Congeries (con’ger-eez): Piling up words of differing meaning but for a similar emotional effect [(akin to climax)].
Me: Liar! Selfish! Deceptive! Bastard! Prince of prevarication! What else can I say? I know you took my puppy Fontana. Give Fontana back now! If I can’t have Fontana, I don’t want to live. This may look like a bundle of dog biscuits, but it’s a bomb. Hand over the puppy you heinous anus.
Ed: You have truly flipped out. I always wondered when it would happen, but I never imagined your stupid puppy would play a role.
Me: Bullshit. Stay close while I search this dump. What’s this in the cabinet under your sink?
Ed: I don’t know what it is.
Me: There you go Mr. Liar! It’s “Purina Puppy Chow”—Fontana’s favorite. Come on, what’s going on here? My BIC is itching to light the biscuit bomb. Tell me what hell is going on, or you’re coming with me to my next incarnation.
Ed: You’re scaring the hell out of me. Today, I don’t want to be blown up. Maybe tomorrow. Ha ha? We’ve been friends since our sandbox days. You’ve always been a bit unstable, but this takes the cake.
Me (lighter lit): 10, 9, 8 . . .
Ed: Ok ok. Look in my bedroom.
I opened the door. There was Fontana with a bow on her head, beautifully groomed, wearing a new rhinestone studded collar, curled up in a new doggie bed, gleefully wagging her tail. My girlfriend Stella was sitting alongside her. I asked Stella what this was all about as I put the BIC back in my pocket.
Stella: It was Fontana’s first birthday and you were supposed to be at work. I have a key to your house. You weren’t there, so Ed and I picked up Fontana and took her to the groomer for her birthday grooming, and then, we went gift shopping at the adjacent pet store. We wanted to surprise you at home. We stopped here on our way back to your house, you came home early, and you showed up here unexpectedly and “caught” us. I’m not sure what Ed wanted to do at his place, although he squeezed my butt cheek yesterday. I thought he was just kidding around—he went “honk honk” when he squeezed it. Anyway, don’t you just love the way Fontana looks?
Me: I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about the bag of puppy chow under Ed’s sink. I felt my BIC in my pocket and looked at the biscuit bomb in my hand.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text added by Gorgias.
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