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 is 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, generally hopeful I jabber knowingly. 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 am an idiot savant —I could memorize a restaurant menu in one glance. I had a job standing at the door of “Miggle’s Fine Dining” reciting the menu over and over. 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.
Although I have a photographic memory, I can’t write. I record everything and computer software transcribes it into print. I am also unable to tell time, even with a digital clock. Also, I say “Bluto” over and over, sometimes for an hour.
My nose, oblong, protruding, querying and sociable is worthy of note too. 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. By the way “Bluto” is being eclipsed. I have started speaking in Abecedarian.
For the contest, I am going to try to craft an Abecedarian based on my nasal reading device—my Costco Finger Pad. I spend so much time with it, that I am filled with its spirit as a prize-winning inspiration. So, here I go:
“A big careening dolly exited, firmly goosing her impressive jellybean kingdom—looming mystically, neglecting open pitfalls, quite ribald, tantalizingly undulating, veering with zgenetic yapping zeal.”
Well, there you have it. Somehow, my nose got left behind in my yapping zeal. 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, hope and fear.
POSTSCRIPT
Two days after submitting his Abecedarian to the contest, forgetting to remove his Fingerpad from his nose after reading, his nose got stuck in an elevator door and he was killed when the elevator went up. All of the fail-safe devices had been disabled and his skull crushed.
He left his 62,000+ Abecedarians to the New York Public Library. They were rejected and are currently scrolling on a small 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 incoherence. His tombstone reads: “Ant Being Crushed: Delightful Event.”
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu.
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