Category Archives: consonance

Consonance: The repetition of consonants in words stressed in the same place (but whose vowels differ). Also, a kind of inverted alliteration, in which final consonants, rather than initial or medial ones, repeat in nearby words. Consonance is more properly a term associated with modern poetics than with historical rhetorical terminology.

I was walking down the street singing “I shot the sheriff, I did not shoot the deputy.” I was a little drunk. I was glad. Things were good. I ‘d had another banner day at the car wash. $50 in tips! I could take Taffy out to dinner. I was a winner.

From out of the darkness a voice said “Put up your hands and turn around.” I looked into the darkness and the Deputy stepped into the dim light. “Yes, it’s true, you didn’t shoot me, as you were singing of your disgusting deed. Look down. Yes, it’s the Sheriff bled to death on the pavement from six bullet holes in his head. You are a psychopath—you should be ashamed for singing about it like it was a joke.” I tried to tell the Deputy that I was singing a reggae song by Bob Marley that was later covered by Eric Clapton and achieved quite a bit of success.

The Deputy tasered me. He handcuffed me, manacled me, and shoved me into the back seat of his police car. As we drove to the station he told me how much he loved the Sheriff and how his death would probably trigger a crime wave in Bolingberg. He told me he would be happy to let me off in the woods by the abandoned munitions plant. We could play a game: “Deputy and His Prey.” I told him I wouldn’t be very good prey wearing handcuffs and manacles.

I was completely freaking out. He pulled up at the head of a trail leading into the woods. He opened the door and pulled me out of the police car. He told me to crawl into the woods and he would ride me. As I crawled along he ordered me to sing “Bob Marney” for him and put his gun to the back of my head.

I saw what looked like a bonfire up ahead. As we got closer, the Sheriff stood up from among the other men sitting there. The Sheriff was alive! I was saved! He said, “Congratulations dickhead. You passed! You are now a member of Lodge 345 of the Fraternal Order of Immature Wonks. What do you have to say?” I said “This is total crock of shit (I heard the Deputy cocking his gun), but I love 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.

Consonance: The repetition of consonants in words stressed in the same place (but whose vowels differ). Also, a kind of inverted alliteration, in which final consonants, rather than initial or medial ones, repeat in nearby words. Consonance is more properly a term associated with modern poetics than with historical rhetorical terminology.

I smiled at the dead cat, food for vultures and crows lying by the side of the road. I’m a road kill scraper and I thought I was permitted to smile at what could’ve been some little kid’s dead pet. I was smiling at the cycle of life, the inevitability of death, and the consumption of its remains to nurture the living.

Then, I saw my reflection in a puddle. A frustrated nerd with no friends, a shitty little apartment, a nagging wife, and the disgusting job of scraping up roadkills for “Karma Arc Jerky,” a company that recycled roadkills and made them into jerky with exotic names like “Floral Flats,” “ Rembrandt’s Chewy,” and “Repurposed Raccoon,” the only jerky stick with a name that approximated the truth. Despite where it came from, Karma Arc Jerky tasted damn good. I had to have one per day or I’d go off the rails, swearing at my coworkers or calling my wife names at breakfast—names like “Stinky Dog,” and “Hitler.”

But today, I reached end of it all. I was going to take the flattened cat to the pet cemetery, have it cremated, and scatter its ashes in the Hudson River, like I did with my dad’s. I would try to think of something nice to say in the cat’s memory. In the meantime, I will quit my job.

A few days later, I said “I actually like cats” and threw the cat’s ashes into the river. It wasn’t very eloquent, but it did the job.

It was on day four after I quit my job and went jerky-free that I realized I was addicted. I found fault with everybody and called them names. I kept calling my wife “Hitler.” I called the guy sitting next to me on the subway “Beetle Breath” and he beat me in the face with his rolled-up newspaper. The worst was the woman. She shot me twice in the leg when I called her “Madam Barn Smell.” It took the police weeks to track her down.

When I checked into the hospital, I told the doctors what had been going on and they immediately diagnosed me with jerky withdrawal—specifically Karma Arc Jerky. They told me Karma Arc was under investigation by the FDA for using tainted road kill in their jerky, and “seasoning” it with “Triple Hemperino,” a highly addictive roadside weed that grows only in British Columbia. While I withdrew, they put me on a regimen of watching videos of live bunnies, squirrels, raccoons, cats, and opossums. The videos were designed to induce affection for the animals and repulsion at the thought of eating their flattened remains.

I started to calm down naturally. My new job at the car wash helped immensely—I felt like the hot water and suds were washing my woes away. When a car came through with the rust proofing option, I felt like I was being protected too. I started calling my wife Ringo and felt good about my fellow human beings. I even visited the woman in prison who shot me and we made amends. We write to each other now. Ringo doesn’t like it, but she understands.

We’re renewing our wedding vows and we’re going to British Columbia for our second honeymoon!

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.