the world's longest GRE vocab exercise, cont'd.

the GRE vocab saga continues....

their OSTENSIBLE permanent pessimism was deeply questioned. they became less OSTENTATIOUS and OVERWEENING.

the Jocose Daughter may have once rejoiced w/ a PAEAN at this occasion, but was deeply troubled that it had taken her sister's suicide to shake her family from antipathy. she could not PALLIATE this. no PANEGYRIC could be written for this; though the family PARADIGM had shifted and the Jocose Daughter who had once been a PARIAH was now seen as the family's potential savior.

the Jocose Daughter had been so deeply saddened by this that she now saw her family's attempt to be jovial as PARODY, and tried to PARRY their attempts to get close to her. the family that had once been PARSIMONIOUS had changed so abruptly, the Jocose Daughter did not know how to react, and was PARTISTAN to skepticism. the PAUCITY of kindness in her family was no PECCADILLO, and to have years of personal PEDAGOGY to her family be suddenly put to practice seemed too PEDANTIC; joy and kindness were never PEDESTRIAN in their household before.

still, despite her struggle, the Jocose Daughter had a PENCHANT for believing the PENURIOUS days of her family were left behind. the family clambered to her, but she would not be PREEMPTORY and let them forget the past and what there was to learn from it. the family had began to love in earnest, and the Jocose Daughter wanted this to be PERRENIAL. the family had learned to ban PERFIDY from their lives. nothing was PERFUNCTORY---they all too interest in one another.

the Jocose Daughter became less PERIPATETIC, and stayed home often. the Mercurial Mother and the Father lost their PERNICIOUS natures and became PERSONABLE again. they all became PERSPICACIOUS to the other's needs, and helped one another in their endeavors. they all PERUSED the writings of the Dead Daughter and those they saw fit to publish were received w/ great acclaim. learning and acceptance PERVADED the home and there was no PETROUS quality found.

there were bursts of PETULANCE, of course, but nothing PHILISTINE was done. the Martial Brother, who had become a war historian, was occasionally PLEGHMATIC while rapt in study and thought, especially when studying the PICARESQUE historical figures which engrossed him. the Jocose Daughter even, when working on one of her PIED paintings, was given to annoyance. and the Mother (not Mercurial any longer), a master seamstress, would raise her voice when interrupted, but would no longer PILLORY anyone as she once had.

certainly no one PINED for the Bad Years, and they were PIOUS in their newfound devotion to life and the art that supported them through it. the PIQUANT environment supported them in this, but they were occasionally PIQUED by the remarks of their friends who would say harsh about them and remind them why the change came about. additionally, at one point the Dead Daughter's works were PIRATED and they were forced to sue the Father's closest friends who leaked the material. they were not immune to hard times, but here is the PITH: they were changed.

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i will not PLACATE you, reader, and say this is an essentially happy story. it is not. it is more PLAINTIVE than happy, and this is more PLANGENT than anything else, isn't it?

these words are PLASTIC, and i hope they are not mere PLATITUDES, but a PLETHORA of linguistic experimentation. i hope you have found at least some PLUCK in all this to enter into your own improvised literary discovery. PLUMB the depths of your own vocabulary and the words will PLUMMET onto the page before you know it. i tell you, the experience is POIGNANT. do not be afraid to be POLEMICAL. PRATE all you want; go ahead and PRATTLE too. do not fear the PRECARIOUS activity, abandon PRECEPTS and take PRECIPITATE action. it may be a PRECURSOR to something larger.

i say, you must have a PREDILICTION for it, though, and PREEMPT everything else in your day w/ the act of writing. luckily, there is no need to PREEN, since it will be a lonely affair. PRESCIENCE may help your planning; i recommend it.

be PRESUMPTUOUS as long as one line leads to another; the connection may be PREVARICATED or PRISTINE, as long as there is a connection. PRIZE the ability from the depth of your mind. disregard thoughts of PROBITY, they will only hinder you.

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the reason why the Father is rarely mentioned is b/c of his PROCLIVITY for solitude. to many it was a myster why he had wanted children or even to marry. in his adolescence he was a waward PRODIGAL, but after the tumult of this point of life he settled down at a desk, and his pen became PRODIGIOUS. he became a celebrated literary icon, the center of dozens of PROFLIGATE and PROFUSE upper-class parties. he met his wife at one such party and they were soon married. this time coincided with the PROLIFERATION of the Father's greatest early works. after his marriage, though he remained PROLIFIC, many critics and readers thought his writing talent was on the decline. they found the Writer too PROLIX, with a PROPENSITY for stubborness w/ editors who wanted to drastically revamp his writing style (which weakened the final product).

his PROPINQUITY w/ the writing community fell by the wayside, and the Writer became sullen. he had made so many enemies ove the years and offended so many, no one tried to PROPITIATE the growing gap, despite the debt owed to the Writer for his literary contributions. no one was PROPITIOUS to him; this was the primary cause for his melancholy, coupled with his self-loathing in knowing he had caused it all.

his writing, now privately published by the Writer, became PROSAIC. many booksellers PROSCRIBED his works altogether. the Writer fell into a slump that lasted 25 years. these were the dark days, the Bad Years, when he saw no reason to be PROVIDENT, and infected his family w/ the same notion.

in retrospect, he knows his actions were PUERILE, and he deeply regrets the PUGNACIOUS and PUNCTILIOUS nature he infused in his family for so long. regret is indeed far too weak a word; he weeps every day at the thought of how he was the PUNDIT of Depression for so long, and of the Dead Daughter.

the Martial Brother was also often overcome by grief. he could not go near his sister's old room w/o smelling that PUNGENT odor again. he would then feel PUSILLANIMOUS and this thoughts turned to PETRIFIED things.

the whole family would not QUAFF the bitter elixir of their grief as they remembered the Dead Daughter on her birthday every year. this is so they would not QUAIL at the sight of hard times, to QUALIFY their fear, remember their past QUALMS and forgive the present ones. this ceremony was at the request of the Dead Daughter, made on the tape played at her funeral. on this day, no QUERIES were made and no one was to be QUERULOUS---all were expected to be the epitome of QUIESCENCE at the dinner table. it was QUIXOTIC, as most ceremonies aare, but certainly a break from the QUOTIDIAN.

no one RAILED against this family tradition put in place from beyond the grave. it would never be RAMIFIED to include another deceased family member. this tradition, more than anything, reminded them of the RANCOROUS and RAPACIOUS way they used to live.

the family, all of them, were RAREFIED by the change that continued to take place in the years following the death of their sister. the Sculptor erected a REBUS in the den in honor of her. when he first moved it into the room, the sculpture was RECALCITRANT, but once firmly put into place, it would never RECANT its position.

the meaning of it was RECONDITE, and the family's RECONNITER of the work left them puzzled. it was RECUMBENT for them to recall a certain memoroy of their sister to understand the piece. eventually, the REDOLENT shaping of the sculpture evoked the memory to each of them, and they applauded the Sculptor for his REDOUBTABLE work. they then never spoke of it again, though it lingered always in the corners of their minds.

-end.


and there it is, the strangest improv-vocab-building-short-story you've never read.