Abecedarian (a-be-ce-da’-ri-an): An acrostic whose letters do not spell a word but follow the order (more or less) of the alphabet.
“A big cat developed eczema. Finding gritty helpful itching jabbers . . .” I was trying to create an Abecedarian—the first letter in each word follows the order of the alphabet. I had been working on it for three days but I was stuck on “J.” I had nightmares and came down with a cough. I was starting to think the Abecedarian was killing me. I know, it’s ridiculous, but not for somebody like me. I had killed my high school biology teacher Mr. Beazock when I yelled “You stink!” at him. He clutched his chest and flopped around on the floor and died in front of 22 teenagers. The worst was the drool that came out of his mouth and dripped on the floor after his final flop.
His doctor told me it wasn’t my fault—that it was the jelly donuts, the butter, and the whipping cream he used on his breakfast cereal and dumped in his coffee that had brought his life to an end with a stroke that had exploded his clogged-up heart. No matter what anybody said, I persisted in my belief that words can kill and that I had killed Mr. Beazock.
I got a job in a nursing home to prove my point. On my first day, I told an 85-year old lady that her husband was secretly “dating” his 27 year-old niece Betty and she was pregnant and they were going to get married as soon as they killed her. She started choking on her oatmeal and she died. Technically, it was the choking that killed her, but my lie about her husband had started the ball rolling. I had the power of killing!
I set up a site on the dark web called “Mr. Beazock’s Heart Attack.” It was named after my biology teacher, my first kill. I charged $10,000 to hit victims with words.
My first client wanted me to kill his father. His father was 97 and on the verge of death and had been talking about disinheriting my client. I knocked on his father’s door posing as a Jehovah’s Witness. While we’re talking about the Lord, he fell asleep. I stuck my life-like rubber snake up his pants leg and yelled “There’s a snake crawling up you pants leg!” He said “Wah?” and died of a heart attack. I pulled the snake out of his pants leg and called an ambulance, Everything went according to plan.
I collected my $10,000 and went out to dinner at the best restaurant I could find. It was called “Holy Shit!” because that’s what most people said when they saw the prices on the menu. For example, a slice of pumpkin pie was $300.00. At the end of my meal, I ordered the pumpkin pie for desert.
Suddenly, there was a beautiful woman standing at my table. She said “How’s the pie, big boy?” I was smitten. I asked he to join me and ordered a bottle of champagne. We got pretty drunk and went back to my apartment. It was cramped. It was untidy. I should’ve taken her to a fancy hotel. When I opened the door she said “PU!” and waved her hand in front her nose. It was gas! There was a huge explosion. It killed her and put me in the hospital for two months.
I took down my website and cancelled all my contracts. I decided to become a high school biology teacher to atone for Mr. Beazock’s murder. I enrolled in the local community college, majoring in biology. That’s where I met Teresa Trimp, the lying, conniving, cheating, back-stabbing tramp that I fell in love with. She lied to me about her feelings for me, cheated on me with one of our professors, and hacked my credit card. I asked her to marry me and she agreed on the condition that I give her all my money in cash. So, we got married.
I graduated from the community college. I transferred to Dick Jones University in Swanton, Vermont. We moved to Swanton. I would come home and there would be a line of frat boys outside the bathroom. One day, I pulled open the door and there she was sitting on the toilet with a cardboard box filled with $20.00 bills on the floor beside her. “Shut the door, I’m peeing!” she yelled, but I could see the silhouette of a person behind the shower curtain.
She was a whore! I took her for a walk in the woods. She asked why I was carrying a shovel. I yelled “Look me in the eye and tell me you love me!” She did and I hit her in the face with the shovel and I kept hitting her when she fell to the ground. I must’ve hit her on the head at least 20 times before I buried her in the woods and went home.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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