Paronomasia (pa-ro-no-ma’-si-a): Using words that sound alike but that differ in meaning (punning).
“If you don’t pay your exorcist, you will get repossessed.” I always thought this was really funny. I would struggle every day to make a pun, but I failed. I was in a punsters club—“Pun Poppers”—and eventually got caught stealing puns from the internet, like the one above. I was fined 50.00 and banned from meetings for two months. To prove I was worthy for return, I had to make a pun that made the majority of the club’s members laugh. I was supposed read “my best” at the meeting when i returned. It was harsh, but I was determined to make my return, and make it triumphant.
I tried and tried and came up with a couple of crappy puns. Like: “What do you call a smelly drip. A leek.” And “I ate a donut hole for breakfast. I’m still hungry.” Then, I thought of the exorcist pun. Maybe I could find somebody who could summon the spirit of a great punster that I could learn from. I thought of Mark Twain’s “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.” Egypt was a pretty shady place, populated by people with dog’s heads and things like that. Their pantheon of gods and goddesses was huge. I did some research and found there was a god of puns! His name is “Ho-Hup.” His collected puns written in hieroglyphics had never been translated. He had tons of followers including Cleopatra and Ramses II. Mark Antony was ill-disposed toward Ho-Hup because Cleopatra’s obsession with punning diverted her attention, and irritated him with her near-constant giggling at the god’s puns. Some historians argue that Antony planted the snake in her pants that killed her. This snake pun was found stuck to her cloak: “Why don’t snakes drink coffee? It makes them viperactive.”
The pinned-on pun was so bad that Ho-Hup sought vengeance. He had his minions plastered Cairo’s walls with terrible puns. A great groaning went up in the land, and arose in the city, and some people died. They choked to death as they read the bad puns, and their words got stuck in their throats. This was Ho-Hup’s revenge.
So, I’m off to Egypt. I have contacted an Egyptian named John who I found on the internet. He is a medium and claims that Ho-Hup’s spirit will be “a piece of cake” to summon and that Ho-Hup’s spirit could be easily persuaded to conduct a private seminar for me for an additional fee. It sounded too good to be true, but I paid the thousand dollars up front as required. John met me at the airport—he looked like he was Kansas or someplace like that. I wanted to say something, but I kept my mouth shut. Two days later, we were on camels on our way to “The Temple of Ho-Hup.” When we got to where the temple was supposed to be, there was nothing there—not a trace. John’s face went blank, his body stiffened, his eyes narrowed, and he asked: “Do black and white count as colors?” I said “What?” He said: “It’s a gray area.” John Smiled stiffly: “So a snake walks into a bar. The bartender says ‘How’d you do that?” John was on a roll: “When you can’t feel your abdominals it’s basically absence of your abs’ sense.” John’s punning went on for three hours. I got the sense that John was channeling Ho-Hup, although there was no way to prove it.
When I got home, I still stunk at punning, although I thought the $1,000 was well-spent. John’s three hour pun-a-thon was well worth it. It is too bad I don’t have the skill to do anything with it. But, I’m still trying. I donated $10,000 to Pun Poppers and they let me stay. I gave the money on the condition that I would by allowed to read one of my puns on Mother’s Day every year. The Board agreed. My first gambit was: “Mom, your tulips make me dizzy.” I was booed by everybody in the room, but I had kept up my end of the bargain, so my membership in Pun Poppers was secure.
I got this off the internet: “Ah, but a good pun is its own reword.” I am a fan. Although my interest will never cool. I am abscessed.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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