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The second day I owned my ooh soo fine Camaro, wanting to break it in correctly, different speeds, starting and stopping, different curvatures and ups and downs of the road way for 1500 miles, I did just that. I drove all the way to Oregon from the Mexican border and back. As I was gassing up near Crescent city, in far North California, I noticed a huge pile o' bird shit (large flyer, probably a Raven or a Seagull) on my beautiful black hood. I was horrified that an avian creature would have so much nerve and poor taste to empty his sick bowels on my too-fine-for him-to-look-at-new- Camaro.
How dare he! It was around midnight, I was still filling my tank. That shit HADTA' GO. I couldn't bear its existence a second longer. Not having anything wipe-like to hand I picked up an empty cigarette wrapper from the ground and scrubbed that offending mass off my lovely hood. Of course, in the daylight, I saw the damage that a moment of rage combined with frustration can do. Phooey! It won't buff out...
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