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.
I was entering the “International Abecedarian Contest” sponsored by “AI, AI, OH Solutions for Slow Minds.” Abecedarian is an acrostic whose letters do not spell a word but follow the order (more or less) of the alphabet. Abecedarian was my hobby. I had written 62,000 and stored them on my computer. I had been entering the contest for the past ten years and have spent $10,000 on entrance fees. Always being cast down, eagerly fearless, great hope I jest undaunted. Somehow, after ten years of rejection I am eager to compete again.
The top prize is a dictionary autographed by Gomer Pyle, USMC. I was a fan of his from day one—he was an idiot savant like me. He was a bumbling, stupid Marine recruit who could sing beautifully. I felt like I had a friend whenever he broke into song. I was a bumbling —I could memorize a restaurant menu in one glance. I stood at the door of “Miggle’s Fine Dining” reciting the menu. My favorite dish was “Only Baloney.” It was inspired by Roy Orbison’s “Only the Lonely.” It was a single slice of baloney sprinkled with chopped onion and garlic.
I can’t write. I record everything and computer software transcribes it into print.
My nose, oblong, protruding, querying and sociable is worthy of note. When I read, I use it to turn pages. I mount a “Costco Fingerpad” on the tip of my nose to facilitate page turning. I’ve cut my reading time by five percent giving me more time to craft Abecedarian—which by the way, I have begun to speak in them.
I am going to try to craft an Abecedarian based on my nasal reading device. I spend so much time with it, that I am filled with its spirit as an inspiration. So, here I go,
“A big careening dolly exited farcically, goosing her impressive jellybean kingdom, looming manically, neglecting opening portals quite risqué, totally undone, verified, wan, yolky, xanthic. They determined she had kidney disease and had jumped in front of the dolly to end her life.”
Well, there you have it. Somehow, nose got left behind. But, this my 2026 entry. I think I have a pretty good chance of winning, because I’ve crafted an intriguing tale highlighting the existential tensions between fate and choice.
POSTSCRIPT
Two days after submitting this to Daily Trope, forgetting to remove his Fingerpad from his nose, his nose got stuck in an elevator door and he was killed. He donated his 62,000+ Abecedarians to the New York Public Library. They were rejected and are currently scrolling on a computer screen at “Green World Bottle and Can Return Center,” Millville, NY which is owned by the author’s brother. On another note, his contest entry was rejected due to its inappropriate content.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu.
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