Catachresis (kat-a-kree’-sis): The use of a word in a context that differs from its proper application. This figure is generally considered a vice; however, Quintilian defends its use as a way by which one adapts existing terms to applications where a proper term does not exist.
My baloney skin collection was almost complete. I needed a very rare 1822 Bavarian Dünner Schnitt. It was the thinnest baloney skin ever created. It was like a toe dancing Brown Recluse Spider reading “The Sorrows of Young Werther” on the dashboard of my car as I drove to the airport with my perfumed suitcase in the trunk. The rare skin was possessed by the famous Bavarian baloney skin collector, Tupac Snitzel. I was going to walk to Bavaria, but my therapist told me there was an ocean between here and there, so I would have to fly.
I had to have Snitzel’s 1822 Bavarian Dünner Schnit. I would have it or die!
I shouldn’t have worn my orange jumpsuit to the airport. I was scrutinized like pus in a doctor’s office. The TSA woman found me attractive, taking me to a back room and touching me all over. It was not unpleasant, but I felt like she used me like a Craftsman screwdriver, or a bottle opener, or a rake.
I boarded my flight. I got to Germany! I went straight to the “Tupac Schnitzel Processed Meat Museum.” He was wearing the rare 1822 Bavarian Dünner Schnit Skin on his wrist like a Lance Armstrong “be Strong” bracelet, I offered him $1,000 for the bracelet. It was all I had. He laughed “Not for sale, Never for sale. Go away you fool.”
Suddenly, Tupac had a heart attack, hit the floor, and died. I tried to pull the bracelet off his wrist, but I couldn’t do it. I went to the morgue that night and broke in, found Tupac in a refrigerator, and pulled and pulled and finally pulled off the bracelet.
The morgue’s CCTV caught me on camera and I was arrested at the airport leaving Germany. I was tried, convicted, and sentenced to 6 months for “tampering with the dead.”
When I was released, I went straight home. After flying into Newark, I boarded a train and my wife met me at the Utica train station. She was pissed. She started beating on my chest and calling me “asshole.” She made me swear to get rid of my “dipshit” baloney skin collection. I agreed.
At my wife’s prompting, I put my collection on E-Bay for sale for $20.00. I knew it was worth more, but I had to let it go before my wife injured me any more. It sold immediately. It was bought by somebody named Oscar Meyer. I knew that was a fake name. That’s all I knew. My wife took care of the transaction and dropped my collection off at the Post Office. I waited for my twenty dollars. It came two afternoons later.
Then I saw the front page of the Utica Observer Dispatch:
“Woman Sell Baloney Skin Collection for 2.5 Million Dollars”
I wanted to ask my wife what she thought. I couldn’t find her anywhere. Then, I got a text message from her telling me she was the one who had bought my collection for $20.00, sold it for 2,5 million dollars, and moved to Canada.
I am a broken man. I’ve started collected jars to help me cope with my grief.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu.
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