Category Archives: polysyndeton

Polysyndeton (pol-y-syn’-de-ton): Employing many conjunctions between clauses, often slowing the tempo or rhythm. (Asyndeton is the opposite of polysyndeton: an absence of conjunctions.)

I had an SUV, and a pickup truck, and a motorcycle, and an ATV, and a motor scooter, and a lawn tractor, and an electric scooter, and a shopping cart I stole from Hannaford—the grocery store.

Due to all the wheeled vehicles I own, I got the nickname “Johnny Wheels,” or just plain “Wheels.” Ever since I first rolled down my street on my birthday Big Wheels, rolling conveyances have been my thing: “Roll ‘em, roll ‘em, roll ‘em, get those Big Wheels rollin’, tho’ the traffic’s swollen, roll it to the end of the line.” I wrote this tribute to my Big Wheels to the tune of “Rawhide,” my favorite TV show at the time. I sang it as I rode to the playground, one block from where I lived.

On my sixteenthg birthday I was still riding my Big Wheels. I didn’t have the resources to buy bigger wheels—like a car. so I got a job polishing marbles at the Chinese Checkers parlor on the outskirts of town. Riding my Big Wheels out there every day was making me crazy. Finally, I saved enough money to buy a used car. I went to “Chariots On Fire,” a used car lot run by a high school friend named “Bastard” Johnson.

Bastard asked me how much I had to spend. I told him $532.00. He laughed for about 2 minutes and then told his assistant Gomer to get “it” from behind the garage.

Gomer drove out from behind the garage in a green car that looked like it had a toilet seat for a grill. Bastard said “It’s called an Edsel and I can’t even give it away. Give me $495.00 and it’s yours. I’m giving you a $5.00 trade-in credit for your Big Wheels.” I said, “If you can’t give it away, why do you want $495.00 from me?” He told me that “can’t give it away” is a figure of speech “asshole.” I gave him $the 495.00 and drove off in the Edsel, leaving my Big Wheels behind.

I still have the Edsel and it’s worth $90,000.00.

I’m opening a wheels museum called “Roll” in a barn outside of town. It opens on a diorama of the wheel’s invention. We make it interesting by having my cousin Bart dressed like a caveman and making a stone Big Wheels. Then, as you walk through you see examples of everything with wheels—from a Peterbuilt truck to a roller skate, to a medieval battering ram, to a wheelchair, to the famous wheeled shroud of Turin, to a wheel of fortune, and 100s and 100s more artifacts.

I’m 78 years old and I hope to keep on rollin’ for a few more years. But when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll be rolling on casters to the cemetery, pulled by a team of Big Wheels and a small troupe of bagpipers playing “Rawhide.”

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

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.

Polysyndeton (pol-y-syn’-de-ton): Employing many conjunctions between clauses, often slowing the tempo or rhythm. (Asyndeton is the opposite of polysyndeton: an absence of conjunctions.)

There was a house, and a yard, and a swimming pool, and a shooting range, and a garage, and a greenhouse, and a grill. It was home. It had always been home. When I first came through the front door, I was an infant. I learned to ride my bike in the driveway. I learned to shoot with unerring accuracy in the backyard shooting range. I could hit the head of a pin from 25 yards with a pistol.

I was 29–a little old to be living at home. Dad was selling the place. Soon, I’d be out on my own. He was asking $500,000 for the place. That’s a lot of money, but I was resolved to raise it and keep the property for myself. I tried “Go Fund Me” but nobody was interested. I got comments like “Idiot,” “This is the stupidest fundraising gambit I ever heard of,” “Give it up Bozo.”

I knew I needed another plan. So, I got my parents to make a will leaving the house to me. I convinced them they could die at any minute, even before they found a buyer for the house. I was planning on killing them both and blaming my notoriously psycho sister, who was living in a half-way house down the street from the state mental institution. Then, I decided it would be even better to get my sister to actually kill our parents.

I told my sister that I couldn’t hold it in any more: our parents were serial killers from the third dimension of the future’s origin on a secret Tik Tok channel run by apes. I told her that they specialized in killing children, but lately, they had developed a thirst for her blood. They would come to her apartment with empty coffee mugs they would fill with her blood after they slit her throat and drained her.

My sister was visibly shaken. I gave her a loaded .45 to protect herself. I called my parents and invited them over. I told them that all my sister’s coffee mugs had been broken by her cat, so they had to bring their own mugs. Then, I left.

Everything went fine! My sister killed our parents. I told the police that my sister had stolen the handgun from me. I inherited the house and am enjoying life!

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.

Polysyndeton (pol-y-syn’-de-ton): Employing many conjunctions between clauses, often slowing the tempo or rhythm. (Asyndeton is the opposite of polysyndeton: an absence of conjunctions.)

There was a dog, and a cat, and a chicken and a truck. Dad called it a “farm” for income tax purposes. We grew an acre of milkweed and sold the seed pods as milkweed fritters by the side of the road. I had a card table with a propane deep frier and a little picnic table. Ma made me a pointy hat that looked like a milkweed pod. My name is Rodney, so my sister embroidered “Rod’s Pods” on my apron along with a rainbow. I also had a sign that said “Fresh Egg for Sale.” Our chicken Charlie laid one egg per day—so the egg sign was sort of a joke. Oh, talk about jokes, I had a battery-powered cassette player. I would play “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” and “Farmer in the Del,l” and “Baa, Baa Black Sheep,” and “Five Little Ducks.” whenever a car would pull up. “Farmer in the Dell” was a favorite and sometimes I would sing along while they ate their fritters.

The milkweed pod season was long and we had many repeat customers. We made pretty good money. So good, that mom could cut back to half-time at “Joysters,” the “good-time oyster bar.” Mom said she “shucked” when she was asked to, but most of the time she just served drinks. Now, she got home at 1.00 a.m. instead of 4:00! All because of the milkweeds.

Dad had recently become what he called an “entrymanure” quitting his job cleaning septic tanks. He thought he was being funny when he said the job was a crock of shit, a shit storm, for shit, shitty, or a “poopalooza.” We laughed politely and congratulated him on what was ahead.

He was making counterfeit one dollar bills in the garage. They were packed in boxes and strewn ankle deep on the garage floor. The guys who promised to buy all he could print for five cents on the dollar hadn’t shown up yet, so Dad had an overflow problem. Dad asked me to help him cart some of the boxes up by the road and set them there for people who thought they needed a few dollars. Dad’s generosity was admirable. The money buyers came the next day and Dad made a tidy sum. He yelled “Start the presses!” Sheets and sheets of dollar bills flew off the presses. It was amazing. Like magic.

I had made pickled milkweed pods to get me thorough fall. They were surprisingly popular, but I needed something to pull us through winter. We get a lot of snow up here in the hills, so I wracked my brain about snow’s possibilities for making a Buck. Then I got the idea! Pre-fab snowmen! Most people are too lazy to build a snowman, but nevertheless they love them. So, I made generic snowmen with coal buttons, teeth, and eyes; with carrot noses; and with arms made of tree branches. I also used pizza boxes to fill with small premade snowballs. The snowmen sold like crazy—I had a high school kid deliver them. The snow balls were a bust. I’m going to keep working on the concept. Maybe making the pizza box’s lid into some kind of variation on “Corn Hole.”

“People” published an article about my snowmen. 100s of people flocked to our farm. A kid wandered off and his parents found him in our garage, along with Dad’s “money maker.” Federal Agents showed up the next day and took Dad away. I still feel like I’m partially to blame. Anyway, Dad got off when his lawyer argued that the fake one dollar bills were play money that hadn’t been labeled yet. Now, Dad’s setting up some kind of laboratory in the garage.

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.

Polysyndeton (pol-y-syn’-de-ton): Employing many conjunctions between clauses, often slowing the tempo or rhythm. (Asyndeton is the opposite of polysyndeton: an absence of conjunctions.)

There were rainy days, and happy days, and the yacht trolling the Gulf Stream reeling in bonita, and rum-soaked nights on Bimini at my favorite bar in the world. I had left my wife and kids years and years ago. It was winter in Maine. I hitched to Portland, caught a train, and off I went to Florida. My family woke up and I was gone. Gone to the good life without them. I felt no remorse or guilt or shame.

I was hired as a Marina Manager in Miami and enjoyed being around the water. However, I had significant experience as a skipper and kept my eyes open. My family had a shipyard in Maine. I was born to the water, maybe on the water. My chance came when the skipper of The Black Crow had a reprise of malaria and couldn’t get out of bed. My boss recommended me to fill in. The Black Crow was painted all black with teak decks and brass fittings. It was beautiful; almost as beautiful as the owner’s wife Sandy. Whenever I got close to her, I could smell the coconut oil she used as a sun block. The owner, Mr. Blag, couldn’t make the trip. He had to show their dog Renee at a show in Orlando. It was a Beagle.

I still didn’t know where we were going when I fired up the Black Crow. I knew only Sandy and I were gong out. As we pulled out of the marina she gave me the coordinates of where we were going. When I overlaid them on the map, I saw our destination was a mile off Bimini. Sandy said, “When we get close, start looking for floating boxes.” When we got close, we saw a broken down yacht with two men hauling boxes aboard. Sandy went below and came up with two machine guns—AR 15s. She told me to go in fast, “You know what to do.” She handed me a gun.

We emptied our clips on the usurpers and hauled in the boxes. We boarded their broken down boat and discovered they were Cuban.

Heading back to Miami Sandy came up behind me, hugged me and kissed my neck. She said softly, “You’re a killer now.“ I didn’t know what to do. She was the only one who knew and God only knew what was in the boxes. I set the boat on auto pilot. I took Sandy’s hand and we walked to the stern. I pushed her overboard and left her screaming. I pried open one of the boxes and looked inside. It was packed with bundles of $100 bills.

The Black Crow had a Boston Whaler as a sort of life boat, but more as a utility boat to go exploring. I threw three boxes into her and lowered her into the water. I lit the Black Crow on fire and headed for Bimini, where I had a friend who would get me hidden out.

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.