TTAC Challenge: Let's Play 'The Car Name Game'

Corey Lewis
by Corey Lewis

Today we’re going to play a little game. It’s the sort of game where all are called and few are chosen. The winner (or winners) of this game will receive lavish virtual validation from the staff at TTAC and fellow members of the B&B. And isn’t validation the best prize of all?

The title of our challenge today is The Car Name Game.

From time to time, various posters of the B&B will make a small detour from the subject of an article to play The Car Name Game. It’s pretty easy to do: you just write a sentence or short paragraph containing a variety of car models, but used as regular words in the sentence. Here’s one I wrote from on our Housekeeping article the other day.

In a Prelude to Accord, we can stroll down Fifth Avenue, and greet the Silver Dawn of a new Morning without Imperial attitudes. A grand Discovery as we Aspire to a new understanding.

No brand or model is off-limits here, and everyone is free to submit their sentences or paragraphs for the next 72 hours (the cutoff is Thursday at 10:00 a.m. eastern). TTAC staff will gather and rate the results, then reveal the top five submissions on Friday, March 17th. Your submissions will be judged (in descending order of importance) on:

  • Creativity
  • Coherence
  • Level of wit/humor
  • Reactions from other B&B

So get to it. Focus your attention like a Mariner, in a Quest for a Tiburon to secure his Legacy.

Corey Lewis
Corey Lewis

Interested in lots of cars and their various historical contexts. Started writing articles for TTAC in late 2016, when my first posts were QOTDs. From there I started a few new series like Rare Rides, Buy/Drive/Burn, Abandoned History, and most recently Rare Rides Icons. Operating from a home base in Cincinnati, Ohio, a relative auto journalist dead zone. Many of my articles are prompted by something I'll see on social media that sparks my interest and causes me to research. Finding articles and information from the early days of the internet and beyond that covers the little details lost to time: trim packages, color and wheel choices, interior fabrics. Beyond those, I'm fascinated by automotive industry experiments, both failures and successes. Lately I've taken an interest in AI, and generating "what if" type images for car models long dead. Reincarnating a modern Toyota Paseo, Lincoln Mark IX, or Isuzu Trooper through a text prompt is fun. Fun to post them on Twitter too, and watch people overreact. To that end, the social media I use most is Twitter, @CoreyLewis86. I also contribute pieces for Forbes Wheels and Forbes Home.

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  • Chan Chan on Mar 13, 2017

    No one has Eclipsed my Swift time on the Skyline route through its various Evolutions. No Challenger could take my Crown. But I became suspicious when I Corolla'd into the empty Suburban car park. Down at the Jetta, the Grand Nash had been Talon everyone about Cedric and his Hellcats bringing 440s tonight. But the Americans weren't there. All I could hear were the chirping Beetles. "No Trueno," I muttered to myself. I plugged my Cobra into its Charger and prepared to Levin the scene. Then I saw a Fairlady in the corner, sipping a Cappuccino. It was Giulietta from the last race, a Type-R just like me. I felt high like a C6--at least something tonight was worth it for this Alfa male! But before I could Focus, two cars Rammed me from the darkness. Bright flashing lights revealed the worst enemy of all, the 5-0. The Ladas dragged me out of my Ka and Beat me onto the ground, Seven to one. Once a proud 4Runner, I had no more HiAces up my sleeve. I looked for Giulietta, but she was Lagonda. I realised that I had truly been 86'd.

  • BaxterGill BaxterGill on Mar 13, 2017

    A game worth creating an account for. I asked my NAVIGATOR for an ATLAS from The DIPLOMAT. It was almost her CIVIC duty. “You won’t survive out there. You’re not ready for the OUTBACK.” She might have had a point. I’d done my share of exploring- in my 20’s I EXCELled at finding FIESTAs in AZTEK lands, and farther South along the AMAZON- but for this journey I’d only spent a few days prepping between TUSCON and SEDONA. “Have you at least hired a guide?” “I’m about to- I’m still looking over resumes” I handed her the 2CVs- the only 2 that had been real CHALLENGERS. “These are garbage- OUTLANDERS. None of my COUNTRYMAN; at least, not a PATRIOT, would even lend a COMPASS to a COMMANDER with so little experience. Your ODYSSEY Is over before it even starts.” I stayed silent and stared out the window across the expansive plains, waiting for the words. I FOCUSed my VISION into the sky where circling FALCON’s briefly ECLIPSED the waning sun. “I’m going to go out there. Whether you help me or not- I’m going to do it. I know you’ve had bad experiences with IMPERIAL NEW YORKERs raping the landscape, but I promise I’m not here to do that.” I turned, and for the first time our eyes truly met. Her eyes seemed to burn past mine like a LASER; but the contempt was replaced with INTRIGUE. “You really think the sources of our sicknesses can come from a METEOR irradiating the aquifer?” “Of course- why do you think I’ve been so serious? What could make an EXPLORER flip like this, save a firestone?” She stayed quiet, and I followed suit. Though no words were spoken, I knew a fresh ALLIANCE was at its GENESIS.

  • Garrett Garrett on Mar 13, 2017

    This topic is a real Challenger that many will try to Dodge if they can a Ford to. No doubt, someone will compose a Stanza that will clearly make them the Pacer for the competition, earning them a Citation. If Yugo down to the King Ranch, you're not not likely to see many New Yorkers, but you will no doubt stumble across a Cherokee, and possibly a Cherokee Chief or Comanche on the Horizon having a Fiesta if that's what you Aspire to. The other day, I was shining a Laser at some Cobalt to figure out where the Aztecs had hidden the treasures of El Dorado. Just then, an Eagle appeared and with his Talon, he grabbed ahold of a Brat, flying him to another Galaxie from his hometown of Cheyenne, and making him a real Trailblazer in the process. Now as I retire for the evening, after receiving much Acclaim, I realize that the day's events are just a Prelude to what my Grand Caravan will experience along El Camino as we compete in the Carrera.

  • Caboose Caboose on Mar 14, 2017

    Film Noir. ~Scene~ It was raining that night. The kind of rain that washed the trash out of the gutter and onto my doorstep. She was wearing a red dress. I looked up at the SKY; it was going to be one of those nights. It was coming down hard. Even the rats were building FORDS out of bits of garbage to keep the TORRENT out of their warrens. "We're closed." I tried to shoo her away. She looked like she had come from a FIESTA; I wasn't in the mood. Plus, I had an AVALANCHE of paperwork on my desk. "You're not closed for me, MACK! I need to hire you." She could've been on the cover of a trashy romance novel, like Fabio, but less feminine. FABIA. "You don't look like the kind who has enough dough to hire a P.I., Lady." I threw my cigarette past her onto the street; the wet doused the CHERRY before it hit the ground. Her face changed. "It's true; all I have left is this LINCOLN. But I need your help." She bent over fuss at her up non-existent hose. She gave me a gook look. This one was a MAVERICK. Ten years ago those TATAs might've changed my mind, but I was too old and she was too tired. Whatever she was then, this wasn't going to be her ENCORE. But what could I do? She had the kind of smoke in her voice that only comes from staying too close to the bottle or too far from TOLEDO. No, Spain. And the rain was getting worse; it sounded like a hundred PINTOs running across the roof of my office. I almost wished they had. I could've used the insurance money. "C'mon in. Take off your heels; I don't want you to wreck the PARISIENNE rug." It was a cruel joke. The maid hadn't been to the office in a year. The rug was so threadbare it should've earned a CITATION for calling itself a rug. Just about every horizontal surface was covered by PANDA Express containers. "So what's your story, Sister?", trying to sound tougher than I felt. “Gimme a break, Mack, I just got in out of the rain… Hey, my phone’s almost dead; you got a CHARGER?” I fished one out from a desk drawer and slid it across the desk, half hoping it wouldn’t fit her once-fancy SMART phone. “Alright, you’re warm and the E-TRONs are flowing. So spill it.” She took her time lighting a cigarette and sending the first hot drag across the desk like a little SCIROCCO. “I want you to investigate a kidnapping”, she said flatly. “Go to the cops. They have a CIVIC duty to investigate that sort of thing. Besides, that lonely Lincoln’s not gonna buy you a murder investigation, Sweetheart. $330IS what it costs me to put film in my camera. You’re gonna have to get richer or more interesting real quick.” “Alright, Mr. Private Dick. I want you to investigate the kidnapping of Sam SPARROW.” ~Scene~ Sam was a HARDBODY, but he had a soft heart for stray cats. Must've been how he found this COUGAR. Sam had it tough growing up; his old man had died when Sam was a kid, serving on a Navy CORVETTE off the coast of Korea. Sam always said that his dad’s boat zigged when it should’ve zagged. Luck didn’t run in Sam’s family, I guess. It hit me like a HAMMER. This was no coincidence. I had known Sam for years. The whole thing smelled rotten. I pulled one of my several poorly-maintained revolvers out of my jacket and pointed the business end at her. Let’s get down to business… “Alright. Name.” She tried to arch one eyebrow like Lauren Bacall used to do in the movies; just ended up letting one side of her face sag. “That ESCALADEd quickly”, she whispered hoarsely, trying to sound tougher than she felt. “Your name. Now!” She sounded CONTINENTAL, not that it would make a bit of difference. “MERCEDES. My name is Mercedes.” Of course it was. Sam used to talk about the best girl ever. The one he found in Portugal on his way back from backpacking across Europe back in school. That was twenty years ago. And fifteen years ago, he stopped talking about her. Settled down into a good job, married a girl named Sally. But Sally left him when he lost everything funding a two-bit team of treasure-hunters who swore they had the rights to an old Spanish shipwreck off the coast of BAJA. Sam was never the same after that. And then, three years ago, Sam disappeared. Maybe he went back to Portugal for some WILDCAT hunting. However it happened, here she was. “So you want me to find out who kidnapped your old flame, is that it?” She reached… “Slowly, if you please” …into her purse – Corinthian leather. Faded, sure, but the real deal. She pushed a picture across the desk at me. I picked it up and found myself staring at Sam’s GHOST. “This picture is pretty old, Mercedes. Not a lot to go on.” “Mr. Private Dick, that is the person I need you to find. My son, Samuel Sparrow, Jr.” For the second time in fifteen minutes, I could feel my age weighing down on me, battering me like a SYCLONE. It took me to the slow count of twenty before I was able to TRAVERSE my way back to the present moment. “I…I dunno if I can.” “The sign on your door said ‘RELIANT Enterprises, Private Investigators’. Can I rely on you or not?” I put my gun down and picked my bottle up. I found two old glasses and wiped them out with a shirt that was draped over the filing cabinet. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this woman was a poison DART pointed at the back of my neck. I didn’t know where this was going but I had a feeling that, before it was all over, I’d be facing either THE JUDGE or the BULLITT. ~Fin~