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Malaphors

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I have found out there is a word for when someone mixes up metaphors; the mixed-up phrase is called a malaphor. In celebration of this discovery, I thought I would offer up two of my favorite ones, both uttered in all sincerity by an old coworker:

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.” (“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it” and “Don’t burn too many bridges.”)

“This is the cross I’ll die on.” (“This is my cross to bear” and “This is the hill I die on.”)

If you have any malaphors that you are particularly fond of, please feel free to add them in the comments.

fiction

Leprechauns

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Look, this thing’s gotten way out of hand. I just like green, okay? I don’t dress head to toe in green and wear curly elf shoes or a green top hat. I don’t even like hats. I have great hair. People say so all the time. And before you ask. No, it’s not red. Some of us have red hair. Some don’t. I don’t—it’s copper.

Another thing. The accents. Stop. No one is trying to “Steal me lucky charms.” What do you think, we’re a merry crew of Irish pirates? Maybe we are what you would call Irish since we live in the country called Ireland, but we were here long before the Celts or those smarmy Brits showed up. 

Speaking of which, that bunch of chimney sweeps to the south is real big on reducing anything and anyone to a stereotype, aren’t they? Fine, yeah, there was one pot of gold that one time. Honestly, it belonged to the whole village and it was a pure coincidence that it just happened to be by a rainbow. Well, not pure coincidence—we like rainbows, okay? Sue us. But don’t actually sue us, they already stole all of our gold and pretty much all of our island, so, uh, yeah. People have gotten enough from us.

What else? Oh… We’re not that short! We’re the height that best suits us—around 5’1 to 5’3 ½ , does that sound short to you?

Sincerely,

Leprechauns everywhere

fiction

Monster

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A lot of people don’t realize how bad it is being a monster. Unless you’re lucky enough to be one of those monsters that can bite people and turn them into whatever you are, like a vampire, or a zombie, or a werewolf. That’d be neat, but if you aren’t one of them, then you’re pretty lonely just about all the time. And the times you’re not lonely are when some hot-shot with a sword and god-complex tries to chop off your head. But that’s just for starters.

Have you ever seen a monster working at any shop or office you’ve ever been to? I’ll answer that one for you, no. And it’s not because monsters are lazy, we would love to work. But nobody hires a monster to work for them. Sure, they’ll do monster appropriation with mascots and such, but hire any real monsters? Nope. Nuh-uh. Not even once. 

Any time I even try to ask for an application they are already too busy making their blood-curdling screams and begging for their lives. It’s hard to make a good first impression with all that going on. And then the stories they tell, my word. They’re on the 6 o’clock news talking about how I crashed through the door and started trying to eat people. You believe that? 

First of all, that was a weak-ass door. I mean, hinges shouldn’t just snap off like that. Second of all, if I was going to start eating people, I would go to a country with a leaner cut of meat, if you know what I’m saying. No offense to North Americans, but that much fat in my diet would kill me in just a few years. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, so they get on the news and badmouth me to anyone and everyone who will listen. As if my job prospects weren’t bleak enough.


Do they even ask my side of the story? Of course not. They just assume that I am some hideous outcast from this world of theirs that has come back to exact my revenge. Well, I mean, I am now. But that’s more their fault than it is mine.

fiction

Doctor Visit

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“There’s nothing to be scared of,” the doctor said, apropo of nothing. That’s what worried me most. Not because doctors are notorious liars (I mean, I guess they could be), but because people don’t feel the need to reassure you when there’s actually nothing to be afraid of. 

To be fair, an appendectomy is generally considered a ‘minor procedure.’ I’ve certainly thought of it that way when it was happening to someone else—but this is me we’re talking about. Anyway, it made me wonder how important an organ had to be before they considered it a major procedure. 

I bet a kidney is pretty major. Is it because a kidney is bigger? Or because it does more? It didn’t seem like a good time to ask. Besides, I had other questions.

“Can I keep it?” I said, unsure of what I planned on doing with it, but it is mine after all. Why shouldn’t I keep it? Before the doctor could respond, I pointed with one finger at my lower abdomen where I thought my appendix would be and raised my eyebrows (I had to be sure we were on the same page of what I was talking about). 

“No… we need to remove it.” The doctor said, speaking a little slowly and annunciating every word. He didn’t get what I was saying.

I shook my head, “I mean afterward.” Again, I raised my eyebrows, indicating not only that I was hopeful, but also that it was his turn to talk.

He calmly explained some law or regulation that prevented me from being able to take my own organ home after the procedure. I just think that he didn’t want me to have it. He probably has a whole freezer full of these things.

Anyway, sorry for the long preamble. The surgery went fine, I give the hospital 3-stars. They won’t kill you, but they also won’t bend any rules for you.