Palilogia: Repetition of the same word, with none between, for vehemence. Synonym for epizeuxis.
“Ho, Ho, Ho, Ho, Ho, Ho” Santa had gone mad. Usually he limited his “Ho ho’s” to three per session,. The kids in line were getting restless. Santa was sitting in his throne and he couldn’t stop going ho ho. He was up to 45 Ho ho’s and was sweating and out of breath. He looked terrible. We called 911. As the EMT people took Santa away, the kids who had stood waiting for a half-hour to reveal their Christmas wishes, became uncontrollable and went berserk.
They looted the baskets of candy canes, smashed Christmas tree ornaments on the floor, tipped over the fake reindeer, tore open the fake presents. Then Billy Whaley, whose nickname was Zippo, who loved playing with matches, piled crumpled paper from the torn up presents in the middle of the floor. He said “Bye bye bullshit Santa’s workshop” and pulled out a pack of stick matches, lit one, and threw it on the paper. Everybody made it out the door. The kids watched the smoke, and then the flames coming through the roof. Billy was yelling “Oh baby, oh baby. Do it for me baby.”
By the time the firemen got there, Santa’s Workshop was a pile of smoking charred embers. Shoving what looked like a poker hand back into his boot, one of the firemen said, “I had a goddamn Full House. What am I supposed to do? Fold? Santa’s Workshop is fake anyway, just like Santa and all the rest of the shit with Christmas. You’ve lost the Christmas spirit boys and girls—peace on earth, goodwill toward men.” One of the kids yelled “How are we going to get what we actually want for Christmas; piles of presents, and some money too? Why don’t you go back to the firehouse and resume your poker game, you big fat hypocrite. Kiss my ass.”
The firemen left and the kids and their parents left. The sun was setting and Santa’s Workshop was just a pile of charred wood with remnants of red paint here and there. Santa got out of the hospital and was dropped off by a cab in front of the rubble. His fake beard had been pulled off at some point. He noticed Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer laying on his back with his front legs burned off. Santa started to cry. Immediately his chronic persistent “Ho Ho–ing” stopped, but he couldn’t go “Ho-Ho” anymore. His psychologist told him he couldn’t “Ho-Ho” due to the traumatic experiences he had with “Ho-Ho,” the core of his his being’s signature. Now, in order to “Ho-Ho” again, the psychologist told him he had to build positive associations with “Ho.” The psychologist said, “Prostitutes are frequently called Ho’s.” When you say “Ho” think of an attractive and willing prostitute.” Santa did just that, and was cured. He got his “Ho ho’s” back and went on to serve as a Santa Surrogate for five more fruitful years. He also came to enjoy the company of Ho’s and frequented their lodgings during the holiday seasons, where they watched “The Bob Newhart Show” reruns on Tv and laughed together at the jokes. Out of respect for the ho’s, Santa laughed “ha, ha, ha.”
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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