It was long past time for me to get some new shoes for my stallion, C.O.B. (Car of The Beast, so named because I have 666 in my license plate number.)
So the little lady and I dropped COB off to be reshod and then spent some time listing to the idol chatter of a bunch of brainless teens in the cafe at Borders. When I returned to the garage to pick up my ride, the 9 fingered man who worked on my car had a question for me.
9 Fingers: "Have you ever hit an animal with this vehicle?"
Greazy: "Yeah. Twice."
9 Fingers: "How long ago?"
Greazy: "The first time was more than a year ago, and the second was 3 months
ago but I just ran over it after the car right in front of me hit it. It didn't do any damage to my car."
9 Fingers: "Well that explains the piece of fur and skin we found in your wheel well."
Greazy (almost vomits): "Shit, sorry about that."
9 Fingers: " No problem, you didn't want to keep it did you? Cause we threw it away.
Greazy: That's ok, can I have my keys now.
So I guess when I ran over that deer a few months ago a bit of skin, fur and gore kicked up of my tire and stuck to my wheel well. I don't know if that is awesome, disgusting or a bit of both.