Category Archives: metonymy

Metonymy (me-ton’-y-my): Reference to something or someone by naming one of its attributes. [This may include effects or any of the four Aristotelian causes {efficient/maker/inventor, material, formal/shape, final/purpose}.]

I was inked from head to toe. On my forehead I had the Yankees scoreboard tattooed. On my toe I had a domino tattooed. I had over 600 tattoos on my body. They were random and unconnected. In a way they symbolized how screwy I am. Now, I had my eye on a new tattoo. I’m no brain, but I think I have chosen the right image to finish inking myself up. I had met a girl at Duncan Donuts. She looked as covered in ink as me. I picked her up and we went back to my place to show off our tattoos to each other. Her head wasn’t tattooed, but the rest of her was. One was a line of guys standing outside a Porta-Potty captioned “Whole lotta love” after the Led Zeppelin song. I thought the tribute to Zed Zeppelin was really amazing. One of her ass cheeks was tattooed like a watermelon and the other was tattooed like a soufflé. I thought those two tattoos were creative and classy. Then, she had a tattoo of a dagger stuck in hey heart. It was captioned “Betrayal.” I almost cried. My tattoos were inane pieces of shit compared to hers.

I told her I loved her. She told me she loved me too. We agreed to get tattoos commemorating our love. I thought, and thought, and thought. I only had about a three-inch patch of unlinked skin left on my body. It was my penis. I hadn’t got it inked because I thought it might render me impotent, but this was an emergency: I promised Annabelle that I’d do it. I went to Inky’s where I always went for my tattoos. I was ready. I told Inky to make my pecker into a rocket ship. He complied. It took four hours of buzzing and grimacing. The rocket ship said “Annabelle” on one side and “Davy” (me) on the other. Inky smeared my wang with bacitracin and wrapped a bandage around it. It hurt like hell.

I invited Annabelle over to check it out. She rang the bell in 15 minutes. I opened the door and waved my wang at her. When I showed her our names on it, she clapped her hands and said she loved it. I asked her if she had had her tat done yet. She said “No” and that she had a confession to make: she had no tattoos. The ones she had shown me were from her MFA project: “Washable Ink: No Commitment.”

We loved each other anyway and got married.

As part of her MFA project, she had developed a spray jet that drew as effectively on skin as a tattoo needle, but used special washable ink and caused no pain. We opened a tattoo parlor called “Ink in the Sink.” We specialize in washable tattoos. In addition to our shop, we travel to fairs and expositions “tattooing” people.

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

Daily Trope is available in an early edition 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.

Metonymy (me-ton’-y-my): Reference to something or someone by naming one of its attributes. [This may include effects or any of the four Aristotelian causes {efficient/maker/inventor, material, formal/shape, final/purpose}.]

I was watching my watch. It was almost time to scoop my hard-boiled egg from the boiling water. My watch didn’t have a functioning second hand so I had to wait for the big hand to move. The suspense drove me crazy. Not only that, my watch would randomly stop. I’d have take it off and hit it to get it going again, and then, I didn’t know what time it was. I needed a new time piece so I could get back in sync with the world.

I Googled “men’s watches” in my zip code. I found a vender that looked promising. The store was called “ Big Ben’s.” It specialized in “multifunctional” watches. I hopped on my cycle, flipped it to electric. and buzzed off to Big Ben’s.

I got there in about five minutes. When I opened the door it made a cuckoo clock sound. There was the proprietor standing behind the counter wearing a white lab coat. He said “Hello. I am Adolph Pecker. You want a watch?” I said “yes” and he hoisted a tray full of watches onto the counter. He held up a watch that had buttons all around the edges. “This one’s named the Safari“ he said as he pushed one of its buttons. A small OTF switchblade popped out. He pressed another button and a BB-sized gun barrel popped out. He said “It’s velocity is the same as a .22.” Then he pointed to a red button. “Press it and it makes a smoke screen. See here, the watch crystal is a Morse code key!” I told him it was impressive, but the Safari wasn’t what I was looking for.

He sad, “Hmmm. Then have a look at this. It is called the ‘Streamer’ and it will keep you connected to your media. It has Face Time and Amazon Prime. There’s a projector built in so you can watch your favorite movies on the nearest wall. Not only that, it is Siri enabled.” Then se said, “Siri, where the hell are we?” Siri replied “Big Ben’s, Adolph.” I told him I wasn’t interested. He said, “Well then. You’re a young man out there on the dating scene. What about this one, the ‘Making Time?’ It emits pheromones and comes in models that attract females or males. They can’t resist. Just press this button here when you’re within 5 feet of your target. You will be smothered with affection.”

I bought it. $1200 was a small price to pay. I’m trying it out tonight at the “Hen & Rooster” a notorious pickup joint.

I sat down at the bar next to a very attractive woman. I pressed the button and she moved her stool closer to me. She put her arm over my shoulder and asked me in a whisper what I wanted to do next. I told her I wanted to take her to my apartment. Then she said “Ok. That’s a very handsome watch. Can I have a look at it before we go?” I took it off to show to her and it slipped out of my hand and fell on the floor. Right then, her boyfriend came back from the Men’s Room. He saw what was going on and stomped on my watch and punched me in the nose, pushed me down, and kicked me.

I’m saving my money for another “Making Time” wristwatch. I should’ve read the owner’s manual before I pressed the button. it warns about targets’ boyfriends and girlfriends.

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.

Metonymy (me-ton’-y-my): Reference to something or someone by naming one of its attributes. [This may include effects or any of the four Aristotelian causes {efficient/maker/inventor, material, formal/shape, final/purpose}.]

“The pen is mightier than the door.” Nobody knew what the hell this meant. It was supposedly written in the 18th century when revolution was in the air along with horse manure and rotting garbage. Nobody was happy—not even babies. The author of the aforequoted line was alleged to be Malarky O’Reilly. He was kicked out of Ireland, alleged to be a member of “Hearts of Steel.” He was accused of tearing down fences and poisoning livestock. The accusations were rooted in lies. Malarky was a nice guy and was happy to get a free ride to the American Colonies. Although he was Catholic, he found a job as a bell-ringer in the Presbyterian Church. He couldn’t remember the last time he had worshipped in a Catholic Church so he was untroubled by the ruse. Besides, he needed the money—bell ringing afforded him just enough money for a bed and two meals a day.

He had been told over and over that “talk is cheap.” In fact, it was free! It would not cost him a penny to talk for pay. He couldn’t afford law school, and he hated politicians. He had done some punning as a hobby. He wasn’t very good at it, but some people called him “entertaining” like a trained bear or a dog that would do tricks on command. He would say funny things instead of doing tricks. He would be an entertainer. He would make people laugh and throw coins at him.

History books tell us that standup comedy was invented in the 1800s, yet, here is Malarky, at the dawn of the American Revolution ready to give it a spin. He practiced for a month in front of his cracked mirror, repeating the same jokes over and over. When he thought he was ready, he had to find a venue. He struck a deal with the owner of one of the local coffee shops—Caffiends—owned by Jimmy “Java” Jones. Malarky agreed to give Java half of all the money he made from the “shower” of coins.

The time came: It was around 4pm. Caffiends was packed with Coffee drinkers, many on their third or fourth cup. High on caffeine, they were climbing the walls, talking really fast, and fidgeting wildly in their chairs.

Malarky stood up and climbed onto an empty apple crane he brought with him. Caffiends fell silent and all eyes were on Malarky. Java introduced him as “Malarky, the funny man from the Emerald Isle.” He thanked Java and began his routine: “I gave my brother a dollar an he spent it.” Silence. Malarky cleared his throat: “What did one plate whisper to the other plate? Dinner is on me.” Some laughs. “Should you have your whole family for a Thanksgiving dinner? No, you should just stick with turkey.” Sustained laughter and a smattering of applause. “What sits at the bottom of the sea and twitches? A nervous wreck.” Guffaws and applause.

Malarky went on like this for 20 minutes. After he told his jokes, he asked for money and his audience called him rude names and told him to go jump in the harbor with rocks in his pockets. Somebody threw a coffee mug at him and missed his head by inches. He made his escape through Caffiends back door. As he ran through the kitchen, Java yelled “Good riddance!” at Malarky and went out front to calm the crowd. Malarky gave up on the “standing there comedy” routine, moving to Maine where he worked as a sailmaker.

The eye-witness account of Malarky’s performance was recorded by Thomas Paine in his journal. Some say it formed the foundation for his “Common Sense.” This can’t be true, can it? Also, it was determined last year by a literary scholar at Cape Cod Community College that Malarky did not author “The pen is mightier than the door.” But he did write, “I wish I had wheels like Hancock’s” as he began walking to Mane.

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.

Jokes: https://www.fatherly.com/entertainment/57-funny-jokes-kids-adults-who-like-dumb-jokes?utm_medium=pro&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=gpro110082156&gad_source=1

Metonymy (me-ton’-y-my): Reference to something or someone by naming one of its attributes. [This may include effects or any of the four Aristotelian causes {efficient/maker/inventor, material, formal/shape, final/purpose}.]

“Hey Fatty!” Yes, that was my nickname. I grew up in a small town and I had always been called “Fatty.” It had been going on for so long it was “normal.” It did not strike me as a taunt any more. It had become my name. I had my own business called “Fattiy’s,” It was a dessert bar in the mall. I sold ice cream sundaes and Buster Bombs—my own invention. They were round-shaped ice cream pops—vanilla ice cream, chocolate coating and rolled in peanuts. They also contained an ounce of Vivarn, and you had to be 18 to purchase them. They were quite popular. I had a steady stream of return customers who would inevitably comment on how good the Buster Bombs made them feel—better even than Coca Cola.

My most popular sundae was called the “Monday”. It had caffeinated coffee ice cream, walnuts and powdered coffee beans that were made to be snorted—laid out in a line on a napkin with a straw. Patrons would be lined up at the door when I opened the door at 7.00 am, They’d yell “Monday!” I’d work like crazy making Mondays until around 10.00 am. Then, Fatty’s would empty out.

At around 3.30 the kids would arrive. They loved their sugar. I fed the kids “fortified” sundaes with 10-times the sugar as in normal sundaes and just enough caffeine to affect the quality of their lives. The favorite sundae among the kids was the “Naughty.” Our all-county football star drank 3 Naughties every day. He would tackle two or three kids before running out the door and running to practice imitating a police car’s whooping siren..

The kids would clear out of Fatty’s around 4.30. I would close until nine, when some adults would trickle in. The late-night menu consisted of “calming” sundaes to prepare them for a good night’s sleep. The most popular sundae was the “Snore.” It was made of Melatonin ice cream topped with whipped cream and three cherries soaked in “ZZZ NyQuil.” Most of the adults would come and go via Uber. I also offered the “Stiffy” for men with marital issues. It consisted of ingredients shipped directly from “Hoo Doo Ltd.” in New Orleans. I really don’t know what the ingredients are. I just sprinkle them on two scoops of vanilla ice cream with a banana on top, garnished with two cherry sour balls.

I am retiring next week. I have written a sundae “cook book” that will be published by Harvard University Press. Harvard believes it is important to finally publish something other than boring academic mumbo-jumbo. The title of the book is “Drink, Drink and Be Merry: Sundaes for All Your Needs.” I’ll be going on a book signing tour. My first stop is Miami, FL where my book is required reading for government employees and all middle school students.

Well, I’m going to drink a “Snooze” and go to bed now. Good night.

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.