Category Archives: periphrasis

Periphrasis (per-if’-ra-sis): The substitution of a descriptive word or phrase for a proper name (a species of circumlocution); or, conversely, the use of a proper name as a shorthand to stand for qualities associated with it. (Circumlocutions are rhetorically useful as euphemisms, as a method of amplification, or to hint at something without stating it.)

How did I become known as “Stampy?” Was it because I liked licking stamps? Stamps didn’t need licking any more. You just pull them off a sheet and stick them on an envelope. How about stamping my foot to display impatience? That’s a good guess, but it’s wrong. The only time I stamped my foot was to kill a bug or to stop a blowing piece of paper. What about clog dancing? Never. No way. I like music, and I might tap my foot, but I would never clog dance, let alone, even dance!

Ok, so why am I called “Stampy”?

I wear a bandoleer of rubber stamps and carry an ink pad in my back pocket. The stamps are preloaded with opinionated statements. When I feel compelled, I rubber stamp the nearest flat surface with a phrase. For example, after finishing a meal I didn’t like at an expensive restaurant, I stamped the table underneath my plate with my “Your food tasted like shit.” I leave no tip and revel in the thought of the busboy picking up the plate and seeing the message.

All my opinionated statements are negative. I believe the negative has a stronger, longer lasting effect than cute little trivialities—quickly forgotten, like a car passing by. However, stamping does have its risks.

I was in a bar. The drinks sucked and they were way too expensive. The two pole dancers moved like they were sleep walking and the volume of the music was way too loud. I pulled out my “This place sucks” stamp and stamped it on the bar. The bartender grabbed me by the wrist and told me menacingly to sit on the bar and cover up the stamp. He told his assistant to go to the supply room and get the “Ink Out” cleaner and bring it back with a rag. They made me clean off the bar. The “Ink Out” worked really well. It took the stamp right off the bar.

It gave me an idea.

I could stamp people’s parked cars and front doors. Then, I’d “notice” them and offer to clean off the stamp’s message. For cars, I used “I’m an asshole” on the driver’s side front fender. For front doors, it would say “Child abuse practiced here.” I would charge $50 to clean the surface. People were very grateful and gladly forked over the $50.

But then, the shit hit the fan. It was a doorbell cam that caught me stamping. When I offered to clean the door, I was recognized as the person who put the stamp there. The police could only prove the one instance, so I was let off with a small fine and one month of community service. I’m still stamping car fenders though—I just don’t offer to clean them any more. The thrill of leaving my mark hasn’t gone away. I’m still “Stampy.” By the way, I’ve gotten a job in City Hall as a bureaucrat. Guess what? I rubber stamp documents all day long. I love the sound of the stamp hitting paper! I am blessed.

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.

Periphrasis (per-if’-ra-sis): The substitution of a descriptive word or phrase for a proper name (a species of circumlocution); or, conversely, the use of a proper name as a shorthand to stand for qualities associated with it. (Circumlocutions are rhetorically useful as euphemisms, as a method of amplification, or to hint at something without stating it.)

“Sneezy.” I was allergic to air. They called me “Sneezy” because of my nearly non-stop sneezing, disturbing the quiet, waking up my family at night, startling old ladies on the bus. I had tried every available remedy from over the counter, to prescription pills and nasal sprays. I carried a handkerchief everywhere I went to block the spay and wipe my nose and blow out the remaining snot. The sneezes were unpredictable, day and night. I lived in New York City, so there were plenty of quacks offering a variety of treatments that probably didn’t work, but seemed to be worth giving a try. The first one I tried was kitchen matchsticks. I stuck the matchsticks up my nose and carried a Bic lighter. When I felt a sneeze coming on, I was supposed to light the matches. The first time I tried it the lit matches shot out of my nostrils when I sneezed and started a small fire on my comforter, and also, I slightly burned my left nostril and had a terrible time picking my nose for about three days. I had my comforter repaired and quit the matchstick remedy.

Next were filter tip cigarettes. I learned to smoke through my nose. It was awkward, but if it worked it would be a blessing. The idea was that the smoke would “terminate” the nasal pathogens causing my sneezing. I lit up and laid back on the couch to watch “Saturday Night Live” and fell asleep. I sneezed and the lit cigarettes blew out of my nose and caught my shirt on fire. The fire burned into my beard before I could stand up, rip off my shirt with the cigarettes wrapped in it, and run water on it in the kitchen sink. My hands were slightly burned and I had to smear them with Neosporin daily and wear plastic bags over them in the shower for a week.

Then, I tried a nasal vacuum. It was an attachment for my Hoover. I stuck the two prongs in my nose and flipped the switch. It cleared my nasal cavities, but the prongs got stuck in my nostrils. I had to go to the hospital Emergency Room to have it removed. People looked at me like I was a space alien. Some laughed out load, and one guy asked me “What the fu*k” had happened to me. They were going to perform emergency surgery on me when I had a super-sneeze and the prongs blew out and hit the surgeon in the face.

I could tell you ten more stories, but I think three is enough to give you a sense of what I have endured, willingly, for the sake of killing the sneeze. Finally, I went to Botswana. There was a shaman there named Doc. Rhino who reputedly could cure the sneezes. When I arrived he was waiting for me at the airport. He looked like a normal person. We took a cab to his home. Along the way to his home the front driver’s side door fell off the cab and we were delayed ten minutes while the driver put it back on. Doc. Rhino said “Welcome to taking a cab in Botswana.” The house was beautiful with two hyenas chained outside front door. He said: “There is one price you must pay to remedy your sneezing. You must have a permanent booger tattooed in your right nostril where it can be seen.” At that point, I would’ve agreed to having my nose amputated if it would’ve helped. So, I agreed. We went into a back room where there was a chair like a dentist’s chair and I was tattooed.

The next day at breakfast he pulled out a ziplock bag with a disgusting-looking rag in it. “Here is your remedy. Put the rag over your nose when you feel a sneeze coming, and the sneeze will vanish. To keep it working, you have to return once a year to have it reinfused with the potion.” I agreed, and it has worked ever since. It disgusts most onlookers when I use it, but I can’t live without it. The booger tatoo has been a bit of a problem though. Dating has been a real problem. I put makeup on it, but it doesn’t quite look right. My dates spot it right away. Some will tell me I have booger, and when I tell them it’s a Tatoo, they excuse themselves and don’t come back. Less sensitive people just leave. My only hope is find a man who has been to Botswana too. We’ll share matching boogers and, with luck, live happily ever after.

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.