Category Archives: metabasis

Metabasis

Posted on June 17, 2025 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now, by “insult you” I mean to say something rude to you that will hurt your feelings or make you mad, or both.

“You’re a stupid loser and so is your mother.”

There, that was an insult, not my best I admit, but good enough to insult you. Next, I’m going to elaborate on the insult’s two key terms: stupid and loser and how they apply to your mother and you, which is the crux of this particular insult.

Ok, let’s take a look at “stupid,” from the Lathn stupidus. All cognitive deficiencies came down to stupid. That’s it, plain and simple. Dull-witted and lacking in intelligence say it best. You know, like you reading at a fourth grade level when you’re 25, or learning to tie your shoes when you’re 15, or getting lost on the way home from school when we were kids, or jaywalking and getting hit by a car, or eating poison ivy leaves as “salad,” or, like your mother, marrying your father and bringing stupid you into the world, to its great detriment.

Now, let’s shed some light on “loser.” A loser is not a winner. They are always bested in some way. Not only that, they may continuously come in last. As a person, a loser is a failure. They never succeed at what they strive for no matter how big or small—from failure to get a promotion, to failure to pick up your kids at school like you were supposed to, while they wait in a blizzard.

As far as we live in a social order founded on competition, “losing” is the worst thing that can happen. What’s worse, like I said, no matter how well you do, if you don’t come in first, you lose. If you come second you lose. Number 1 is all that counts.

Often, being stupid and being a loser overlap, or are in an antecedent/consequence relationship—where stupidity may make you a loser. Like it clearly has with both you and your mother. If she had put you up for adoption when you were born, she wouldn’t be such a loser today, stuck with you as a son, like a malignant tumor.

In sum, you’re a stupid loser abetted by a mother who is also a stupid loser. Together, you have no foresight and waste your lives by living them. As stupid losers, you should take shelter in a monastery, making sandals and, as much as possible, stay out of other people’s lives, including each other’s.

What stupid losers!

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

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Metabasis

Posted on February 25, 2024 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

“There is nothing. Now that we have established that there is nothing, let’s take a look at something.“ My philosophy professor was insane. He thought he was clever. I thought he was insane—totally insane. Not a scrap of sanity. For example, in one class he repeated “because” for forty minutes and then told us it had transformed into “Cosby” exposing the causal mechanism behind Cosby’s jokes and his flagrant perversion (he’s in prison now).

If our professor wasn’t a professor, I was sure he would be sitting on a rag on some street waving around a styrofoam cup. He was already an alcoholic, so he was only one step away from the pavement. Today, we were gong to hear the ethics lecture again—for the fifth time during the semester. It’s a hypothetical situation where we are supposed to figure out what to do:

“A man is waiting for a bus and his pants fall down. They were too big because he had lost weight and pulled the wrong pair from his dresser in the early morning darkness. All of a sudden he notices a flaming baby carriage rolling down the hill toward him. He thinks if he tries to stop it, he may catch on fire too, plus, he does not even know if there’s a baby in the carriage. He steps back and trips over his fallen pants. As he falls to the pavement he catches a glimpse of a baby, apparently dead, in the carriage as it goes by. He’s relieved and sad. Then the carriage hits a bump and the baby flies out crying and lands in the middle of the street. The man pulls up his pants and, holding them by the waistband, runs in front of a truck headed for the baby and scoops up the baby, letting go of his pants, he trips and falls on top of the baby, breaking one of the baby’s ribs and puncturing one of the baby’s lungs. He calls 911 and saves the baby. Over the years, he develops a drinking problem. He’s hanging out in the afternoon in a cocktail lounge and it’s his 45th birthday. A young woman sits down beside him and he buys her a drink. She’s drinking tequila shots. About five drinks in, she tells him she was rescued from a flaming baby carriage when she was a baby. She’s half drunk and so is he.”

What should he do and why?

The class will argue for 20 minutes. The consensus is usually, he shouldn’t tell her who he is and try to get her to hook up with him for the night. Then, tell her who he is in the morning, hoping she’ll go away anyway. If not, they can move in together and she can express her gratitude endlessly and he can live like a king.

This is a bizarre outcome and displays the ethical bankruptcy operative in the United States. 50 years ago that young woman would not have sat down by a strange man. All the baby carriage stuff would not have happened—people held onto their baby carriages back then! What a bunch of crap. I hope it’s not too late to drop the class.

POSTSCRIPT

As he turned around, he saw a burning baby carriage coming at him down the hallway. He pushed open the fire exit and ran out into the parking lot.

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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Metabasis

Posted on July 16, 2023 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

The words have been spoken. Now, I will speak more words, and then, even more words. Words. Words, Words. It’s a stampede. A riot. A whole lotta’ words. They have meanings. They affect people similarly and differently. They are words—almost worlds—if only words had that “L”, meanings would be more rounded, more global, but not more circular. Now that I’ve made no sense, let’s try to find out why.

I was raised by wolves. My father was a butcher and my mother sold used cars. My father quoted Plato all the time, the passage in Gorgias about cutting meat at the joints—a metaphor for dividing and organizing a speech “naturally.” My mother used to say “Stand in front of the rust.” She was so cool—ready to deceive, and cheat, to make a sale—to bring home the bacon for me and Dad, who would literally bring home the bacon from “Mighty Meaty,” his marginally successful butcher shop.

When I turned 16, my parents told be they could finally afford to buy me a toy for no more than $25.00. All those years I had spent without store-bought toys did not prepare me for my parents’ offer. I had just finished fashioning a horn to make a mooing sound. There was a dairy nearby and I was going to go there and moo at the cows. This was a very specialized toy that reflected my unique interests. Like a word, my moo horn had meaning—meaning that couldn’t be found in a dictionary.

What could I get for $25.00 that would appeal to me? Gambling. It had always fascinated me. My investment was a fake mustache I could wear at the “Shooting Moon” casino to conceal my age. I didn’t know that much about gambling games like dice, so, I went for the slot madness. I cashed my $25.00 in bills for 25 silver dollars. I had seen a slot machine with a $25,000 jackpot. All you needed to do was put a silver dollar in a slot and pull a giant handle. After my first pull it came up all zeroes, and a recorded voice said “Pull my handle again.” I did, and got the same result until finally, I pushed in my last silver dollar and pulled the giant handle. A recorded voice said “Holy Shit” and started singing “You’re in the money!” A huge pile of silver dollars was growing at my feet, pouring out of the front of the machine. An attractive woman asked me if I “needed help with the money.” I had read “The National Enquirer” enough to see right through that scam. Then I realized it was my mother. I said, “Sure Ma. How did you know I was here.” She told me she didn’t know, she comes to “Shooting Moon” nearly every afternoon, before she starts cooking dinner for the family.

By then, they had set up a security barrier. The floor was covered with silver dollars. A man in a sort of uniform came up to me and handed me a check for $25,000. “Good luck.” he said. Just then, my fake mustache fell off. I picked up off the floor, stuck it back on, and said calmly, “Incognito.” I shook his hand and walked out of “Shooting Moon” with enough money to maybe buy a car from my mom, or 50lbs of pork chops from my dad. But more than anything, I wanted to invest in the stock market. I did. I am a billionaire. Yesterday, I ate lunch with Elon Musk.

Now, we get back to words. It was a long haul. Without words we’d be living in pods and squeaking at each other, we’d be doing some kind of hula dance at our front doors to decide which way to go, we’d howl to achieve consensus, we’d honk on the way south and north so we could stick together, we’d rub our legs together on warm summer nights. But no, we have words! Sometimes I think I’d rather honk, or maybe purr.

There you have it. We’ve been there. Then we we’re here. Next we’re headed there.

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

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Metabasis

Posted on November 19, 2022 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Professor Pentaclause: I have told you all I know about crème sauce, it’s history, ingredients, and uses. Next, we’re going to have a look at my “difficulties” while I down a few shots of bourbon and smoke this joint. I’ve been teaching “sauces” here at “Governor Clockmoore’s School of Culinary Arts” for 8 years. As you know, Clockmoore’s is located at the pinnacle of perfection—it is like a Platonic Idea of culinary arts. We operate in full service of the senses, speaking to the taste buds in the languages of savor, sensuality, and lip-smacking revels spanning the spectrum from sweet to bitter, frozen to hot, chilled and warmed. I have diligently taught you that there is no real difference between what tastes good and what is good. That writhing in a field with your lover on a warm summer night under a star-filled sky is good, just as good as rescuing a puppy whose leg is stuck in a metal trap, mercilessly crushing his little speckled paw. When faced with the choice between what feels good, and what is good, what feels good should win the prize: what is good can hurt you and even possibly get you killed. Which should it be? Jumping in front of a bullet? Or, a large order of fries and a sojourn in a hot tub?

Yes. Yes. Thank you for the applause. But nobody is perfect. That includes me. I have succumbed to the good that has no apparent sensual payoff, and while I have told you to oppose it, and resist it, and seek sensual pleasure instead, I have not, and I have concealed it out of shame and embarrassment for not living in accord with my own credo: “If it feels good do it, and pay money for it if you have to.”

This baby Robin had fallen out of its nest. It’s mother was going crazy, cheeping and running back and forth on the nest’s branch. The baby Robin had landed in the street. It was a busy street with cars and trucks zooming back and forth. The baby Robin had landed on the white line. I was standing on the curb eating a Peruvian dark chocolate cupcake with mashed truffle icing and a small ball of edible gold foil on top. It tasted like it was made by angels who were in love with me and wanted to carry me off to Miami, or LA., or some other wonderland. But the baby Robin’s cheeping broke through the din and drew me into the street like a macaroon made by Pierre Desfontaines himself! Holding my cupcake over my head, I stepped into the traffic. Tires squealed. Horns honked. Curses were hurled. After almost getting killed a couple of times, I reached the baby Robin shivering and cheeping on the street’s white line. I threw my magnificent cupcake to the ground. I picked up the baby Robin and cupped my hands, and held the little guy as I risked my life getting back to the sidewalk. I was standing under the branch that the baby Robin had fallen from. I couldn’t reach the nest to return the baby Robin, so I threw it. After five or six tries, he landed in his nest, where his mother promptly threw him out. I picked him up and carried him home. I bought him a birdcage and named him Robin. I looked up baby bird food recipes on the internet. They were disgusting. I wasn’t ready to run earthworms through my high-tech blender, or mash them with a mortar and pestle. I dealt with my trepidations by garnishing the worms with egg yolks and finely chopped pickles.

My garnishes made Robin very sick. I had to take him to the Vet. The Vet pumped Robin’s stomach with an eye dropper and admonished me for what I had done. I should’ve read the whole baby bird feeding article—it explicitly said not to garnish the worms. I felt terrible. I had almost killed an innocent baby bird! But, in a weird way, I felt good—a different kind of good than my credo advocates. The feeling was intangible, yet somehow sensual. I am baffled.

Accordingly, I am taking a sabbatical. Robin and I will be taking up residence in a monastery specializing in coddling rich people who think they have stepped off the cliff of spiritually and are tumbling toward a giant puddle of mud filling a mall parking lot and preventing them from freely shopping. This is a complex metaphor requiring delicate and subtle philosophic examination. “Mumbo Monastery” provides the kind of bleak and austere environment that induces insight, reflection and facilitates personal change.

So, I’ll see you around. Where’s my Robin? Did anybody see where he went?

Student: Yes, Professor Pentaclause, the janitor grabbed him when you weren’t looking and ran out the side exit!

Professor Pentaclause: Oh. When you see him tell him I gave him the bird with both hands.

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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Metabasis

Posted on March 31, 2022 | Comments Off on Metabasis

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

It you will, if you count to ten, you will see a metaphorical rainbow. Yes, that’s right. I told you about the phenomenon in great detail, setting out the prior conditions, their necessity, and the eerie music that must be playing to prepare your brain like a 10 pound turkey to be basted with truth and stuffed with wisdom. Next, I will explain how the metaphorical rainbow operates to endow you with an angelic halo, another metaphor hovering above your head, like a swarm of luminescent bees or flies—it depends on your body odor. If you smell like a flower, you get bees. If you smell like garbage or dog-do, you get flies.

I know this next phase of your spiritual journey is complicated and vexing. Be patient, what’s next will be truly mind bending. And once you’ve achieved “Bent Mind Hood” every word will become a metaphor, and you will lose your grip. Clutching and squeezing will never again be goals. Ok. Let us begin by singing Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive.” Then, we’ll have some delicious Kool Aid.

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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Metabasis

Posted on August 2, 2021 | Comments Off on Metabasis

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now that I’ve told you and everybody else on board three times to wear a mask on this aircraft, if you continue to fail to comply, next, I will tell you to exit the aircraft. That means deplane.

Stop yelling and creating a disturbance Ms. Greene. Out of 100 passengers, you’re the only one not not willing to comply with my request.

I will count to three. If you’re not on your way to the aircraft’s exit after that, if necessary, you will be forcibly ejected. Or, if you put on a mask, fine.

1-2-3.

Marshall, remove this woman from the aircraft. Be careful, she may be in need of psychiatric intervention. I’ll call ahead so medical personnel can meet you and you can take her take her to the airport medical facility for a brief examination.

Please quiet down Ms. Greene. It’s not the end of the world.

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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Metabasis

Posted on February 13, 2020 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now that we’ve covered the heap of evildoing perpetrated by the blond fat man, we have to determine whether, in the aggregate, it adds up to one big capital offense.

(Bailiff, please tell the blond fat man to shut up and stop crying like a baby with diaper rash and a sunburned ass.)

Now, if it is determined that the blond fat man is guilty, he will be sentenced to death and we will have the pleasurable honor of determining how he will go.

(Bailiff, please tell the blond fat man to shut up and stop crying like a toddler who pooped his pants and can’t find his mommy.)

By and large there seems to be a consensus of opinion regarding the blond fat man’s demise: the parents of the deceased Mexican children who died in cages want to beat him to death, skin him, and make him into a piñata filled with blank US Government checks endorsed by the Secretary of the Treasury.

(Baliff, the blond fat man has peed himself. Take him back to his cage. Feel free to hit him in the stomach a couple of times to calm him down.)

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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Metabasis

Posted on July 17, 2017 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now that we’ve had a chance to explain what collusion is, let’s take a look at  recent examples from news headlines reporting the Trump family’s meetings with Russians and see if they fit the definition of “collusion.”

There are so many examples! Let’s focus on one: Donald Trump was observed whispering in Vladimir Putin’s ear at the Molotow nightclub in Hamburg, Germany. Now, as far as collusion goes, the means are present: a ‘secret’ message for Putin’s ear only. The problem is, we don’t know the content of the the message. Even though they immediately got up and danced, there’s no telling the sum total of Trump’s message to Putin.  Accordingly, we must rule out the “Molotow Communique” as a instance of collusion, aside from the resultant dancing, which is, I guess, a form of ‘soft’ collusion.

Ok, let’s take a look at the second example . . .

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.

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Metabasis

Posted on July 12, 2016 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now that we have had a chance to thoroughly understand what the law and order candidate means by “law and order,” let’s take a look at what the other candidate seemingly means by “law and order” in the context of her recent brush withe FBI.

To start with . . .

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

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Metabasis

Posted on May 1, 2014 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now that we’ve explained the three key advantages of being a crack smoking mayor, we’re going to show you how they pertain to Mayor Rob Ford, a strong proponent of getting high in office, overeating,  and providing generous subsidies to struggling drug lords.

First, . . .

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

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Metabasis

Posted on August 28, 2013 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now that I’ve offered a broad justification for going to Hell, I’d like to turn our attention specifically to Syria and explain why cutting through Syria is possibly the best way to get to Hell.

  • Post your own metabasis on the “Comments” page!

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

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Metabasis

Posted on February 9, 2008 | Leave a comment

Metabasis (me-ta’-ba-sis): A transitional statement in which one explains what has been and what will be said.

Now that I’ve explained three of the major causes of air pollution, let’s look at three of the major effects of air pollution.

  • Post your own metabasis on the “Comments” page!

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

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