Acrostic: When the first letters of successive lines are arranged either in alphabetical order (= abecedarian) or in such a way as to spell a word.
P ink
A rgyle
R amakin
K iller
His insanity overflowed like a defective pipe in a public park’s restroom, spewing its steaming thoughts on the floor and walls. One minute, he claimed to be a German Shepard, another minute he claimed to be Jesus Christ. I read about him in the newspaper. He was my role model.
My nanny had knitted me a pink argyle ramekin and fireproofed it, soaking it for a week in “Fire Gone.” It smelled like chemicals, but i was able to cook scalloped potatoes in it. It was stretchy and I was able to wear it on my head as a sort of watch cap: a pink argyle ramekin hat.
When I put it on I got urges—inappropriate urges. I would go to the park and expose myself to picnicking families. With my hat on, on I felt like it was harmless fun. But it wasn’t. I was chased and beaten several times.
I built a shrine for my hat. I got down on my knees and prayed to my hat to make me attractive to women and kind when I wore it. My hat levitated a spun around. I took that to mean my prayers were answered. I put on my hat and headed for the park.
By the time I got to the park, there were 10 women following me begging for it. They all wanted to have my child. I tore off my hat and they all looked like they had awakened from a trance.
I went home and put my hat back on. My new-found kindness struck. I put the contents of my home out on the lawn with a big “Free” sign by the sidewalk. My worldly goods were gone in 20 minutes. I took off my hat and I felt like the biggest fool who ever lived.
I still had my shrine. I placed my hat on it and prayed “please hat, make me uncaring and selfish so I can’t be hurt.” My hat levitated and spun around. I put it back on and a dagger appeared in my hand. I had a strong desire to kill my neighbor Ed. I stabbed him in the chest and he was dead. I killed him for no reason and felt really good. I had become a serial killer. I’ve been one ever since.
My hat fell off in a struggle once, but I kept on going. I’ve decided there’s more to me being a serial killer than my hat.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu.
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