Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #206

James Chartrand chose today’s words. She is opening her Damn Fine Words program again. (Affiliate link. I beta tested it.) Check it out, then get to the challenge.

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. Bodacious
  2. Scalpel
  3. Augmentation
  4. Precision
  5. Silicone
  6. Cup 
  7. Increase 
  8. Surgeon
  9. Delicate
  10. Snowflake

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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59 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #206”

  1. Anne Wayman says:

    She wanted a bodacious bosom.
    The surgeon exercised her scalpel for the augmentation with precision.
    The silicone cup increased her measurement as planned.
    She could no longer feel the delicate fall of a snowflake on her breast.

  2. Jeanette R. says:

    As I walk out of the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of a reflection that stops me in my tracks.  I stare at it and observe its features:  blonde, curly hair with round eyes that seem to pop out of their sockets, soft lines around the lips and an inexplicable facial expression. 

    My father nicknamed me Snowflake when I was born, since I arrived on the first day of winter.  He said my features were so unique and delicate that God must have used a special scalpel to create them.   “He’s the greatest surgeon around,” my mom would reply.

    The look on my face is…contentment.  I look happy. Of course, looking and feeling are two different things but I certainly look the part today.  The overarching of my eyebrows and the pouty red lips has done wonders to increase my youthfulness.

    I grab my cup from the counter and proceed to my office.  And by office, I mean my spot on the floor under blinding lights that pierce my blue eyes.  He arranges me with such precision that I fear breathing.  Even though I know he will do all of his augmentation on the computer, I still aim for perfection. I stick out all of the right body parts and try to appear as bodacious as I can.

    Before he begins, I take a quick sip and I can smell the silicone sealant from my cup.  I’m sure the day will come when the news will report that these designer mugs are no longer safe to use.  

    He approaches me and I silently chant my mantra: “Don’t forget to smile, sweetie.”

  3. Frank Ruiz says:

    Have you ever actually seen a real surgery in action?  If so, then you’ll have a much higher appreciation for the innate design and healing skills of the human body than you will for the “tools” surgeons use to compete with it.  So-called precision-tuned scalpels appear more like box-cutters in actual use.  Bodacious bodies are sought after, and science promises it can give it to you through siliconecup augmentation, but the results are crude and warped copies of nature’s best.  Science’s processes attempting to increase attractiveness often have the opposite effect, with out-patients looking more like mannequins than the delicately beautiful humans they tried to become.  Science’s failures are glaringly obvious in their attempts to recreate the most rudimentary shapes from nature, which means we’re still eons from the ability to accurately replicate the unique complexity that nature effortlessly creates as each new snowflake and fingerprint emerge.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Frank: Great piece. I agree.
      Think about trees for example. Trees that grow near each other end up growing tall and straight. I mean, trees don’t have eyes and brains, so how do they know they need to grow straight to get more sunlight? How do they know what straight is? How do they know other trees are near them? Fascinating things in nature we’ll never be able to understand I believe.

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        Thanks, Shane, and great point: there’s a whole level of awareness and order that we can barely fathom as we gaze upon what looks like so much chaos to us!

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Frank. The more we learn, the less we know. Awesome piece!

    • Clapping. Frank, you seem to magically produce the right commentary for whatever words are placed before us. That last sentence made me smile.
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        Thanks, Jeanette and Mitch!
         
        Yeah, we’ll always die with the share of what we don’t know always dwarfing what we do, and my snowflake line had me reminiscing about Tyler Durden’s snowflake line in “Fight Club.”

  4. margaret says:

    There is a snowflake‘s chance in hell
    that I would think it’s swell
    To let a surgeon slice and dice
    what God thought he made real nice!

    It is a quite foolish decision…
    one that must be thought out with precision.
    Insane!… to weild a scalpel for sheer profit
    so your butt can look like a soffit.

    For the price of silicone for boobies
    a girl could have a cup of rubies
    rather than endanger her own health
    so doctors can increase their wealth!

    She might think it’s quite bodacious
    and end up silly and outrageous..
    former delicate and natural features
    turn into plastic creatures.

    I think of all the wasted money
    to make girls wind up looking funny
    and if you’re talking augmentation,
    let’s raise intelligence in our nation!!

    • Frank Ruiz says:

      Awesomely stated!  I wholeheartedly agree: let’s raise intelligence a bit more before worrying about raising our body parts!

      • margaret says:

        Thanks, Frank…I am totally in favor of plastic surgery if it is restorative after an accident or mastectomy, but to let somebody carve you up like you were a block of clay is just scary and
        repulsive to me and makes me cringe. I see the celebrities who have all the money they could want to afford the best possible and yet wind up looking like a deformed version of their former selves.  Creepy!!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Ma: You’re the best! You always make me laugh!

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Margaret “Let’s raise intelligence in our nation!” Here, here! 

      You would appreciate the book “Think: Straight Talk For Women To Stay Smart In a Dumbed-Down World.”  It emphasizes how we should build self-esteem in young girls by encouraging them to increase their intelligence and not their boobs 😉
      Once again, another great poem.

    • Woot! The Margaret & Frank Show on CCC-TV.
      The soffit line cracked me up. Talk about “Bam!” LOL
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

  5. margaret says:

    Thanks, Shane, I just call ’em as I sees ’em! 😉

  6. Sean Murphy says:

    Augmentation: the future of productivity!” the poster screamed. The static text proceeded to swirl into a video showing an attractive male in a PAN-science uniform, and I turned away. It’s not like I hadn’t seen the damn video every day on the way in to my crummy 9-5. It was the usual stuff, depicting an augmented worker multitasking with inhuman precision, “increasing productivity” as he worked on three screens simultaneously while answering the subcutaneous phone in his jawbone. Not pictured, but heavily implied was the non augmented worker reduced to glorified janitor by his refusal to go under the scalpel. That would be me. A bachelors degree in bio-chemistry and a masters in computer science made me one of the more qualified technicians at PAN, and my assignment for the day? Cataloging the waste output from the local office’s micro-fission generator. Now that might not sound like so much useless, humiliating busy-work, right? I mean, micro-fission is generally considered safe, but there are still enough scare-mongering Greenies out there that all corporations employing them in urban areas have to provide waste logs. So technically, I was a vital cog in the corporate machine.

    Only not. The waste output of the generator was more than adequately cataloged by its inbuilt AI protocols, as well as the team of technicians who directly oversaw any delicate parts of the operation. My assignment was the equivalent of being told to go stare at dog shit all day.

    At this point you might be questioning my reasonable nature. “Surely,” you  might ask, in an annoyingly naive and probably patronizing tone of voice, “it would be easier just to get the almost-mandatory mental augmentation chips? After all, the company would happily pay for it, it increases your value as an employee! And it’s not like you’re some downtown hooker being forced into a dirty surgeon‘s office, your bodacious, already silicone-enhanced cups no longer enough to satisfy your perverted clientele! You’re a man of education, a respected member of society getting a socially approved upgrade!”

    God, I underestimated how annoying you could be. It’s like you ingested one of those fucking posters. Look, I’m not some fundamentalist God-nut. I don’t think we’re all ‘precious, unique snowflakes‘ who are insulting our maker by changing our bodies. I don’t exactly swallow the corporate line whole either, but you’re right, I’d probably still get the damned augs if not for what I know. I mentioned I had a masters in computer science, right? Well I worked on some of these chips. Not the first generation stuff, the stuff they had to weld to your head like the world’s worst set of braces. I was there when they were testing the Echelon, the Mark II. They’ve upgraded it to Mark IV now, last I checked, but I doubt some things have changed. You see, those chips are meant to increase your parallel processing power, right? But think about it. Your brain is already more powerful than any chip we’ve ever been able to create. You can’t directly add to it’s power by installing a chip any more than you could raise the ocean level by emptying a few pools into it.

    No. The chips can only do their job by diverting resources. Generally speaking, your brain uses the upper frontal lobe for analytical tasks, logic, reasoning. The stuff we do at PAN. That’s a huge oversimplification of course – a bunch of areas are actually recruited. But some aren’t, and that’s where the chip comes in. Know what doesn’t come into play when you’re tinkering with pure logic? The Amygdala. Yeah, that’s right, center of emotion. Ever wonder why you feel so cool, calm, and collected when you’re sending off three memos at once and compiling a string of code? It’s a selling point, isn’t it? They put it on the damn posters. But what they don’t tell you is that’s not the calming effect of intellect. It’s your emotional processing ability being taken offline and diverted to making you “more productive.” And you can’t just keep cross-pollinating the neural pathways like that without consequence. Basic brain architecture – neurons that fire together, wire together. The more often you use that chip, the more your emotional centers are working as logic centers instead. Eventually, everyone with those implants will become hyper-efficient, emotionless machines. I doubt it was the intention at the time – I worked with some good people in the Echelon lab. But the corporate government certainly isn’t putting a stop to it. I’m sure you can imagine why. So I’ll stick to watching the dog shit.

    • My man, that rocked socks! from the first sentence to the last, you had me HOOKED! I loved every word but especially:
       
      Not the first generation stuff, the stuff they had to weld to your head like the world’s worst set of braces.
       
      and
       
      neurons that fire together, wire together…
       
      Sean, you are the man! Write on!
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       
       

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Sean: That was one of your best ever. I could watch a mini series on this.

      • Sean Murphy says:

        @Mitch and @Shane: Thanks guys – this one came out very naturally and felt really good to write. It’s the first piece I’ve done in first person, very different experience. Thanks for my new organisation I’ve got my zombie story sorted out and rolling again, which is fueling my creativity, I think. 🙂

  7. Gertrude was puzzled. As she gazed across the counter at the face behind the bottles, a delicate snowflake peered back. The bionic ambulator may have been the perfect augmentation for her torso; however, echoes of her previously withered legs nicked her psyche like a scalpel wielded by an intoxicated surgeon. No promises had been made regarding her sanity and now, the bodacious response she had given to allow the operation seemed as shallow as the dregs in her chipped cup. With amazing precision and speed, she spun away from the modified breakfast nook and zoomed outside to her patio.

    “Ha!” Gertrude barked defiantly. “I’ll get used to it. Maybe I shouldn’t have skimped on the silicone hips. Who’s ever going to see my old booty, anyway?” She cracked up at that, felt immediately better.  She turned her mind to more pressing matters.

    She was going to have to repeat the entire semester at Mercy General Teaching College. Even though the bums had voted to increase tuition by 25% across the board, Gertrude was not affected. Those same bums had settled her student loan, offered to pay for the rest of her higher education and had footed the bill for the surgery, even though their lawyers had advised against it. What they wouldn’t do is give her credit for the work she had done prior to the incident. Gertrude was pissed off when she saw the transcript filled with accusatory “I”s. Gratitude only went so far.

    Thus knocked off her happy pedestal, she was unable to stop the next wave of tingling in her non-existent toes. Gertrude’s irritation melted into morose depression, a muddy, muddled mess of despair that she would never walk again.
     
    ***
    This is my 101st consecutive submission. Long live CCC!
     
     

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitch: Awesome, for the submission and your streak! I still have a hard time believing how much more creative I feel after doing 206 challenges compared to how I was before them. This site brings me so much! Truly. Thank you all.

      • Thanks, Shane, for all three 😉
        I was in awe, as well. I’m finally feeling more comfortable in this scribble suit.
         
        Cheers,
         
        Mitch
         

        • Frank Ruiz says:

          Mitch, I’m also in awe of your 101 achievements at the CCC, and what a way to ring it in!  Great piece, and I’d love to learn how her re-do semester goes, especially as her life experience and augmentation will probably have her teaching the school a thing or two!

  8. Late again, cause my RSS feed comes in the day after.  Here is my entry:
     

    Anatomy of a Snowflake
    Augmentation of a bodacious snowflake
    Nature’s precision a delicate thing
    rain augmentation without a scalpel
    increase in volume without weight
    consistency between water and silicone
    which cannot be held for long in any cup

  9. Rebecca says:

    Lol! I’m late to the party … I just received the prompt. 🙂

    An Ode to the soap opera General Hospital since One Life to Live is going off the air on January 13, 2012. It’s an end of an era. BTW: I hope GH isn’t next. The die hard fans will be ticked off!

    Back in the 1980s, Dr. Noah Drake could handle a scalpel with stealth precision. He was the best surgeon at General Hospital. His delicate and steady hands increased his chances of an interlude with bodacious Nurse Jackie. They dated on and off for years, until Dr. Noah Drake left GH to pursue a music career. During this time, he came into contact with many women; some may have been named Snowflake and filled with silicone thanks to breast augmentation. The women gave new meaning to my cup runneth over. Lol!

     

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Rebecca: Haha. I remember those shows even though I didn’t watch them regularly. Great ending too. 🙂

  10. Al MacDonald says:

    “You’re <em>really</em> going to do it?”

    Her voice was at once amused and appalled.

    I began to wish I’d kept this particular information closer to my chest. Or, indeed, farther from my chest.

    I’d nearly got through lunch; I’d let it slip as we contemplated the <strong>delicate</strong> fronds of spun sugar atop our desserts.

    I’d been so close to getting away with it. Another half an hour would have seen us finishing our coffees, making the familiar promises to “do this more often” with ill-concealed insincerity.

    But I had to screw it up.

    I hadn’t even told my friends. Well, my other friends. The ones I actually <em>like</em>. Why had I mentioned the <strong>surgeon</strong>? Why hadn’t I simply allowed our lunch date to play out our usual script of surreptitious put-downs (her) and gritted teeth (me)?

    Perhaps it was the wine.

    I stared out of the window, suddenly entranced by the steady fall of <strong>snowflake</strong>s, in an attempt to discourage further discussion.

    But this only <strong>increase</strong>d her determination.

    “You’re so determined to <em>finally</em> have that “<strong>bodacious</strong>” body, you’re prepared to go under the <strong>scalpel</strong>?”

    I don’t know if it was the word “finally” or the exaggerated air quotes she put around “<strong>bodacious</strong>”, but I refused to back down.

    It <em>might</em> have been the wine.

    “Well, what about you?” I retorted. “You’re forgetting I know your <strong>cup</strong> size – there’s no <em>way</em> you’ve got that cleavage without some form <strong>augmentation</strong>. Your cantilevered bosom is the result of <strong>precision</strong> engineering, is it not? It’s just that yours comes from your underwired brassière rather than <strong>silicone</strong>…is there <em>really</em> such a difference?”

    I sat back, as electrified by my outburst as I was horrified by my breach of our uneasy truce. I’d thought of saying similar things in the past, even wished I had, but I’d never been brave enough to let them escape.

    She still hadn’t reacted.

    I started to wonder if I had said it aloud.

    Suddenly she pushed her chair back, threw some money on the table, grabbed her jacket and her purse and stood up.

    I couldn’t help myself. I smiled.

    “We really <em>must</em> do this more often.”

    • Al MacDonald says:

      “You’re really going to do it?”

      Her voice was at once amused and appalled.

      I began to wish I’d kept this particular information closer to my chest. Or, indeed, farther from my chest.

      I’d nearly got through lunch; I’d let it slip as we contemplated the delicate fronds of spun sugar atop our desserts.

      I’d been so close to getting away with it. Another half an hour would have seen us finishing our coffees, making the familiar promises to “do this more often” with ill-concealed insincerity.

      But I had to screw it up.

      I hadn’t even told my friends. Well, my other friends. The ones I actually like. Why had I mentioned the surgeon? Why hadn’t I simply allowed our lunch date to play out our usual script of surreptitious put-downs (her) and gritted teeth (me)?

      Perhaps it was the wine.

      I stared out of the window, suddenly entranced by the steady fall of snowflakes, in an attempt to discourage further discussion.

      But this only increased her determination.

      “You’re so determined to finally have that “bodacious” body, you’re prepared to go under the scalpel?”

      I don’t know if it was the word “finally” or the exaggerated air quotes she put around “bodacious”, but I refused to back down.

      It might have been the wine.

      “Well, what about you?” I retorted. “You’re forgetting I know your cup size – there’s no way you’ve got that cleavage without some form augmentation. Your cantilevered bosom is the result of precision engineering, is it not? It’s just that yours comes from your underwired brassière rather than silicone…is there really such a difference?”

      I sat back, as electrified by my outburst as I was horrified by my breach of our uneasy truce. I’d thought of saying similar things in the past, even wished I had, but I’d never been brave enough to let them escape.

      She still hadn’t reacted.

      I started to wonder if I had said it aloud.

      Suddenly she pushed her chair back, threw some money on the table, grabbed her jacket and her purse and stood up.

      I couldn’t help myself. I smiled.

      “We must do this more often.”

  11. Diane Krause says:

    On weekends, he was a bodacious bad-ass, straddling his Street Bob with the Hanover H.O.G.s.

    Monday through Friday, Dr. Chandler Gershmiller wielded a scalpel with the precision of an expert sharpshooter and the delicate touch of a gentle lover.

    The augmentation of Bitsy Rosebottom’s breasts was flawless — another masterpiece. Bitsy had chosen silicone implants over the lower-risk saline, believing they provided the perfect balance of firm and squishy for her new, perfect, D-cup breasts.

    After the “unveiling,” Bitsy could feel her heart rate increase. Mesmerized, she stared at her new visage in the mirror.

    “Oh, Dr. Chandler, they’re more beautiful than I even imagined! You are amazing. First, this adorable little nose, then the gently sloped butt cheeks. Now THESE. You’re not just a plastic surgeon, Dr. Chandler, you’re an artist. A true artist.”

    Bitsy sighed and smiled at herself in the mirror.

    “Use them well, Snowflake,” Dr. Gershmiller said, with a wink and a smile, “Use them well.”

    With that, Dr. Chandler Gershmiller picked up his helmet, tipped his hat, and rode off into the sunset.
     

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Diane: Fantastic 1st submission. I know solid, tight writing when I see it, and I’m seeing it now. The CCC folks are going to love your work. Truly a great read.
      Everyone welcome Diane to the addiction. I’m adding your name and website url to our CCC Community Links page now.

      • Cathy Miller says:

        My apologies-AGAIN-for being late to the party-been having wireless connection problems.
         
        @Diane Krause – Welcome to CCC!

        We’re a bodacious bunch known to take a scalpel to critics and a loud augmentation in our welcomes. With the precision of a diamond cutter, we form stories with silicone tenacity that cup the boundaries of meaning. The challenges increase our capacity for creativity as we become a surgeon of words with a delicate touch that land softly as a snowflake on the images of our minds.

        Welcome!

  12. Diane Krause says:

    Thanks for the nice words, Shane! It was great fun, and this may possibly replace Pinterest as my new fave time-waster. 🙂 Excited to have found CCC and look forward to meeting more of you.

  13. Pam says:

    I wanted to stay away from the obvious breast-based story, so try this one?

    The Creator cupped his latest creation in his hands and blew softly, sending it drifting down towards the planet below. He watched it fall away before picking up the next tiny ball of fluff, and with greater precision of a surgeon weilding a scalpel, began to form the next snowflake.
    People down below had commented on the lack of snow in recent years and the increase in temperature. They had pondered global warming and greenhouse gases. The simple truth of the matter was that the Creator had been preoccupied.
    Bodacious, Dad!’
    The Creator sighed at his young son as he came up to admire his work, wondering where he’d picked up such a bizarre expression. He hoped that when the time came to hand over the reigns, the boy would not begin to create snowflakes which looked like robots, or pizzas, or little people.
    It took a delicate hand to create snowflakes. The boy’s attempts so far had been more like large hailstones. He had even managed to create balls of silicone that rained down in a freak storm over Guatamala one year due to not being able to keep his mind on the job.
    ‘Would you like to try again?’ the Creator asked, offering a ball of fluff to the boy.
    ‘Sure,’ the boy shrugged, picking up the tiny tools that formed the intricate designs of the flakes.
    The pair worked in silence for hours, each sending their own creations tumbling towards the planet. The Creator’s snowflakes were beautiful works of art, each individual and symmetrical. The boy’s were unique in their own way – not beautiful, but interesting; not symmetrical, but with their own charm. His creations were like small balls with augmentations around the edges. He was trying to copy his father’s style, but was putting his own mark on his creations.
    As the sun began to rise over the snowy landscape below, the Creator put down his tools and nodded in satisfaction. The boy was no longer creating hailstones. He hadn’t yet managed to match his father’s finesse, but given a few hundred millennia, he would have.

  14. Jamie Graham says:

    Jackson chipped a 9 iron with great precision right into the cup – a hole in one – totally bodacious! He whooped with delight then made sure he had his credit card to buy drinks in the clubhouse afterwards.
    The rest of his round was nothing to write home about.
    Back at the 19th hole, he found himself getting a round in for a lawyer, surgeon and local politician amongst others.
    The politician’s wife pulled up outside in the car park and honked her horn;everyone stopped to look out the window.
    Her recent breast augmentation had been a big success and resulted in a huge increase in her cup size.
    Once the politician had left, the surgeon started talking about the dangers of silicone implants, which Jackson found very boring.
    Jackson quickly finished his drink and drove home, his husky dog ‘Snowflake’ running out enthusiastically to greet his master’s return.
    Jackson’s feet hurt after walking round 18 holes and he took out a small scalpel and made a delicate cut in the hard skin on his big toe – immediately it felt much better.

  15. Shane Arthur says:

    “Hey Billy. I ain’t no delicate snowflake and I ain’t no surgeon with a mental precisionscalpel, but I gots me some increased reservations about doin’ dis here drug study.”

    “Why’s dat, Bobby? They’s gonna give us augmentation and make our slappies longer. And they’s gonna’ pay us. What man wouldn’t want dat?”

    “Dis one ain’t like da others where we just take a pill and pee into a bodacious-sized pee cup we has to tote around. And I knows they’s gonna make us longer and richer, and my lady-gal likes sherbet, but I ain’t too sure about them puttin a silly-cone inside my slappy.”

  16. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … My mom’s upset that One Life to Live is signing off on Friday. It’s too bad. I’ve had a chance to watch some of the episodes and they’re entertaining. I don’t know about replacing soap opera’s with another talk or food show. Does America really need another talk or food show? I don’t think so.

  17. sh13151223 says:

    It was awkwardly bodacious now
    Once more the surgeon took the scalpel
    First it was for the augmentation of the cup sizes
    It increased beyond the precision
    all the delicate curves lost in silicon bumps
    when the mask was put to the face
    feeling of snowflakes thrown to the brain creeped
    somewhere in that deep sleep
    her soul murmured, beauty lies in your soul and in the beholders eyes.

  18. […] together and post it in the comments. No rules, no publishing contracts — just a lot of fun. You can read my first post (scroll down through the comments for Diane […]

  19. Kelly says:

    repost…

    THE TOAST OF THE COOP (UM, TROOP)
     
     
    She picked up a tiny paring knife and stared down its blade, making sure it was as sharp as a scalpel. Then with a surgeon’s precision, she made delicate cuts in the remaining pie crust. Snowflake-covered mincemeat would be the highlight of their January potluck supper, if Emily had anything to do with it. She tried not to be so competitive with the other Scout moms, but she had to admit it—she wanted the most ooohs and aaahs to be thrown in her direction when they all sat down to their quarterly gathering. Emily took pride… maybe too much pride… in being a bit of a domestic goddess. She made sure to add in a glimpse of 20-year port, and to increase the sugar—by just a half a cup!—so every picky little girl would be pleasantly surprised, and every mom, more importantly, would be asking for the secret of her bodaciously wintry flavor.
     
     
    Augmentations and decorations completed, Emily slid the pie pan onto a silicone-covered sheet pan and into the hot oven. Soon, the smells that made her the toast of all the nitpicking hens in the troop began to fill the house. 


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