Category Archives: correctio

Correctio (cor-rec’-ti-o): The amending of a term or phrase just employed; or, a further specifying of meaning, especially by indicating what something is not (which may occur either before or after the term or phrase used). A kind of redefinition, often employed as a parenthesis (an interruption) or as a climax.

“I am going to be famous someday—not just famous. I’ll be more than famous. I’ll be a legend, almost a deity. Look at me! What do you see?” I told him I saw a lunatic. He was wearing see-through harem pants, a sweater with a snowmobile on it, and a pair of pointy Mexican tribal boots (botas tribaleras). He also had a wand, which looked like a gun barrel. He aimed it at me and I thought I was going to die. It made a loud cracking sound, like a gunshot. But it wasn’t a gunshot. It was about two-dozen Q-tips that came flying at me. They had been dipped in taco sauce so my clothes would be stained with a red blood-like liquid.

“Why don’t you do something worthy of a legend?” I yelled. He said, “Coming right up!” “This should be good” I said to myself. We had gone to high school together and I knew he was bluffing. He had backed off on burning down the school. He had chickened out on blowing up the Driver Ed car. He had never asked Ms. Tardy, our gym teacher, out on a date. He failed to seed the school cafeteria lunch with laxatives. The only thing he’d ever done was pee on the school fuse box and nearly be electrocuted, moaning and crying as he was taken away in an ambulance. So, I couldn’t wait to see what was “Coming right up.”

I think it was suicide.

He went in his house’s garage and closed the door. I heard his dad’s car start. He was going for carbon monoxide poisoning! What an idiot. There was no way killing himself in his garage would make him a legend. Yelling at him through the garage door, I explained this to him. The car’s engine shut off and the garage door opened. Then I realized: he could become a legend for being a world-class idiot, which he was.

He was ecstatic when I told him. He ran down the driveway waving his wand. He turned to thank me and tripped over his black and white pedal police car he had left in the middle of the driveway. He landed in the street where his head was squashed by a passing “Jolly Clown Ice Cream” truck. There was a bunch of kids following the truck, clamoring for ice cream whose lives were forever altered by the squashed head.

For some reason I couldn’t stop laughing at the squashed head. I am in counseling to find the answer. My therapist told me to be prepared to come to the conclusion that his gruesome death was funny. We practice recounting the event and fake laughing together, like Santa Claus (Ho, Ho, Ho), and slapping each other on the back. So far, it isn’t working.

The hardest part of my therapy is having to keep a photo of the crushed head in a frame on my bedside table. It is the first thing I see in the morning. Yesterday, I almost laughed when I saw it. I think I might be making progress.

This phase of my life has made me want to be a coroner, like on television detective shows. I will be called Dr, Squish, after my specialty in squished heads. Right now, it is only a dream. If I can get a scholarship, my dream will come true.

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.

Correctio (cor-rec’-ti-o): The amending of a term or phrase just employed; or, a further specifying of meaning, especially by indicating what something is not (which may occur either before or after the term or phrase used). A kind of redefinition, often employed as a parenthesis (an interruption) or as a climax.

It was a warm spring day. Winter had finally gone away. Sockatrees and Manatees were lounging by the Passaic River, relaxing under the Jackson Street Bridge, a cool and shady spot frequented by homeless people and prostitutes. Two crows were picking over a dead sewer rat, taking turns hoisting it up and shaking it around. The sandy bank was littered with used condoms, empty beer and vodka bottles, and rusting shopping carts from the nearby A&P. The cars rumbling over the bridge gave the place an air importance, like the Garden State Parkway or Route 22.

Sockatrees: Tell me Manatees, now that you’ve graduated from high school after staying back twice along the way, what do you plan to do with your life? Will you go into the Army? Work at Taco Bell? Pray, tell me, what’s next on your agenda?

Manatees: I‘m going to rob the Summit branch of ACCESS Savings and Loan. I bought a handgun from Joey’s Dad. I got one of those balaclavas at the ski shop, and I’m going take a car for a test drive from “Golden Wheels Used Cars.” It’s gonna be my getaway car—after I’m done I’ll light it on fire down here by the river—ooh—on the other hand, maybe I’ll take to “Earl Scheib’s” and have it painted for $99.00. I don’t know—maybe it would be best just to return it in the middle of the night—yeah, that’s what I’ll do, bring it back to “Golden Wheels.”

Sockatrees: Have you purchased a gym bag to put all your ill-gotten gains in?

Manatees: Wow! I forgot that one. Thanks Sockatrees!

Sockatrees: Don’t thank me. Why in the name of all that’s true, good, and beautiful do you want to rob a savings and loan?

Manatees: What’re you drunk? What a stupid question! I’ll be rich! I’ll be able to boss people around. I’ll get lots of girls. All my desires will be gratified. My life will be good.

Sockatrees: Good!? You are a fool Manatees. The “Good” is not to be found in the satisfaction of your desires. It is to be found in the pursuit of Justice, obedience to the Law, and the rehabilitation of your soul so you remember the far away planet you come from where everything is True: where everything is unchanging, and your soul was in sweet harmony with it. You will remember how you looked down at Earth, saw it’s shifting swirling colors, leaned too far, and fell down to it and landed in a body demanding its satisfaction with donuts, and sex, warm baths, and candy, and greed. Save your soul! Refrain from robbing the savings and loan! Stealing is unjust.

Manatees: Huh?

Manatees robbed the savings and loan. He made a clean getaway and returned the car to “Golden Wheels.” He found a college with open admissions, and used some of the money he robbed to pay his tuition. He graduated with honors. Eventually, he became a brain surgeon, saving the lives of hundreds of people, including infants and children. He donated a significant portion of his wealth to a foundation devoted to paying needy high school graduates’ college tuition.

Sockatrees was on his deathbed. He had been given three days to live. He struggled with the immorality of keeping Manaees’ secret all his life. He ratted out Manatees and died the next day. The statute of limitations on armed robbery was 55 years.

Manatees was arrested, and went to trial. He was found guilty. Given his wealth, Manatees was able to bribe the judge, who vacated his sentence of 20 years. Although he was a convicted felon, his work as a brain surgeon continued. The good he did as a brain surgeon and philanthropist far outweighed his criminal past. Everybody loved him.

The judge was pleased with his new Bentley and used his connections to help get Manatees nominated for President.

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.

Correctio (cor-rec’-ti-o): The amending of a term or phrase just employed; or, a further specifying of meaning, especially by indicating what something is not (which may occur either before or after the term or phrase used). A kind of redefinition, often employed as a parenthesis (an interruption) or as a climax.

There was a mess in my living room. Crumpled newspapers. Dirty clothes and dishes. Cookie crumbs all over the couch. Stains everywhere. Wait! No! In keeping with my Delusory Regime, I’m going to say that I’ve got an organic room-size sculpture going.

It was determined by my doctor that most things are beyond my reach—for example, neatness, and drawing on Protagoras’ “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” as a guiding Maxim, I went through 10 weeks of training in renaming what I couldn’t understand or achieve. For example, roller blading was renamed “stupid shoe rolling with wheels.” This made me feel much better about my inability to learn how to roller blade.

The Delusory Regime worked like a charm. It boosted my self esteem by encouraging me to disparage what I couldn’t do, or understand. I had gotten to level 10 where I insulted people who were clearly superior to me, even challenging them to fights.

Then it all fell apart. I was at the zoo enjoying looking at the caged animals. A siren went off with a voice saying “a tiger has escaped. Please evacuate the zoo.” I thought, “What a bunch of chicken shit bastards.” And kept my strong string of insults going at an elephant. I felt good! But then, the tiger came bounding out of the bushes and stopped and looked at me. I yelled at hm “You striped orange bathrobe from a nursing home.” It did not work. He was still a tiger from the jungle. I tried “Here kitty, kitty.” That didn’t work either. Right before they shot and killed him, he bit my left hand off—he twisted it back and forth and dropped it on the ground. The pain was awful—actually it was unbearable. Luckily, there was an ambulance standing by. The hand was too mangled to put back on. Now, they think it’s funny to call me lefty. I wear medically themed socks over the stump— I’m trying to make it into a sort of billboard that I can rent out.

Now, I go through life “calling them as they are.” For example, I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a slob while suing my doctor for losing my hand. I keep my hand in a jar in my office to make the point that I used to have two hands, and also, as a conversation starter with new clients: “Do you need a hand?”

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.

Correctio (cor-rec’-ti-o): The amending of a term or phrase just employed; or, a further specifying of meaning, especially by indicating what something is not (which may occur either before or after the term or phrase used). A kind of redefinition, often employed as a parenthesis (an interruption) or as a climax.

I was looking out the window at the spice bush when I realized I was crazy (well, not exactly “crazy” per se, but deeply unhinged). The spice bush was trying to get my attention, and I realized that seeing a gesturing spice bush secured my candidacy for another stay at “Yodel Hills,” a weirdly named insane asylum, supposedly named for 19th-century yodelers who went crazy yodeling—being unable to stop for weeks at a time, becoming so emaciated their cowboy hats would slip down over their ears, casting a menacing shadow. They called the malady “Yodelitis” and began a program of research to eradicate it. One of the first things they discovered was not wearing cowboy boots and wearing Florsheim imperial Wingtips instead, would significantly reduce, if not cure, instances of Yodelitis. And also, closing down the yodel camps where children were taught to yodel, almost eliminated Yodelitis. Dr. Littleoldlaydyhoo is credited with the final breakthrough: a drug that softened the larynx and prevented yodeling altogether: “Yode-Away.”

I knew if I told anybody about the spice bush, I’d be “taking a ride.” So, I decided to keep my mouth shut. As the days went by, the spice bush became more and more aggressive. Whipping back and forth, one day it tore a hole in the screen porch’s screen. I feared that it would become violent and hurt somebody. So, I decided to trim it back. It was pretty big, so I bought an electric hedge trimmer on Amazon. It came, and I charged the battery. I was ready to go.

I walked around the swimming pool toward the spice bush, carrying the trimmer. As I approached, it started shaking and wiggling. A branch shot out, whipped me in the face, and grabbed the hedge trimmer. It shook it at me as it fumbled to pull the trigger that would turn it on. I ran into the garage and grabbed my pole pruner. When I got back to the spice bush it had figured out how to start the trimmer. As I came toward it, it thrust the trimmer toward me in an attempt to keep me at bay. But that didn’t matter. I could attack from 10 feet away with my pole pruner if I had to.

The pruner had a curved saw blade and a lopper that operated by pulling a rope attached to it. My plan was to shove the pole pruner into the spice bush, hook the branch holding the trimmer and pull the rope, lopping off the branch. When I pulled the lopper, the spice bush let out a blood curdling scream and burst into flames. The screen porch was on fire!

The police said I had a shotgun in one hand and a can of gasoline in the other when they arrived. I couldn’t account for that, but I knew I was crazy as I got in the van for my “complimentary” ride to Yodel Hills. As we came up to the entrance, I noticed there were two large spice bushes growing on either side of the door. I could tell they wanted to kill me. I begged to use a side entrance and everybody laughed as they dragged me toward the door and the waiting spice bushes.

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.