Brachylogia (brach-y-lo’-gi-a): The absence of conjunctions between single words. Compare asyndeton. The effect of brachylogia is a broken, hurried delivery.
“Dive, dive, drive.!” I wasn’t on a submarine, I was driving down Main Street, clocking the bars. “Dive, dive, dive!” I yelled out the window of my Subaru. Main Street looked like Potterville after Jimmy Stewart killed himself.
It was wild. People came from hundreds of miles around to partake of the depravity. I remembered the good old days when you could walk down Main Street and not be solicited five or six times, or offered grass and acid for sale. I was headed for “Stinky Al’s” to meet my wife and three kids for dinner. I walked in the door—my kids were out on the dance floor doing the cha-cha-cha. Little Timmy was only two and he was dancing up a storm. He was my favorite. He couldn’t speak yet. Maybe that’s why I liked him. The rest of the kids were a total pain in the ass—constantly talking back and asking for money.
My wife saw me a jumped off of Tom Kant’s lap. He had lipstick smeared on his cheek, and so did she. My wife assured me he was “just a friend” every time I caught them together. Once, they were both naked and “making the bed.” That was almost the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, but I “trust” my wife. I save a lot of anguish that way. I let it go.
We gathered around the table and my wife went to the ladies’ room to “freshen up.” Tom followed her, but I thought nothing of it. When she came back, I ordered for us all: “Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger, Coke, Coke, Coke, Coke, Coke, fries, fries, fries, fries, fries,” the waitress replied, “Ok, fives cheeseburgers, five cokes, and five fries.” This was our fun little gambit. The waitress followed through, so I would leave her a tip. I was ten-percenter, so she would do just about anything I told her to do. I told her to skip to the kitchen to place our order. She complied. We all laughed.
The burgers were the size of silver dollars, the Coke flat, the fries soggy. Ketchup didn’t help. I paid the fifty dollar tab and left a five dollar tip. My wife helped me with the math.
We rode home up Main Street: “Dive, dive, dive!” I yelled out the window of the Subaru as we passed the sin-holes lining the street and the hookers leaning on cars and beckoning as we drove by. The street was lit up with neon—there were drunks lying in the gutters like they belonged there. My wife told me to stop the car—she said she would walk home because she needed the exercise. I saw Tom waiting under a street light. Me and the three kids rode home without her, Me and my kids Jessica and Wally sang “Wheels on the Bus” while little Timmy clapped his hands.
When we got home, the two oldest left to “go out” with their friends. Me and Little Timmy sat silently on the couch. I wondered what he was thinking. Suddenly, he jumped off the couch and yelled “Cha, cha, cha!”
