Category Archives: repotia

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.


A: Who the hell is getting married? I’ll take another gin & tonic, and another pinch on your ass. But I know you can do better than that. Remember the Christmas party last year. You were serving drinks and you let me unwrap your package behind the bar and nobody suspected anything as I gave you the stealth B-hind bomber treatment. Ha ha! Oh, and oh my God—what about New Years this year? We bumped in the new year on the floor under the dining room table. We kept our clothes on, and I made it look like we were dancing. Nobody suspected a thing. How’re we going to do it at this dum ass wedding?

B: It’s your wedding dipshit. Here, have another drink and maybe you’ll forget who you are and go home, cancel the wedding, and save Emily a lot of grief. Oh! Whoops! I forgot, you already got married to Emily.

A: Wah? You’re putting me on. What a sick joke. You’re fired! I’m going to take a nap somewhere. And then maybe have you arrested for serving me too much to drink.

B: You better not. The wedding feast is about to begin. Believe it or not, you got married one hour ago. You fell down twice during the ceremony and vomited on Emily. I have returned you to sobriety.

A: Who the hell is Emily? I don’t know any Emily.

B: Emily is your wife. She is a very special being. Get ready for this: she is 2,500 years old. She has produced numerous eggs in this cycle and is due to be impregnated again. For some reason, she chose you to mate with—you—an inconsiderate, self-centered fool. Emily is a magical creature and deserves far better than you, but she loves only the fool. Her Fool is the Tarot’s Fool, zero in the Tarot’s deck, infinitely empty, and infinitely full of possibilities, brimming with optimism and oblivious to the future: forever poised at the abyss, forever safe, looking up, inspired by the void.

Emily was born on the winds of Western Africa, succored on the sweet-flowing springs beneath Rome’s Palatine Hill, and sustained by ambrosia as she grew into womanhood. Emily is the goddess of Pregnancy. She is immortal, but must mate with a mortal every 100 years, at a wedding in celebration of the profane pursuits that bring pregnancy: joy, pleasure, faith, insemination, and life. Without the wedding, the cycle of her life may be disrupted and she may die a painful death, in a pit of rats, screaming like an owl at dawn’s light.

A: So I’m invited to a wedding that becomes my wedding? My wedding to a friggin’ Goddess? I get married while I’m obliviated on 6 gin and tonics. This sounds like some kind of cheap (and bad) piece of fiction written by a brain-damaged sky diver. But, what have I got to lose? It could be true. Not even I am stupid enough to pass this one up. If I’m married, I’m married. I don’t care if Emily’s a goat, I’m going to give it a shot.

I entered the banquet hall. Everybody cheered and applauded. The bride was easy to spot—she was wearing a wedding dress that looked like it was made of sunlit clouds shifting and moving as though they were rolling across the sky. Emily was a goddess. Her beauty and the warmth of her smile were transformative—without hesitation, I walked toward her slowly with my arms outstretched. She stood and opened her arms, lifted me off the floor, and I glided to her. We embraced and kissed, and I reveled in the taste, like dark maple syrup. It was crazy and totally sane at the same time. She whispered in my ear: “I love you because you are a fool.” For some reason that didn’t make me mad, maybe I was a fool, this Tarot fool the bartender had spoken of. But there was more to it than that. We held hands and our life stories flowed into each other’s consciousness. We feasted on ambrosia and wedding cake, and I asked her who all the guests were. She told me they were her “beloved” minions, except for the bartender who was her scout, who had found me, and who brought me here with the wedding invitation.

Suddenly, the guests started yelling at me: “Speech, speech, speech. I stood up.

A: I am standing here at hope’s abyss—in the bright light of a shining mystery called “The Future.” I was summoned today from the shadows of selfishness, immaturity, and a wasted life. In seconds, Emily brought me to my senses. She has made me feel at home in this world of fading promises and the turbulence of unexpected change. Through the warmth of her smile and the power of her ancient heartfelt embrace, I am redeemed. I am whole. I have found love. I think it was Shakespeare who wrote: “A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.” I am Emily’s fool.

I did my best with the speech. The guests cheered. I was one with the moment. Emily blew me a kiss and it struck my lips like warm sunlight, and coursed through my soul.

So, we left the wedding and went to a nearby motel where we had sex so many times I lost count. When I woke up, she was gone. She left a note: “When our child is born, we will visit. Maybe we will stay—if you will be my fool.”


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

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Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.


1. A. Did you kill your neighbor? Did you end his life with a kitchen knife? He’s full of holes—you must’ve been enraged. Did you do your neighbor in? Was it you? Look, all you need to do is answer yes, or no. Did you whack your neighbor?

B. Why would I kill my neighbor. That goddamn piece of crap had everything he wanted and needed. His cute-ass wife supported him with money and affection. She might’ve made a pass at me a couple of times, but nothing to build a relationship on.

A. How do you account for the blood on your hands.

B. I slipped on his blood a fell down, bracing my fall with my hands. It looks bad, but it isn’t.

A. Ok, do you know who might’ve killed your neighbor—who put him in his grave? Who sent him South? Gave him angel wings?

B. As strange as it seems, it might be my wife. We had had sex just once in nine years and then, all of a sudden one Saturday afternoon she pushes me down on the bed & tells me to wait. After five minutes she comes back wearing the Frederick’s of Hollywood nightie I got her for our wedding night nearly twenty years ago. It was unexpected to say the least. It was like having sex with Wonder Woman, or Stormy Daniels, or our pool woman, Sassy. Anyway, about a week later my wife tells me she’s pregnant, and I’m the “naughty” man who did it. She cited our recent sexual activity and complimented my virility. What she didn’t know was that I had had a vasectomy five years ago. I had a lot of reasons, but the most important one was I did not want have children with that shallow, conniving bitch. If I was going to kill anybody it would be her, not Marcus. He was a fun loving guy who probably knocked up my wife. The DNA tests will tell us.

A. Thank you for your cooperation. We’re going to have to take you down to the station. Your wife tells us you confessed to her, and from what she tells us about your drinking, your drug problem, jealousy, physical abuse and explosive homicidal temper, I’m betting you killed Marcus when he affirmed to you that your wife’s baby was his. You had blood on your hands and a pain in your heart. Do you want to confess now, or wait until we get to the station?

B. That bitch. Marcus’ wife gave me a thumb drive with video from their security cam. I was going to toss it, but now I’m going to give it to you. I wanted to protect my wife, but now she can go to hell. When you plug it into your computer, you’ll see my wife murdering Marcus. End of story.

2. You call this a wedding feast? Tater Tots and baloney sandwiches—no cheese, no mustard? Oh, who the hell cares anyway? Definitely not the bride and groom who march to a different drummer, like a couple of Lemmings headed over a cliff into a marital abyss.

I’ve known Bob all my life. I’ve been to all of his weddings—4 I think, but who’s counting? I’m not. Anyway, marriage is a thinly veiled excuse for driving another person crazy. After the vows, everything you’ve kept hidden from each other seeps out. Your chronic jock itch, her prosthetic nose, your hepatitis, her inflated boobs. These can all be game changers, and they often are. I mean, who wants to live with a man with chronic jock itch, right Bob?

And then there’s the in-laws! Bob’s dad is a convicted child molester. His mother’s on probation for nearly beating a 78 year old woman to death over a parking spot. Martha’s dad is a mystery. Nobody knows (or asks) where his money comes from. Martha’s mom sits in her filthy stained house dress, drinks little glasses of wine all day, and swears at the TV.

Well Bob and Martha, if you can steer clear of your families and keep lying to each other, you marriage has a chance. Let’s raise our glasses to the bride and groom. “May your marriage survive the first two weeks.”


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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. Also available in Kindle

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.


1. Where’s my hammer? Where IS my hammer? C’mon—where is it? The hammer! Where! Look, I have another birdhouse to build. Why are you hiding my hammer? Stop laughing and give me my hammer.

2. I’ve been married 6 times—every one a total failure. Here, today, on your wedding day—on your first wedding day, I wish you more happiness than I ever had, or could have had, as a cheating shagmeister. But men are like that—they cheat, they lie, they break hearts, they yell, they push their wives around, they get divorced.

Whoops! I am so sorry, I got sidetracked there, talking about my loser self. Ray here will love Gloria forever and try his best to make her happy. Of course he’ll lie to Gloria now and again, but I’m pretty sure he won’t cheat. So, together, you should celebrate your love and the good times marriage affords. As a bonus, you’ve got a baby on the way very soon—you’ll get to start your marriage as a family: you’re on a fast track! Most people wait a year.


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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. Also available in Kindle format.

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

1. Help me! Extract me! Don’t you think you should save me? I’m drowning. Helllllp! Dammit! Get me the hell out of here!

2. I remember the first time I got married. Plain and simple in front of a Justice of the Peace. I remember the second time I got married. Unbelievably gaudy display of wealth and self-importance. I remember the third time I got married, 30 years ago. A simple ceremony in a simple church, like your wedding. After 30 years, we’re still happily married.

This is your third marriage. I hope it works like mine has. Here’s to 30 more years! Bless you!

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. Also available in Kindle format.

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

1. I need a steak. Feed me meat! I want to consume some tender cow! Moooove it on the meat front! The redder the better!

2. There’s a time for everything as we move through life! You’ve decided this is your time to be married, and you are. After 12 years of dating, you should have a pretty good idea of each other’s positive and negative qualities.

Clearly, the positive outweighs the negative, or we wouldn’t be here today celebrating your marriage!

So, let’s toast to a well-considered decision that is bound to lead to happiness. Eyes wide open, here’s to you–Charles and Wilma.

We wish you a prosperous, joy-filled future!

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. Also available in Kindle format.

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

1. Please give me the remote. GIVE me the remote! Give ME the REMOTE! God-Dammit! GIVE ME THE F***ING REMOTE!

2. Being honest is being the best Best Man I can be.

Today you are joined in matrimony. Chained together for life like two convicts, unless you appeal your conviction and get a quickie divorce!  After all, it was the ‘quickie’ in the olive grove over there that got you into this mess in the first place!!

Ha ha!

So, here’s to you, our soon-to-be-miserable friends: To your love! To your marriage! To your stupidity! To our regret!

So, let’s all have a little watered-down wine, some humus, and roast sheep buttocks and laugh at our idiot friends.

Here’s to you Mary and Joseph!

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

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

1. I am your only chance? I, your only chance? Yes! I am your only chance, but only if you take that chance with me!

2. Your wedding is a portrait of endless promise, inexhaustible as love’s invisible warmth. We know your marriage, like your courtship, will bring out the best in both of you, lighting your lives with happiness, hope,  and love.

So, here’s to you, our friends: To your love! To your marriage! To your future! To our joy!

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

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

1. A. Iraq. Afghanistan. Syria. Egypt. One thing in common: sectarianism.

1. B. Four countries. Four examples. Four reasons to engender nationalism.

2. Your wedding is a portrait of spiritual fusion, inexhaustible as love’s invisible warmth. We know your marriage will bring bright colors and beautiful forms to the days and nights of your lives.

Today is a time for promises and a time of promise: a time to celebrate your future’s advent in the vows you’ve spoken today.

So, here’s to you, our friends: To your love! To your marriage! To your future!

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

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

1. A. Every time  you smile at me I feel the warmth of your love touching my soul.

1. B. Every time you smile at me I feel the pulse of your love pounding in my chest.

2. Now you are married. But, your course through life together to this point can’t and won’t be forgotten: How you first met. How you formed a faith together in the future of your dream: to love, to grow, to share with us, and to be bound by the promises you made here today. Your vows have made you whole and your vows have made you free. They teach us all how good it is to be your witness: to testify to the power of love as we embrace your hope and promise to do everything we can, along with you, to make your hope and love your life’s destiny.

So, here’s to you our friends: To your love! To your marriage! May the spirit of today visit you every day all the days of your life!

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

Repotia

Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.

1. A. Love’s constancy is the closest thing to Truth that we’ll ever experience here on earth. Here’s to you. For love!

1. B. Love’s constancy guides us like Truth through this jumble of uncertainty called life. Love takes us home. Welcome home! For you! For love!

2. Weddings celebrate and publicize life’s most important promise. Weddings are front-page news–at their best, they boldly headline love’s expectation of lasting passionate goodness that bridges our days and nights together, as together we grow together and go hopefully together into the unknowable unforeseeable future. So, as we participate in this joyful occasion together–as we dance, sing, laugh, drink, eat and talk, let’s never forget this day’s design and carry its memory with us to gauge the beauty and the truth of all of the relationships that we create together, that we maintain together, that we celebrate together.

To love and marriage!

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