Daily Sentence

Berate

If you say one more word I swear to God I’ll kill myself right here and now and then you’ll have to explain to your children how you berated their Father to death and it will be on your conscience the rest of your life.

Hobson's choice

I was given a ruthless Hobson’s choice: take off my boxer shorts and dance for the rich man from London and his women as he requested (printing exactly what he requested would get you jailed in this country in this day and age (Siam, 1880) but trust me; it was foul) or get shot pointblank in the face.

Asperity

Mrs. Trudy was an old battle ax with an asperity of skin, an asperity of voice, and an asperity of demeanor, but I knew the riches I would inherit after her death would be well worth the bawdy toil of servicing her nightly (and I do mean nightly).

Spoony

I could never be quite sure why Todd always got so spoony at the movies, but it probably connected to the fact that his Mother was the kind of lady who wept openly in front of company and believed reality TV was real.

Vituperate

I feel like I should vituperate the people at Dictionary.com for being so fucking lazy as to repost a word in verb form that they posted two weeks ago in noun form.

Obeisance

No, I refuse to bow in obeisance to any man who wears shorts with a tie, I don’t care how hot it is, I won’t do it.

Brummagem

I’m 56 years old, Victor, and I look what all my work was brought me: a brummagem wife, a son who wants to be a back-up dancer, and a profound spiritual vacuum in which my endless regrets nightly feed on each other in a meretricious soiree of vapidity and disillusionment.

Sesquipedalian

Being a Yale man I never missed an opportunity to employ my sesquipedalian abilities until the portentous day my automobile broke down in Montana and, subsequent to an egregious display of prolixity, I learned a lesson about regional grandiloquence: Bozemanites loathe bombast.

Vituperation

In my three years as Lt. General of the Rockville, Maryland Day Camp for Underemployed Adults and Gen Y Fuckabouts, I had never before suffered the degree of vituperation Robbie, that trip-hop-loving vag, laid on me.

Gamine

Perhaps it was the gamine’s delicately smudged face or perhaps it was her squeaky yet stirring voice, but I knew, even after those few short minutes with her in the alley, that she was to be my wife no matter what objections my congregation or Bishop Christie were sure to have.

Supernumerary

Like, I totally can’t believe my teacher, Mrs. Rouye, the septuagenarian martinet I was telling you about, had the gall, considering the way she drones on and on, to criticize me, with no accounting for personal style, for supernumerary use of commas, when she said herself, right there on the syllabus, that these assignments were informal, and wouldn’t be marked for grammar, that she-bitch,.

Supernumerary

The Arbor Day orgy was quite the fiasco: the girls from Colby never showed up; the Slip ‘n Slide did more harm than good; there was a supernumerary amount of cops, all ready to pounce on the first dude who touched the 17-year-old caterer; and I feel asleep before the saltwater taffy cooled.

Tatterdemalion

Let’s see…hmm…my most embarrassing moment would probably have to be the time I infiltrated the primary encampment of the Wootsi people disguised as a tatterdemalion leper only to discover the rubies I sought had already been pilfered by Brian Henerys (who subsequently used them to steal my wife, which, now that I think about it, is way more embarrassing).

Tatterdemalion

Erma B. is a true piece of Pittsburgh street meat, an oily tatterdemalion in bad decline, a toothless blow job machine on a first-name basis with every motel owner in the city—and I still owe her two, wait, three…four turkey sandwiches.

Anodyne

The badger cub (is it called a cub?) had been caught in a bear trap (who sets a trap on a bike path in Golden Gate Park?) and whelped like a banshee until I injected 40 CCs of anodyne (was it codeine or morphine? Whatever Big Sal had that day, I guess) into its paw.