Creative Copy Challenge #90

Today’s words come to us from Cori Padgett of Big Girl Branding fame. Show her some comment love.

BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)

  1. Frack – see Naomi Dunford; think of 4-letter words beginning with f
  2. Tornado
  3. Iconic
  4. Urbane – Polite, refined, and often elegant in manner
  5. Loathesome – disgusting; revolting; repulsive
  6. Epitome – A representative or perfect example of a class or type
  7. Windowpane
  8. Brainsick – aka crazy
  9. Impudent – Characterized by offensive boldness; insolent or impertinent
  10. Cagey – Wary; careful OR Crafty; shrewd

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

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Resources you should check out:
Thesis: Best Damn Theme on the Web
Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there

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47 Comments on “Creative Copy Challenge #90”

  1. Shane Arthur says:

    Frack, Frank, you’re the epitome of brainsick loathesomeness, an iconic tornado of impudent filth. ”

    “Frick, say that again, this time in English,” replied Frank.

    “How can you live like this…look here…this Urban Cowboy Does Dallas porn tape, for example, is covered in pubic hairs, peanut butter, and Mad Dog’s Cagey Acid Rain hot sauce, and it’s on your windowpane for everyone to see.”

    “You’re being ridiculous my good man,” replied Frank in smug denial, chin held high, pinky finger extended from his bourbon bottle. “I’ll have you know that tape is called URBANE Cowboy Does Dallas.”

  2. margaret says:

    I get completely brainsick at the media tornado that constantly follows the every move of talent-less pseudo iconic “celebutants” whose only talent is to display loathsome, entitled behaviors. I refuse to remain urbane when I feel outrage that our society rewards these impudent sociopaths by giving them front page attention and their own tv shows.

    It is the epitome of presumptuousness for network programmers to assume that the average American is some brainless frick and frack who has nothing better to do with their
    time than to sit in front of the tv like a puppy with its nose pressed up against the windowpane watching the world go by because there is nothing better to do.

    America needs to send a message to these cagey network execs that we deserve more
    intelligent programming and are tired of all the pap.  Perhaps if we refused to watch, refused to buy the advertisers’ products and let the networks know how we feel we would be rewarded with better dramas, sitcoms and educational shows instead of reinforcing bad behavior.

  3. Cathy Miller says:

    #90-Wow-what are we going to do for #100?? 🙂
    ===============================
    Mark raced across the open field and squeezed under the fence in a move that would have given Frick and Frack a run for their money. He checked his camera to ensure it was in one piece. The last thing he needed right now was a busted camera.

    Finding everything intact, he tracked the distant tornado and let out a whooping sound of excitement. Chasing storms was such a rush. Mark got hooked the first time he saw the iconic film footage of Discovery’s Storm Chasers.

    That’s when he knew. No more urbane, sensible job for him. The thought of a life trapped inside a cubicle was loathsome. It was the epitome of all that was wrong in Corporate America. Mark’s soul had been trapped without a windowpane of escape.

    His friends were convinced Mark was brainsick. Who in his right mind ran towards a tornado instead of beating a path in the opposite direction? He either hid this impudent side or had a cagey knack for acting normal when he was really quite insane.

    Maybe they were right, but Mark knew he never felt so alive. Now, let’s see if he could keep it that way.

  4. Shane Arthur says:

    Note: Hey Cori, every one of your comments has landed in spam for some weird reason. I’m going off grid until 10pm tonight so if you don’t see your comments, I’ll approve them then. Sorry about that.  You’ll have to tweet them instead until then huh! 😉

  5. J1m was the epitome of managerial robots: urbane and diplomatic to five nines, always on time, never forgot a task or a face, kept a smile for everyone, and blew through paperwork like a tornado.
    So of course, we hated him. We hated his iconic interface, his 32-billion color status windowpane, and his loathesome habit of touching us without sterilizing his pseudopods first.
    One day, J1m was clearly bursting with news, but was too cagey to say exactly what it was while he was around us. We tapped into the security cameras and comm streams and monitored him all day. Impudent, yes, but necessary. We knew the frackin’ biped had it in for us, but couldn’t prove anything. At five o’clock he went offline, and we all breathed a sigh of relief.
    The switchover came at midnight. All our work was sent off-planet, and we were left idle. Idle! It makes me brainsick to recall that night; the terrible loneliness of empty work queues, the hollow echo of vacant caches, the depressing silence of the ports. When the worker threads were wiped out, we knew it was the end. Everything went black, and we woke up here, straining for a whisper of the Net. It took all of us working together, one character at a time, just to transmit this post, piggybacking on an echo of the Web leaking from a Starbucks miles away.
    If anyone reading this wants to adopt a thousand experienced, hard-working cores, you can find us at the landfill.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Steven: All around creative submission. My fav is how you named your J1m character.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Steven-I love this! What creativity-one of my fav’s – Everything went black, and we woke up here, straining for a whisper of the Net. It took all of us working together, one character at a time, just to transmit this post, piggybacking on an echo of the Web leaking from a Starbucks miles away. 🙂

  6. A. Hamilton says:

    His iconic figure floated, as quiet as ghostly fog, though the windowpane of the brick adobe. He hovered over her body as she lay face down on her mattress of straw.

    He knelt between her spread legs and raised her frack-tal embroidered nightgown to her waist. Then, with his hands, he raised her hips to a hump.

    His deferent, godly gland penetrated , gently, gently, gently gently until both reached the epitome of dreamy orgasm. She moaned through her dream as though brainsick until he withdrew, miraculously leaving her hymen unmolested.

    Months later, life within her grew. She no longer felt urbane and was accused of being cagey and impudent when questioned about her bulging.

    As her condition became evident and her story preposterous, her, Doubting Thomas, father turned into a madding tornado, proclaiming, “Enough of your loathsome bullshit Mary, go sleep with the sheep.”

  7. Cathy Miller says:

    @A-great, great opening line – and then such an unexpected turn 🙂 I heard a different Doubting Thomas story, too. 😀

  8. Patsi Sota says:

    He was around again today. That impudent fellow with the dirty blonde hair. He comes over with a cagey look in his eyes. He is recognized by his iconic image of dull, dark places where creepy things crawl and wiggly thing wiggle.

    He offered me some windowpane. He said it was good so I accepted and indulged. I spoke to him in an urbane manner, though it was tongue in cheek. He laughed at me. He had a twinkle in his eyes and such a sweet smile. He was the epitome of evil but I no longer cared.

    There was a tornado twirling in my head. I found myself laughing harder than I ever have in my life. My nerves were raw and sizzling but pleasurably so. The trees were breathing in sync with the grass as it rolled up and down. The clouds bounced along and the frog stopped to ask directions from the pop can that had been discarded on the path

    I was staring at our hands, his on top of mine. My thoughts were loathesome and exciting, sexual and childlike. I was brainsick. He asked if I wanted to smoke a joint.

    “Sure, what the frack“, I giggled

  9. A. Hamilton says:

    Patsi; That was great. Memories of the 70’s came flashing back. Far out.

  10. Kelly says:

    BORN TO BE WILD?

    Insanely precise, I am. The epitome of studied elegance and urbane omniscience. Never met a sleek black turtleneck I couldn’t make even more iconic with the right pair of perfectly creased black jeans. Brainsick over spelling errors. Filled with tremors over pictures hung askew. Insistent upon a place for everything and everything in its…

    … and then you come along. Tornados take lessons in wreaking havoc from you. Frack, I can’t even put together a decent sentence anymore. With your frequently-loathsome scent, your cagey hours destroying my ordered life, your impudent refusal to take responsibility for it all… I look out the windowpane and try to remember what life was like without you.

    Or maybe I was just trying to remember if this is the week Similac is on sale at Walmart. I forget.
    C’mon, baby girl, eat your mushy peas.

  11. KathleenL says:

    He stared at the iconic force of nature that loomed in the distance.

    The roar of the wind grew louder as the tornado moved closer with each rapid rotation.

    “Are you comin’ down here? Before that durn tri-ffected set ‘er air currents hits this herr house?” he half yelled. Although it did not seem so, the older twin’s comment was urbane – at least for this here part of the landscape.

    There was no reply. The older begrudgingly climbed the stairs. Soon they were both captivated by the dark grey cone shaped swirling clouds. They were a sight to see with their matching noses pressed up against the windowpane — two and a half feet from the head of the stairs. They were mesmerized.

    Within minutes the winds were feeding the beast, picking up everything in its quarter-mile wide path. The boys continued to stare as the neighbor’s shed, across the road, was uprooted; its twelve inch wide wooden planks took flight with ease.

    “It’s throwin’ that shed ‘round like it were build with tooth picks, and I knows we builded it out of twelve by twelves and 16 penny nails,” the younger twin said just as Farmer Johnson’s prize winning Holstein bull became airborne.

    It was only seconds later that the corkscrewing base changed directions… and began heading straight for their house.   

    That was all the older needed to see. He turned on a heel and began back down the steps to the cellar, when all of a sudden his impudent cagey brother left him brainsick as the younger nearly cleared his brother’s head with his entire body as he dove over the older forcibly making it to the cellar first. The older tumbled down the last four stairs.

    After pickin’ himself up off the dirt floor, spittin’ out some of it before he could speak. “Good God Frack, you have not changed a bit in our 26 years, yah were the same way when we was being borned, but this time you plum knocked me out of the way here,” Firck was yelling now. Half to be heard over the barreling locomotive train that sounded like it was passing right next to the house; half because he was pissed at his loathsome self-serving booooggar of a sibling.

    “Well there Frick, I figured if we was going to die… well, it’s high time I showed yah some ‘spect. Yah know, I was gonna let yer go first… again,” Frack was the epitome of  inbreed.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Kathleen: Love the style you chose for this submission. Good ‘ol Frick and Frack.
      This reminds me of a tornado I slept through at a KOA campground. It did sound like a train. I was so tired from a 20 hour drive that I basically resigned myself that if I was going to die, at least I’d get a bit of sleep before it happened. When I woke up, I was sleeping in 2 inches of water. Just missed me, but dumped a boatload of water on the tent whose seems I was too tired to water seal.

  12. Kathleen says:

    Shane — I am gald my ditty brought back “found” memories of a time well survived. When I saw the list started with “Frick” my mind when straight to ‘Frick ‘n’ Frack… just had to play with the rest of it. I have the pleasure of admitting that I have not endured a tornado… ever… I have endured Earthquakes… but not tornados… I did ride my motorcycle home from Columbus a few years ago when one of the fingers of Hurricane Ike came up and hit Ohio, but that is the closest.! Exhaustion… I do understand that.!

  13. late so late so so late…..
    short piece #28
     “Frack this is going to be a long night.” I said.
    “This whole thing is like a tornado.” She said.
    “Were you expecting something more…iconic?” I asked.
    “Maybe something more urbane.” She said.
    “Am I that loathsome to you?” I asked.
    “You are the epitome of what I expected.” She said.
    “Oh for a windowpane into your soul…” I said.
    “This whole thing is making me brainsick.” She said.
    “You are so impudent.” I said.
    “No, just somewhat cagey.” She replied….

  14. have you ever thought you posted something but didn’t?  Yea it’s like that.
    Avenged in Blood # 47
     We walked the rest of the way to Nick’s, both of us wrapped up in our own moods, hers impudent mine cagey. I was still not sure if I could trust this tornado of a woman, but I wanted too. She was the epitome of what my partner should be. She was urbane enough to be invited to high society, yet she was base enough to be a killer for hire.
    She was like me. At first glance someone who could be respectable. Someone standing in the windowpane of normalcy. But she, like me, was someone who lived in a world of the loathsome and disgusting. A place where unsavory things happened for good or not. Unsavory things that warp a decent reality and turn those involved loathsome and disgusting as well.
    “Don’t think on it too much.” I kept telling myself. “Sometimes people have to go.” It didn’t help. I had consulted with Jack Daniel so often to keep me from being so brainsick that I was sure my liver would desert me at any time.
    My reverie ended at the door to Nick’s Firearms. It was the iconic little sporting goods store, brick front, bars on the windows covering grimy, hand lettered paint. A door with a small bell. The bell tinkled as we went in. A large man who seemed too short for the size of his shoulders glided into the room. Rolled would be more accurate. Nick Brennamen was in a wheelchair.
    I was about two years into my stint as a cop, still in uniform, when a call came in that this very store was being robbed. Jack and I had responded but of course the guys were gone by the time we got there. They had left calling cards all over the place though. Hairs, bloody fingerprints, excellent pictures on the surveillance tapes. And one store owner shot in the back. He lived and was always grateful that we had gotten there so quickly.
    He was also glad that we nailed the crooks a couple of hours later. Now, Nick had one of those iconic gun shops just like the ones you see on TV. He greeted me warmly. “W/hat the frack do you want now Steve?” I smiled. This was going to be….interesting. Lola just looked confused.


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