts stink. Your soul is ashen. I will redeem myself, inflicting you with horrendous painful, torturous, retribution!

I will tie you to an uncomfortable wooden chair. I will fill your mouth with ping-pong balls and force you to watch pre-recorded episodes of “The View” until you recant every evil thing you ever said or wrote about me.

I wouldn’t be so mad if nobody had believed your slanders. I have never, never, never read “Grapes of Wrath.” In an act on consummate cruelty and deception you stuffed a copy in my book bag when I was distracted, looking at Ms. Carver’s rear side in the lunch line, which in itself is harmless, and permitted if not accompanied by catcalls. I did not utter a single catcall, at least, so nobody could hear me.

Then, you told the whole school I said “woke” contrary to the recently imposed censored speech regulations. I really don’t care about the First Amendment and its so-called “freedom of speech.” I don’t mind having a dictator for governor, what I do mind is getting me in trouble with his henchmen. See my nose? Does it look happy to you? All I did was say, “I woke up a little late this morning.” You recorded me, cut the “woke” and pasted it in sound clip where it played over and over and sounded like a chant. You Rat! I got my ass kicked on my way home from Plantation Way Middle School by a gang of sweaty beer-drinking old men.

Well guess what, Mr. Horseshit? I got your sister pregnant. She doesn’t want the baby. Given your finances, she’s gonna’ have to walk a thousand miles to NY to terminate her pregnancy. Ha ha!

POSTSCRIPT

This story is filled with idiots, letting their freedom slip away disguised as educational reform and trampling on women’s reproductive rights. After the blood test, it was determined that Ned was the baby’s father and he is responsible for providing child support. He asked Carl’s sister, Nareen, to marry him and she hit him in the face with a hardcover edition of “Grapes of Wrath.” Noreen held a fundraiser in the Barn Door Mall parking lot and raised enough to fly to New York. She had to lie about why she was going to New York.

Definition 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

Cataplexis (kat-a-pleex’-is): Threatening or prophesying payback for ill doing.

You cheated, you lied, but unlike the 50s song, I’m not “goin to keep on lovin’ you.“ I’m outta here. Remember the money you have (had) in your retirement account? At least half of it will belong to me, not to mention the equity in the house. I’m going to grab everything I can, you low-life scum ball. Oh, let’s not forget our children. I doubt if you remember their names. They call you by your fist name instead of “Daddy.” I’m taking them too.

The worst thing of all is the fact that you cheated with my sister—my sister! My God! How much lower can you go, destroying what has always been my wonderful relationship with her. I should’ve known when the two of you went “bowling” until 2.00 am while I stayed home and watched the kids. Or, I should’ve paid closer attention when you went “deer hunting” in the Adirondacks for two days.

I trusted you to the max. You were such a good cheater and liar. You should win an award, but instead I’m going to win a judgment against you in divorce court.

Don’t even try to bullshit your way out of this. My poor sister was showing me pictures of the two of you in the Adirondacks. Scrolling through photos on her phone together, a picture of the two of you naked in bed popped up. What can I say?

The end.

Definition 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.