Epanorthosis (ep-an-or-tho’-sis): Amending a first thought by altering it to make it stronger or more vehement

I was looking for affection. No, I was looking for hot steaming all night love. I deserved it, but it had eluded me. I was 87 years old and I was still looking. I had trolled all the nursing homes within a one-hundred mile radius. There was nothing but a gaggle of old blue-haired broads sitting in wheel chairs or lurching along with walkers with tennis balls stuck on the front legs.

I heard of a nursing home in California where the residents were euthanized when they reached 65. I was overjoyed. A delicatessen of delight filled with under-65 women, some barely eligible for Social Security. I knew I’d find my dream babe there, sweep her off her feet, and “play house” with her for the rest of my life—which wasn’t much.

The nursing home was called “Planned End.” What an apt name for a place that killed you when you turned 65! All those wasted years between turning 65 and dying of natural causes at some point were erased! I couldn’t wait to meet the love of my life there—maybe somebody who had just turned 60 and was ready for a new life.

I called Uber and took off for California. It cost $1,200, but it was worth it. We arrived at Planned End at 2:00 am. I walked up to the reception desk. The clerk gasped and asked me how I slipped through cracks. She thought I was a resident who had evaded euthanasia. Nothing I said could convince her otherwise. Four orderlies were summoned. They strapped me to a gurney and wheeled me into what was named the “Bon Voyage Room.”

Luckily I was carrying my switchblade knife that my grandfather had given me for a high school graduation present. I got it out of my pocket and flicked it open. I was able to cut the straps holding me down. The orderlies had gone outside for a smoke, but one of them came back carrying the kill juice in a bottle with a tube and needle hanging out.

I jumped off the gurney table and threatened him with the knife. He wet his pants and ran out the door yelling “Oh my God!” I took off for the lobby. There was a 60-something babe in the hallway. I grabbed her, dragged her out the entrance, and pushed her in the Uber. I told the driver to “Drive!” We made it back to Missouri the next morning. Mandy and I got to know each other on the ride to Missouri. She was a former pole dancer who had made a fortune in tips.

Her short-term memory was impaired so she forgot how she got to Missouri. I told her we had gotten married in Nevada.

Bottom line: I got what I wanted. Mandy generously signed her fortune over to me. We are living happily ever after. I hope Planned End never finds us. The Uber driver is sworn to secrecy.

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.

Epanorthosis (ep-an-or-tho’-sis): Amending a first thought by altering it to make it stronger or more vehement.

I think I will achieve fame if I just keep going. No, by god, I will achieve fame! I’ve tried to become famous for so many things: running over baby ducks with my truck, hiding my mother’s leg brace in the woods underneath a big log, eating a Black Widow spider, going to church naked with a golf club up my ass, standing on the roof of my cousin’s car while we were riding around village green, and eating the tip of a cat’s tail—that was painful and noisy, There are at lease 100 additional amazing deeds, but let’s stop and think for a minute.

Part of being famous is the buzz. But “buzz“ isn’t exclusive to fame. When I was arrested, ridiculed, and the subject of a story titled “There’s a Whack Job in Town,” in “Porta-Paper,” word spread, but it wasn’t because I was famous, it was because I had become infamous: “well known for some bad quality or deed.” So, I stopped right there and determined to do something righteous that would generate the buzz I so desperately craved.

I decided to save somebody’s life. I learned basic first aid, CPR, and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and I carried a six-pack of NALMEFENE HC to bring OD’d herion addicts back from the dead.

So, I was leaving a party at a friend’s house. There was this guy laying face down on the sidewalk. “Woo-hoo! It’s get famous time! I’m gonna save this guy.”

Out cold: Clearly, he had overdosed. I pulled out my six-pack of NALMEFENE HC and stuck some needles in his leg. I didn’t call 911 because I wanted all the credit for saving him. He didn’t move, so I stuck 3 more needles in him. Someone else came out the door and saw what was going on and called 911 and the police. I yelled “You’re ruining it!” He looked puzzled.

I was arrested.

The man on the sidewalk hadn’t overdosed. Rather, he had too much to drink and passed out. I had killed him with all the NALMEFENE HC I had pumped in him. Now, I am serving a 3-year prison sentence for involuntary manslaughter. I am remorseful for what I did, so I may get out early.

My quest for fame has not ended. Here in prison I’m writing poems for the other inmates to send to their loved ones. The inmates give me a general sense of what their love is about and I write a fitting poem. I take a portrait photograph and include it with each poem.

I hope to become famous as the “Prison Poet” and be a guest on daytime TV shows broadcasting over ZOOM. I have a laptop in my cell and the lighting is really good.

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.