I heard a new term describing the accursed "nasty pieces of crud that you try to karate kick off your car fenders at the gas station" last night that definitely should be in the running. It's straight-forward. Descriptive. Uses proper representative mental imagery: car turds.
It just makes sense, sometimes they drop off by themselves, sometimes no amount of kicking and screaming can get rid of them.
Sharon and I witnessed one anomaly that breaks that name the other day, however. It was by far the largest, (and I've seen a lot in my day) piece of car turd, fender fudge, or road salt stalactite I HAVE EVER SEEN. It sat in the intersection of 35th Avenue South and East 52nd Street like Jabba the Hutt in his Tatooine palace.
I wish I would have taken a picture with someone standing next to it. It looked like it came off the mudflap of one of those giant Tonka truck dump trucks. It was enormous. Monumental. Transcendental. It was waiting to take someone out.
I wish I would have taken a picture with someone standing next to it. It looked like it came off the mudflap of one of those giant Tonka truck dump trucks. It was enormous. Monumental. Transcendental. It was waiting to take someone out.
I'm not sure what became of it. We went by yesterday and it was gone. They must have needed a front-end loader to move it. Maybe they shipped it to Gibraltar as a backup.
Drive with caution, Minnesotans. Don't trust the car turds.
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