Category Archives: hypozeuxis

Hypozeuxis

Posted on July 4, 2025 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

“I am a travellin’ man. I am a movin’ groover. I have a crankin’ motor for a soul.” This is what I said when I introduced myself. It usually scared people away. I was just being honest.

I was high-test hyperactive. I took medication, but I couldn’t sit still. I talked too fast. I fidgeted. Foot-tapping was my specialty. I played the guitar at social events and it would often conceal my hyperactivity, especially if I played the blues which demand foot-tapping. I hid out in “Baby Please Don’t Go,” and “Boom, Boom, Boom” Both afforded heavy and deeply hard foot-tapping. I even wrote a blues song:

I put the gravy on my bread,

And then I went to bed.

I thought about you.

And I wished I was dead.

Ow, ow, ow!

I’m goin’ to sleep.

Ow, ow, ow!

You’re a creep.

I’m not gonna’ weep.

I’m goin’ to sleep.

Ow, ow, ow!

I wrote this after my girlfriend left me and I had the blues. She said I was too twitchy and had a hard time looking at me because it made her nervous and afraid. She was afraid that my twitch would cause me to accidentally punch her, so she couldn’t get close to me. We never hugged. We never kissed. We never . . . Just guess.

But now I met a new girl. Her name is Wiggle. We’re both hyperactive. When we get together it’s like two full speed egg beaters making meringue. It is the best connection I’ve ever made with another human being. We know what makes each other “tic.” Ha, ha—too funny.

We went for a moonlight walk that turned out to be two days long. We had so much energy we walked until we were exhausted. We laid by the side of the road bicycle pumping our legs in the air. We told the man who picked us up that we wanted to go to a motel. He agreed. When we got to the “Night Fever Motel” he checked the three of us into one room. We were alarmed when he started to take off his pants. We told him we weren’t that kind of people. He took off his pants anyway and ran out the door. We hauled-ass out of the room and noticed his car was parked there with the keys in it. We stole his car and drove to a shopping mall and left it in the parking lot. My driving was terrible—I couldn’t drive in a straight line and I kept stomping and letting up on the gas pedal—we were getting whiplash.

We called an Uber (which is what we should’ve done in the first place) and it drove us to our doors. I miss Wiggle, but I think we should stay away from each other for a little while.

Ow, ow, ow!

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.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on October 27, 2024 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I flew to the rooftop, landed softly, and screeched like a duck being strangled. It was a rather unpleasant sound, but it alerted the babes that I was back in town. I had migrated in from Florida and was looking forward to a good time in Central New York, just north of Utica.

The babes called back to me in a chorus of wantonness, like 500 Eves calling to Adam in the Garden of Eden. I went to my lair-nest and and transformed into a human self. I had 100s of human templates I could employ. I always chose Richard Nixon on my first night out. North of Utica is staunchly Republican and Nixon was considered bold and sexy with a wry sense humor. I was a 27-year-old Nixon—he could have all the action he wanted, as often as he wanted it.

I was one of three transformer birds left in the world. Although were were 99.9% immortal, we could be killed by a pencil stuck in our right ear. The other two transformer bids lived far away—one in Peru and one in Australia. They did well and weren’t under threat. In Peru and Australia, men enjoyed sharing their wives and girlfriends and didn’t mind the transformer bird’s intrusion into their lives. Not so in Central New York. I knew the men had heard my call, and the fevered response, and would be hunting for me. As young Richard Nixon, the men wouldn’t recognize me anyway. There were about 100 babes lined up at my nest. I had the power to make my nest disappear, along with me, by clapping my hand twice. It was 7.00 am when I came to the last babe in line. She had told me she had voted Republican since she was 18 and she had been “screwed every time, and was disappointed.” I nodded. She said, “But this time I know I won’t be disappointed! Take me up to your nest Dick!” I couldn’t’t ask for a better way to end the night. I was back in Central New York doing what I was born to do! The best thing was that the babes forgot what they had done about fifteen minutes after they did it! So, they came back night after night until I flew back to Florida in October.

This week I was going out as a young Mick Jagger. He is the human most like a transformer bird. After that, I was Benny Hill. I kept going until October 15th and then headed for Key West, and became a young Ernest Hemingway. Nobody Recognized me and I spent my winter in peace, resting up with a of couple cats.

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.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on March 13, 2024 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I went to the supermarket. There was shopping to be done. I saw a candy bar on the floor. It was a Wonker Bar. With the special silver coupon, it could be worth millions! I picked it up and put it in my backpack. A whooping siren like a car alarm went off and I was surrounded by security Guards. “You took the bait, big shot! It was “Whammy” Bontern who I had gone to high school with. He dropped out in our sophomore year and tried to become a policeman, but couldn’t pass the intelligence test—division did him in, as did his police record. He had stolen a bicycle and held it for ransom—for ten dollars. He was caught when he agreed to meet his victim in the park for the exchange of the ransom money for the bike. He was arrested when he rode up with a balaclava on this head. It was a scandal because Whammy’s mother was mayor. Whammy was sent to reeducation camp for 2 weeks. When he returned, he was hired as a security guard in the grocery store.

I had gone to college and gotten a degree in restaurant management. I opened a place called “Eats.” It was informal. We specialized in unhealthy food and drew customers from 100s of miles around, even from Canada. Most of our customers were overweight and smoked. Of course, Whammy hatred me because I had gone to college and had my own business, while he hadn’t progressed in the past ten years. I told him and the other goons that I was going to turn the Wonker Bar in when I cashed out & maybe even pay for it. They were convinced. since I had put it in my backpack, that I intended to steal it. The million dollar coupon would give me an incentive.

Whammy said “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” Then, he handcuffed me and led me to the”the back room.” He said, “You were going to steal the Wonker Bar.” I said “No.” He said the same thing over and over and I kept saying “No.” He called the police to come and arrest me. They told him to get a life and to let me go. As I was about to go to checkout, he said, “I’ll have to confiscate that Wonker Bar.” I said “No you’re not, I’m paying for it.” He became enraged and tasered me. As I went down, I notice a thing like a mouth on his forearm. He kept putting his arm up to his ear. At first, I thought it was a nervous tic, but he was actually listening to his arm. Why hadn’t anybody noticed?

When I regained consciousness, I ran to the dairy section and grabbed 3 packages of cream cheese. I ran back and Whammy was sitting on the floor in tears. I unwrapped the cream cheese and stuffed it in his arm mouth. It started gagging and chocking and slowly disappearing. Whammy brightend up and his voice lost its menacing tone. I promised not to say anything about the tasering. I thought to myself self—no wonder he’s such a mess, taking advice from his arm all those years.

I payed for the Wonker Bar and headed for my car. I put my groceries in the trunk. Sat down behind the wheel to open the Wonker Bar and check the coupon to see if I won millions of dollars. There was no coupon! Somebody had stolen it.

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.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on August 3, 2023 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I waved the crayon around over my head. I smiled and jumped up and down. My chest tattoo of a dormouse started showing as my cowboy shirt started to come unsnapped—pop, pop, pop, pop went the snaps as they came undone, revealing the tattoo’s caption: “Feed Your Head.” From “Alice in Wonderland” to The Jefferson Airplane, I had fed my head. So, I picked up my gold-plated kazoo, and did my best Jimi Hendrix, blasting out “Voodoo Child” like somebody was sticking pins in me. Then, I ate a handful of Smarties, as I did every day, as a tribute to Princess Diana. It was her favorite candy. Some people say she was eating a handful Smarties when she was killed in the car crash in Paris. It is almost too horrible to contemplate, but they say she had a red one stuck in her eye when they removed her body from the car. It reminded me of the time I was hanging out with the Stones, and we all put Red Stipe bottle caps in our eyes pretending we were blind Jamaican zombies with our hands stretched out in front, bumping into each other. That’s when we found out that Kieth Richards actually was a zombie. He kept saying “I smell the brain of an Englishman.” I pulled the bottle caps out of Keith’s eyes and he returned to his aged, wrinkled, nicotine-stained 80-year-old looking 35-year-old-self. I never saw him eat a brain, but he would talk about it after he smoked a little weed. He would talk about how much a “prime” brain weighs, the different “cuts” of brain and how the medulla was tremendously useful in making the heart keep track of the beat, and how it was very soft because it didn’t do any thinking.

Eventually Kieth went to South Jersey in the US for the cure. He was buried up to his neck on the beach, a perfect target for urinating dogs. After being “splashed” 13 times, he was cured. It is rumored that “Honky Tonk Woman” came out of this experience.

I was in the rock group “Sputtering Flame.” We sang songs we composed about serial killers, farm animals, and roller blading—looking for the kind of success The Beach Boys had achieved with with surfing with our music about rollerblading, Our biggest hit was “Crazy Gacy,” a song about the American serial killer John Wayne Gacy. At the same time, we were booed off the stage even if we hinted we might perform it. So, we focused on farm animals and roller blading. “Old McDonald Stole My Pig” made it to 72 on the charts—that was the best we did, although “How Now Tattooed Cow” made it to 89. Rollerblading was a catastrophe—it was almost ephemeral in its longevity. “Let Me Roll You to the Motel Next Door,” “Squeaking Wheels,” and “WD-40” were our best, topping the charts at 105, 107, and 125, and then the rollerblading craze crashed. The venues closed and “Sputtering Flame” was extinguished..

We were heartbroken, but we had to carry on. I gave up my musical career. I was awash in drugs, and still am—mostly pot and opiated hash. Although I’m nearly 80, after 40 or so years of debauchery that makes Dorian Gray look like the Pope, I got a full tuition scholarship at Candy Land Community College. I’ve dyed my hair black and lost a few pounds. I was pretty sure my creative writing professor Ms. Wangford, had some kind of crush on me. She told me I needed to come to her office for a “special lesson.” My imagination took off. It would be amazing. I got to her office and she was on all fours on her desk. She jumped down and we both sat down. She took off her wig. It was Alice Cooper. He said “Do you get the irony my man?” I was coming on to my third pipe load of opiated hash. Alice looked like the yellow circle in the center of a daisy, with white petals. Only he wasn’t only yellow—he was flashing purple and red too. Misunderstanding him, I said “I don’t do ironing. Everything I own is wash and wear.” He started spinning like a wheel of fortune and cackling. I ran out the door, slamming it so hard the glass broke.

I am almost ready to graduate with an Associate Degree in Topiary Sciences. I specialize in making hedges into squirrels and ducks. But I do have my creative moments—my senior project was a firefighter with a mug of beer in one hand and a BIC lighter in the other. I have a job with “Trendy Trimmers.” Although it sounds like a hair salon, it is the Number 1 topiary operation in North Jersey. My first gig will be making all of Jon Bon Jovi’s hedges into parked Harleys. It should take about a year.

So, it looks like I’ve landed fairly gently in life. With all my failures, it looks like I might have some success ahead. But still, I like to reminisce about the bad old days—taking the stage with “Sputtering Flame” and trying hard to be a star.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on December 7, 2022 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I found my charger cable. I found my sock. I found my wallet. I found my passport. I found them all underneath my cat’s bed, in a corner, on the living room floor. I had flipped the bed over by accident when I was pushing it with my foot because it was in the way of my bookcase’s bottom shelf. That’s where I kept my copy of “Sleeping in the Light: Iceland, Steam, and Lava.” I had been to Iceland on vacation every year for the past five years. I loved the beauty of the razor-sharp lava fields, the giant natural hot tubs, and the delicious barbecued Minke sandwiches.

As I looked at my belongings on the floor, I couldn’t imagine how my cat could’ve put everything under his bed, let alone carry them there. I was getting ready for my annual trek to Iceland, and thought that, as crazy as it seemed, my cat was trying to thwart my vacation plans. With the exception of the sock, the stuff hidden under his bed was critical to my travel. Without my wallet or passport, I was finished. With no charger chord, I would be inconvenienced. The sock had been missing for a year. It was irrelevant. I would catch him! I would set up CCTV in the living room and my bedroom and review the recordings every morning. I put everything back the way it was so my cat would not be suspicious. He hadn’t come out of the basement for two days, at least, as far as I knew. This wasn’t unusual. My guess was, he was coming up at night to do his dirty work. His empty food dish told me that.

My guess was confirmed the next morning when I reviewed the recordings. My fingernail clippers were missing from the little dish on my dresser. My mother had given them to me when I was 12 and I had developed an attachment to them and an obsession with clipping my nails. The nail clippers went with me wherever and whenever I travelled. I had had them gold-plated and a gold jump ring added. I wore them on a gold chain. They were missing.

There on the recording was my cat sneaking into my bedroom, jumping up on my dresser, and grabbing the nail clippers in his mouth. The clip from the second camera shows him in the living room pushing his head under his bed, dropping the clippers, slowly backing away, and then, curling up in his bed. I was astounded, and at the same time, wanted to figure out what to do. Why did he decide to do this when I was getting ready for my 6th Iceland trip, when he had never done it before? Maybe he was finally fed up with having to stay with my sister. She has five children who probably taunt Him. I decided to take everything (but the sock) back from under under his bed.

The first night, he took my passport again. The cat was persistent. So, as a typical cat owner, I decided to take him with me on my next trip. The process was convoluted, culminating in a 14-day quarantine at the airport. I sat him down on the kitchen island, at eye level, and told him what I was going to do. His tail shot up like a pillar of fur, signifying his happiness. Over the next few days he returned everything to its rightful place. We started working on leash training, and he quickly mastered walking on a leash. I filled out all paperwork from Iceland for his “pet passport.” I was allowed to keep him in the airplane’s cabin during our flight. I got him a “Cat Caliph” pet carrier. If he touched a mouse-faced button on the carrier’s side, the floor rolled back revealing a special travel litter box that could be used with no odor, or cleaning, for one week. I filled my backpack with “10,000 Salmon Heads” kitty treats. For the most part The cate would ride on my lap, sleeping and looking out the window.

Postscript:

We had a wonderful trip. The cat made many friends. When it got close to time to leave, my passport went missing. I looked under The cat’s bed in our hotel room and there it was.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on April 18, 2022 | Comments Off on Hypozeuxis

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I am going to the mall. I’ve been locked down for a year. I was unable to go out for fear of catching the virus. I have been dividing my time between bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room and laundry room. I don’t answer the phone. My kids annoy me. I don’t answer the door for the same reason. I used to think the internet is a curse. Now, I think it is a blessing. I give my kids 1 minute on Zoom every three days. I buy everything I need on Amazon. The other day I bought a Beagle puppy. I need the company. I named him Peloton after the ad on TV. The only thing I can’t get on Amazon is a haircut, and it shows. That is my first stop at the mall—at Hairport where a recent high school grad will cut my hair for $8.00 and yap the whole time. Then, I’m going to Boscov’s to look at all the shiny chrome appliances and cheap t-shirts. Last, I’ll go to Pet Hutch to get Peloton a leash and collar. In a way, I feel like I’m being unfaithful to Amazon, and I am! It’s exhilarating.

Postscript: I caught the virus at the mall. Or, maybe I got it from the Uber driver who took me to the mall when my car wouldn’t start. He was wearing a mask, but it was one of those cheap cloth ones with Jesus’ picture printed on it. Anyway, at least I am not dying. The vaccine and booster I got when all this started helped. Last night, I stumbled across a gentleman on Zoom. He was just as surprised as I was. We had a very intimate conversation and I slept like a kitten afterwards. The next day I was supposed to meet him again. This time, I was dressed for ‘success’ with my newly purchased “toy” (named Big Richard) in my hand. I turned on Zoom and there were my children! Jaws dropped. My second oldest threw up. My son started laughing. I killed it as fast as I could and started thinking of an excuse. I couldn’t think of one. I am going to tell the truth. They’re mature adults. But, will they understand? Probably not.

It’s late. I pick up Big Richard from the nightstand. He cost $95.00 on Amazon. I am determined to get my money’s worth. I plug his charger into the electric outlet by the closet. His red “I’m charging” light glows, casting a lurid hue over the darkened room. I will wait for Big Richard, like I used to wait for my former husband. I wonder if Big Richard will be a disappointment too.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on August 22, 2021 | Comments Off on Hypozeuxis

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

They said I was morally bankrupt. Actually, I bet on a losing concept of the good. Aristotle or Socrates, or some other philosopher (maybe Augustine), wrote that people do what they do because they think it’s good, not bad. Why else rob a convenience store unless you think it’ll benefit you? When we thwart a criminal we keep her or him from obtaining a hoped-for good—quick cash, drugs, a plasma TV, food. I think it was Stanley Fish, or somebody like him, who proclaimed “One person’s hope is another person’s fear.”

By the way, this gun is WAY LOADED—17 rounds of sweet little 9mm hollow points. And I have a hope! I hope your toupee goes up in flames. Now, you’re going to stand still while I dribble this lighter fluid on your head, otherwise I’ll shoot you in the stomach and watch you squirm around and bleed on the floor. Ready?

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on March 8, 2020 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis  (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I went out toward my backyard. I trudged through the snow. I arrived at my swimming pool. It was filled with ice, looking like a giant snow cone with no flavor. I looked at my iPhone and saw that it was 52 degrees. I am standing here waiting for spring, like I’m waiting for a bus filled with bluebirds, watermelons, and lemonade that’s going to pull up and spray my yard with warmth and sunshine. I can almost hear its gears grinding, coming up the hill.  But no, it isn’t going to happen.  It will snow 10-15 more times before spring arrives. It will go down to below zero one more time, and I’ll just have to keep wearing this stupid orange ski mask, these worn out old black boots, raggedy mittens, and cheap coat stuffed with duck feathers and covered with cigarette burns that I’ve had since I checked out of the VA facility nearly eleven years ago. But, like every year, I’ll still be around when the Bluebirds do arrive, the fruit trees begin to blossom, and the ramps start springing up all over the woods–that’s why they call it spring–things spring up and begin their journeys  toward fruition. I will till my garden boxes. I will plant seeds. I will wait.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on August 14, 2017 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis  (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I arrived at the grocery store. It was around 4.00pm. The vegetables were in the process of being misted. I wondered why eggplants needed misting. Well, I guess the person who tends the vegetables knows the answer. So I asked: “Why do you mist the eggplants?”

“The quick answer is they are related to tomatoes. I know that’s not a very good answer, but nobody would ever question the propriety of misting tomatoes.”

“I would” said the man standing behind me wearing a Burpee Seed hat and dirty overhauls.

“Uh oh” I thought to myself, there’s going to be some kind of misting showdown in the produce section!

I grabbed an eggplant and took off for the seafood section before something regretful happened.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on June 8, 2014 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis  (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I opened my eyes, got out of bed, made coffee, turned on the TV and watched my second wife making a sock puppet on the knitting channel. She finished the sock puppet and put it on her hand. It looked like me thirty years ago. Swinging my sock puppet mullet back and forth she made the sock puppet me say, “The hell I will!” The screen went blank and up popped an ad for Pagan Mingle, “We make the sacrifice, you get the partner.” I felt a tickling sensation in my lips and . . .

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

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on September 11, 2013 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis  (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

As Lincoln said, “If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could better judge what to do, and how to do it.”

Last night, President Obama gave a speech on Syria, the pundits yelled at each other, Chris Matthews went nuts, and I turned off my TV.

The House is divided. Whither are we tending?

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

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on May 9, 2012 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis  (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

Last night the sweaty Indiana campaign crowd cheered, the winning candidate smiled and waved, and Lugar’s legacy was demolished, flattened, paved over.  And today, on that great flat expanse, the fleet of shiny new 2013 Conservative Avengers (made in USA) is lined up in a row in accord with the giant red, white, and blue sign at the entrance:

Park to the Far Right or Be Towed

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

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Hypozeuxis

Posted on September 28, 2007 | Leave a comment

Hypozeuxis  (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

The driver sipped coffee, the passengers yacked, and the van rolled on through the night.

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

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