Category Archives: aganactesis

Aganactesis (ag’-an-ak-tee’-sis): An exclamation proceeding from deep indignation.

“You goddamn prick bastard son-of-a bitch asshole mother fu*k’in’ shit-eating clap-dicked liar.” I was practicing for the “Foul Mouth Roundup.” It was a contest at the State Fair sponsored by the “Old Sailor’s Home” down by the bay where the seaweed grows and the old sailors spend their time swearing and playing Battleship. Most of them sailed on salt water, on cargo ships or fishing boats, fishing mostly for lobster, shrimp, tuna, and cod. The rest of them sailed the Great Lakes, the fresh water, from Buffalo to Cleveland transporting automobiles, hot dogs, and carbon drill bits. When they pulled into port there were hundreds of people to greet them. Hungry for a hotdog, they’d go down to the docks to hoot and holler as the ship pulled in. The sailors would throw frozen hotdogs. The residents of Cleveland would bring their own buns and mustard, and set up grills on the docks. It was crazy. Everybody loved it. Except the salt water sailors had no such tradition. The Old Sailor’s Home was in Cleveland, so the fresh water sailors kept up their tradition. The saltwater sailors felt left out, belittled, and disrespected.

This is where the “Foul Mouth Roundup” got its start. The salt water sailors would curse out the fresh water sailors from the front porch of the Old Sailor’s home as they left for their hot dog fest at the docks. The fresh water sailers would turn around and curse out the salt water sailors as they left the Old Sailor’s Home. They did this for years, and then, out of nowhere the fresh water sails extended an invitation to the salt water sailors. The salt water sailors accepted. Since “good” swearing is a hallmark of sailor-hood, they decided to preserve the swearing in the form of a contest. Whoever could string together the rudest and longest strand of swear-words in 15 seconds would win a six-month supply of hot dogs. Ties would be honored—no matter how many. You had to be 18 to attend and participate in the contest.

Goddam those teenagers! They’ve learned a ton of swear words from video games and movies like “Sacarface” or “The Wolf of Wall Street.” I learned my first swearwords from my Uncle Vince who was a retired Naval Commander. We’d go riding in his Cadillac convertible pretending it was a boat. He wore a captain’s hat, and had a ship’s wheel as a steering wheel. We would “dock” at “Ponzi’s Bar” and have a few drinks and catch up on the family “scuttlebut.” After we had a few drinks, we’d haul anchor and ride down Main Street taking turns swearing. These were formative times for me.

When I’m competing again this year, I’ll be thinking of Uncle Vince and lamenting his passing 2 years ago. He rammed into a boat trailer with no stop lights. To his credit, he swore at the driver until he died,

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

The Daily Trope is available in an early edition on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

Aganactesis (ag’-an-ak-tee’-sis): An exclamation proceeding from deep indignation

“Who died and made you King?” I’m sick and tired of you telling me what do, and suspecting me of anything you can imagine. I did not murder our daughter. She’s watching TV in the living room!” Last week my crazy husband had accused me of cutting off his foot. The week before that he had accused me of being a divisive chimpanzee.

I was fed up. I was told he wasn’t crazy enough to be admitted to the state mental health facility, Medication Station. I couldn’t afford a nursing home for him. I tried leaving him in the Walmart parking lot, but he found his way home. He accused me of trying to kill him, but it wasn’t true. I was just trying to get rid of him, like a piece trash, not kill him.

I had to do something really drastic. So, I decided would go to France. I would leave him somewhere in Paris with no money or passport. It was horrendously cruel, but I felt I had no alternative. I was hoping he would die of starvation or something.

I got home. Peace of mind at last! No accusations. I prayed every night that he’d never return. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty. Then, one afternoon I was reading “Star” magazine. And there he was! He was the star of a fabulously popular French TV show: “Une Accusation.” He made outlandish accusations and the contestants made outlandish defenses. He was famous for dressing in thrift store clothing and seeming to be drunk all the time. He was compared to Jerry Lewis and venerated as “L’icône Américaine“ (“The American Icon”).

I threw the Star on the floor and stomped on it with my high heels. My crazy, loony, abusive husband—and my God—he had even managed to learn to speak French. My husband had become a French superstar.

I decided to go back to Paris and go to his show. I was going to sit in the audience and heckle him mercilessly, until he cracked and was booed off stage. I hated him.

It was a matinee and the studio was packed with adoring fans. He came on stage to a standing ovation. As soon as the applause died down, I stood up and yelled “You are a crazy bastard who broke my heart!” The people sitting on either side of me grabbed my arms and dragged me outside and handed me over to two gendarmes who arrested me and took me to jail. I learned it is illegal in France to heckle performers. I paid the 50 Euro fine and went back to my hotel. There was a knock on my door. I expected that it would be my husband, but instead it was the guy who had given me the eye in the lobby. “Did you know you are on the front page of the evening edition of La Monde?” He sad calmly, and left. No wonder he was looking at me. I got a copy of the paper. I was characterized as a rude, brutal stalker who had deeply hurt the great star, the Accuser, and offended the French people beyond repair.

That was it. I bought a plane ticket back to the US. I went directly to the airport and was going though airport security when HE showed up. He yelled, “Stop that woman. She has my foot in her purse!” The airport security guards applauded gleefully and looked in my purse, laughing.

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

Aganactesis (ag’-an-ak-tee’-sis): An exclamation proceeding from deep indignation.

Mel: You no-good slime ball creep! You monster! You make me sick! Now, you make me sicker. Your last job butchering baby pigs was bad enough, helping perverts get their sucklings to their grills. Now, you’re working at the so-called animal “shelter” gassing puppies and grown up dogs whose time has run out and room needs to be made for new tenants. How do you live with yourself? How do you sleep at night? You are a professional killer—a puppy hit man. Why not just use a knife or a gun, or a hammer?

Josh: As usual, you’re ill-informed. You get all bent out of shape before you know the facts. I swear, half the multitude of people you hate don’t deserve it. Like the guy you accused of poisoning kids with ice cream from his truck. This was a classic urban legend stoked by some mentally ill stooge with a twisted fear of ice cream and ice cream trucks— who had nothing but his twisted imagination to start the myth rolling and people like you to keep it going. So, you should know my wife Beth is a veterinarian. You should know we’re running a clandestine rescue kennel. I have been taking the dogs and puppies from “Sunset Kennels” and secretly transporting them to my place, “Second Chance Kennels.” We give them their shots and worm the puppies and spay and neuter the older dogs. We give them collars too. The dogs are totally free to people who take them. We are funded by an anonymous donor. All we know is that a stray dog saved her life when she was a child, pulling her out of her burning house. Then like Romulus and Remus, she was raised by the dog until he was run over by a truck and she was found wandering the streets wearing a raccoon skin dress, the origins of which still remains a mystery. She could only whine, bark and growl. She learned how to speak properly under the tutelage of a professor elocution at the University of London, who had helped many young women to affect ways of speaking that allowed them to rise through the social ranks.

There you have it Mel. I’m ready for your apology. Come on! You can do it.

Mel: Ok. I’m sorry. Do you have a spare puppy? I would like one with short hair and floppy ears—one that looks roughly like my sister.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.