Epizeuxis: Repetition of the same word, with none between, for vehemence. Synonym for palilogia.
“Dive, dive, dive!” That’s what we yelled out the car windows as we rode past the shacks people lived in on the poor side of town. We thought it was really funny to make fun of poor people’s homes: it was a triple play: “dive” like they yelled on submarines, “dive” a low class establishment where immoral things happen, “dive” faking being knocked out in a boxing match—here “taking a dive” signifies corruption and maybe faking an insurance claim. These shack-dwellers are all corrupt—too lazy to work hard for a living, they run cons and steal. They are all in gangs and they shoot at each other all hours of the day and night. I tried to make friends with some shackys. They called me a narc and chased me off their turf.
How did they know I was a narc? I thought I blended in. I wore lots of gold chains and a racoon fur coat, and really expensive Demi-boots from Italy. I had watched a lot of crime shows on TV. My favorite was “Nick Craven: Undercover Soldier of Fortune Detective Rebel.” Mr. Craven was like a god to me. He killed an average of ten bad guys in every episode. He carried a Swiss Army machine-gun pistol. It had so many functions! It even had a built in vacuum cleaner to keep the seats and floor of his police cruiser clean! It also had a windshield ice scraper concealed in the pistol grip. The trigger guard excreted hand sanitizer. The gun bristled with knife blades that could be summoned by saying the secret code word (cheese). The blades were all over the map. From a skinny-bladed death-dealing dagger to a paring knife.
I had modeled myself after the best, but for some reason it didn’t work. I am going to get a red hat with a mirrored hat band and also have a couple of gold teeth installed in the front of my mouth. My sister says I’m a bigoted asshole and that I would do much more for humanity working at a Speedy Lube or Cliff’s. Maybe that’s true, but I’m going to give it another try as soon as I get my teeth capped.
Well, I got beaten to a pulp and they stole my hat, my tooth caps and my raccoon coat. I applied for a job at Cliff’s today. Now I understand that my attempt at going undercover failed because of poor clothing choices that made me stick out like a sore thumb. As it was, it was a parody of a stereotype wrapped in a death wish. My sister was right. I am better off at Cliff’s. But tonight, me and the gang are going “dive-yelling.” It feels good to be back on top again. “Dive, dive, dive you dirty losers!”
Postscript: The residents of Shanty Town built a barricade across their main street and soaked it with gasoline. When the down-yellers hit it with their car, the residents torched it, burning the down-yellers to a screaming crisp. Since the “accident,” Community Relations have improved. You know the old saying: “Sometimes you have to kill a car load of troublemakers to build a bridge.”
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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