Metaphor: I am my blue toilet, still running after all these years. My function exceeds my outer beauty. I struggle to remain relevant when all seems against me. When friends stop by and mention, perhaps, I can be replaced, I live in hope that a craving for my style will appear soon, negating the back-breaking work of improvement.
Hyperbole: My writing is as malodorous as the waste I flush down my toilet.
Alliteration: My teal toilet tank tends to transform my tales into tenuous tufts of trash.
Euphemism: My writing is in the tank.
Irony: My best work was written while on the toilet.
Pun: I could go on, but I think I’ll stop while I Am A Head.