That’s easy. While the above example is truly vomit inducing as an example of everyday sloth and personal filth, mine has its charms.

A while back, I detailed how, creating a dirt road rise on a summer’s eve with my window down and the radio blasting, I hit three cows in one go with my 1993 Tercel. The leftmost cow’s tear quarter swung around, hitting somewhere around the start of my door, launching the sideview mirror and the contents of its bowels into the car. Luckily, my face and chest were only hit by the cow shit - my ear was also filled. I in fact thought that the mirror was somewhere outside, and spent a fruitless hour searching for it, as I irrationally believed it to be incriminating eveidence of my murdering a cow.

In the light of the next morning’s sun, I was able to more fully assess the damage.

The rear window looked like Pulp Fiction in cow shit. I can only describe the rear seat’s condition as “lazy college student”, so it was filled with CD cases, binders, empty soft drink bottles and other assorted trash (though I’ve always thrown away food wrappers - call it dry trash!), clothes, books, other random stuff... All covered with cow shit, which had dizzled down into books and crannies of all sorts.

Everything had to come out, including the full-to-the-brim side view mirror, the sight of which made me instantly relieved that it didn’t also hit me in the face on its way into the car. The sun-faded, almost pink Tercel got the deepest clean it had in years, in advance of being taken to the shop for a new hood and front quarter panel, basically. It ran great.

I had it for a couple years after that, and every time I cleaned it, I found new nugs of dried-up cow shit. The kids who ended up buying it after my sister took it back to Austin probably had the same issue.