Brachylogia (brach-y-lo’-gi-a): The absence of conjunctions between single words. Compare asyndeton. The effect of brachylogia is a broken, hurried delivery.
Goddamn hell bastard dog butt accordion! It blew out again. I shouldn’t have bought the cheap-ass brand “Paper Pumper.” I had had it patched 18 times—it was turning into one big patch. But I couldn’t afford a better brand like the “Supreme Squeezer” made totally by hand in Italy for $1,200.00. My pumper cost $12.95 at WalMart. They were displayed in a big bin with a sign saying “$12.99 today only.” “Today only” was every day, every season, every hour, every minute. The repair kits were for sale on the shelf behind them. The kits were $15.00. Every time I went to get one I thought “What a scam!” But what did I do about it? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I went with the flow, put a repair kit in my shopping cart and headed for the check-out register. So far I had spent over $620.00 on “Paper Pumper” repair kits. I could’ve had a “Supreme Squeezer” for another $580.00, but I could never afford it unless I burned my “Paper Pumper” and stopped paying for repairs. With a modest savings plan, I could have a “Supreme Squeezer” in 5-7 years.
That was too long.
They kept the “Supreme Squeezers” at WalMart in a special bulletproof, bombproof, fireproof showcase. It had golden columns and a gold vine motif winding around the doors. If you touched it an alarm went off and it became electrified. It could kill you. Taking all this into account, I came to the conclusion that robbing the “Supreme Squeezer” showcase would be a suicide mission. So, I got a credit card with a $2,000.00 credit limit.
I bought a “Supreme Squeezer” and some music sheets. My favorite is “That’s Amore” sung by Dean Martin back in the day. Then, wouldn’t you know it, my “Supreme Squeezer” ripped. Here I was in debt up to my ass, and the damn thing ripped. I went to WalMart and showed them the ripped accordion and demanded a replacement. They laughed a told me the 2-day warranty had run out. I pushed the clerk up against the electrified showcase and he started to smoke and scream. He burst into flames and ran out the front entrance. He didn’t make it across the parking lot before he fell into a smoking heap on the asphalt.
I’m sitting in a small uncomfortable cell with my “Supreme Squeezer.” I repaired it with a piece of duct tape. Now, it works again. I am awaiting trial for manslaughter. My lawyer tells me, given the circumstances, I’ll only get 8 to 10 years.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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