Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for March 02, 2019

‘THE WEED’

I don’t know how I met her. She just appeared at the door. But when she turned to me for a simile, I knew what I metaphor.

Sign-language then?

Metafors be with you!

I’m talking in tongues then. Glossolalia to you.

I never metaphor I didn’t like.

Why do metas always travel in fours? What makes a metagainst other numbers?

The inter-connected-ness of all things requires the existence of metaphors. There can be no abstract expression, words, without the presence of metaphors. To stop speaking in metaphors, one must become like a clam, which is a simile.

I love it when Teresa’s just this side of Dada.

In de col men seivuan

Prisencolinensinainciusol ol rait

Uis de seim cius men

Op de seim ol uat men

In de colobos dai

Trr!

Not while it’s raining pollen. Let’s set it to music and we’ll be rich before class on Monday.

Let’s face the music and dance, metaphorically speaking of course.

Your eyes are windows to your soul.

Ha! I think BrassOrchid and I are the only disobedient ones so far.

Clamming up in the high tide of opprobrium. Natterers R us.

Uh oh … somebody please stop me before I go all 3HourTour!

… this FA sticks to me like glue; like velcro, or just like those sweet gum nut thingies…

… those beautiful eyes were like a commercial for Lindsay Lohan’s Mr. President leggings…

… Rheaboam stated, " My little finger is bigger than my father’s pecker," but Solomon produced this photograph to prove him wrong…

… Gilligan had more brains than his second grade chair had chewing gum under it…

… you said no metaphors but you said nothing about more similes…

relax and sit down, they see exactly what you’re pointing out to them within the fine print

Feel free, though, to talk using similes, parallels, and euphemisms … with dashes of hyperbole, paradox, and bathos … for extra fun, don’t forget the occasional alliteration, onomatopoeia, pun, malaprop, anagram, and sporkerism ….

“in”?

Metalame

This comic is the fruit of a sweetgum, prickly on the outside but soft as a baby’s foot inside. And just as lame.

Words are metaphors for the forms.

I cannot speak without metaphors, lest I be as a clapperless bell, all hollow and silent. My words are a painting, a poem, a maze, sometimes amazing, and here in Froglandia not infrequently without Real World meaning. And that’s lame!