Hump Day Kick Start – Rip and Tear Edition

Song of the day: Rip and Tear by L.A. Guns

Hump Day Kick Start – for your muse, a writing picture prompt, or just a visual treat.

rado vanko

Bad pun alert!

Who is our ripped fellow and what’s got him so torn?  Is he a law enforcement agent who just got into a scrap with a sexy cat burglar? Meow! A voyeur frustrated that she pulled closed the blinds? Did he lose power in the middle of a heat wave? Could he be tearing his shirt for something more sinister, like sopping up a pool of blood? Maybe he’s a regular Joe forced to fight an alien invasion of giant moths.

What’s your RENDition? I’d love to hear it.

19 Responses to Hump Day Kick Start – Rip and Tear Edition

  1. I told her, “Don’t use that detergent!” but no, she never listen, does she? And now, she will complain it was ‘her’ gift. Whatever!


  2. jbrayweber says:

    Sheesh…women… LOL! Good one, Massimo. 😀


  3. Sarah Andre says:

    Ha! That would be some detergent. Directions: Use only for sexy men’s clothing.
    I’ll have to give this pic some thought…


  4. jbrayweber says:

    Quick, Sarah. Give me his jeans. Must wash them!


  5. jbrayweber says:

    Yes, yes we are…


  6. girldrinkdrunk says:

    “What’d you mean ‘ratty’? This shirt is perfectly fine, Babe.”


  7. jbrayweber says:

    HAHAHA! Typical and true, Kristen.


  8. jeff7salter says:

    couldn’t find his SISTER?
    Okay, whatever. Hmmm. I figure Luther here wanted the neighbors to be his witness: his clothing allowance from Lady Divine was not enough to keep him covered.


  9. jbrayweber says:

    I’d say that allowance is quite generous, Jeff.


  10. jeff7salter says:

    well, you haven’t seen his shredded skivvies yet!


  11. jbrayweber says:

    Yes, please. 😉


  12. jeff7salter says:



  13. Sarah Andre says:

    Muse is still staring open-mouthed at this hottie, instead of creating a story. Hate to rush her…you know how moody she is. I won’t let her go to bed though until she (pun alert!) shreds one out.


  14. jbrayweber says:

    We’ll be waiting on pins and needles. Just not to do any sewing.


  15. Thank you, Jenn. Here’s my take.

    Joe is an unlucky dude being held hostage by kidnappers. He’s tied up in a locked room in a highrise.

    When his captors aren’t looking, Joe wriggles out of his bonds. He tries to use the rope to escape out a window. But it’s too short.

    So he tears into strips the sheets, blankets, curtains—even his clothes. He braids the strips together and ties his makeshift rope to the other one. Together they form a rope long and strong enough. He shimmies down it buck naked.

    Then Mandy, a policewoman, spots him. She arrests Joe for indecent exposure. Mandy doesn’t believe his story about being kidnapped. And he’s gotta do something to convince her not to press charges!


  16. jbrayweber says:

    Oh my, Mary Anne. What do you suppose he’d have to do? And will he be in cuffs? LOL!


  17. Sarah Andre says:

    Antonio and Holly have a love/hate relationship. When things are good, well, they’re very, very good. Crazy good. Mostly in bed. But when things are bad, both have whiplash tempers and a take-no-prisoners attitude in their arguments. Luckily, as with most couples, once the fury burns itself out things are, er…are crazy good again. Neighbors-complaining-about-the-noise good.

    But this is one of those bad days. This morning they woke up late because the alarm didn’t go off. Each blamed the other. What actually awoke them was a solid ‘thunk’ noise, which upon inspection, was Ax, the cat knocking over the one pound open bag of ground coffee.

    Showerless and lacking caffeine, Holly broke a heel racing to her car. Their work day were no better. Antonio found out he was not getting promoted to Fire Chief, which came as a nasty shock. He’d already slapped down a hefty deposit on a sleek new Porsche 911 expecting that bigger paycheck.

    Holly spent her lunch hour at the hairdresser, then got caught in a sudden downpour without an umbrella walking back to the office. On the way home Antonio realized the construction site he’d passed had nails scattered on the side of the road and, you guessed it! 2 flat tires. In changing them tire grease stained his best shirt (the shirt he wore to get the promotion in.)

    An hour late for dinner, he drove into the garage so pissed off at the world that his jaw hurt from clenching it. When he saw Holly’s red Camry though, a part of him relaxed. He was home and Holly was probably making dinner with nothing on but a frilly apron, (Wednesday’s routine,) and no doubt dancing around the kitchen singing off key into a wooden spoon. All he needed was a hot shower and a marathon session in bed to take the edge off this simmering anger. Dinner could wait.

    Well, little did he know that Holly also had had the day from hell, and sex was the very last thing on her mind. Like, even after thinking about the chemical make up the galaxy-last thing on her mind. And no, there was no frilly apron on the female-wildebeest. She wore her ratty, holey gray bathrobe from college and her granny-panties because she felt bloated and ugly. And furious with the universe.

    Naturally it didn’t take long for tempers to flair. Dinner was burned because Antonio was an hour late. And what was with him ruining his best shirt? It wasn’t like he had 2!

    He ripped the ruined shirt off and pointed to her bathrobe that could stand up on it’s own. Did he need to remind her that she’d bought a new set of lingerie last week in preparation of his promotion?

    Did SHE need to reminded him that he didn’t get the position?

    He demanded she put the lingerie on anyway because by God, they were going to light the house on fire with all the energy he needed to burn off. She told him…er, something rude, flounced into the bedroom and slammed the door.

    It was the last straw for Antonio. He marched in after her, grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. While he tried his hardest to kiss the rage from her, she whipped her head this way and that as her sharp fingernails sliced into his undershirt.

    “It’s always what you want,” she shrieked, breaking away from his grasp. “It’s never ‘I’m sorry you had a bad day, Holly. I’m sorry dinner got burned because I didn’t call. I love you even in your fuzzy bathrobe.’ All you ever want is to tear my clothes off! Do you even KNOW how that feels?”

    He counted to ten but it didn’t work. He glared over at her. “I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry dinner got burned because I didn’t call. I love you even in your…fuzzy… bathrobe.” He grabbed his t-shirt that now had as many holes in it as her ratty bathrobe and tore it wide open. “And now I know how that feels to have my clothes torn off,” he spat out. He held the pieces of his undershirt in both hands and uttered one last word.

    And she did. Because, heck, when you see a torso like that…why would you stay in a ratty, holey gray bathrobe?


  18. jbrayweber says:

    Sarah, good grief, woman,this is one of the best HDKS stories you’ve written for MuseTracks. LOVED it! Still laughing at the chemical makeup of the universe line. 😀


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