Hot dog of death.

So many people who know me have heard this story. But I've avoided writing about it because it's that disgusting.

Well the time is nigh.

You probably remember Subaruby. Turns out, she came with a present. The car - reeked. I mean reeked. And it seemed like I was the only one that was truly offended by the funk. My parents, who sold me the car, claimed they really couldn't smell anything. But after a few weeks, I bucked up and peered into the open moon roof.

The "present" that was giving off the stench of death was deeply embedded into the mechanics and grooves of the moon roof. And it was at least six months old.

A hot dog. Simple, harmless, right? WRONG! When hot dogs get old, they mold, then decay, then turn into a liquidy, revolting, mass of foul substance. I attempted to fork the frank and bring it out of the moon roof but instead, the utensil simply mashed it up a little, bringing only a mere morsel up to the surface. The fresh smell of rot was enough to make me vom.

Over a period of an hour, I knifed it, I spooned it, I paper toweled it, I 409'd it, I smaller knifed it, I penciled it, I yelled at it. Yet, remnants remained, so I covered the rest with baking soda because word on the street is it covers up smell. And don't even ask me how the damn meat stick got there because I simply cannot provide you with any sort of answer.

Here is an actual photo of the actual hot dog wedged in my actual sun roof, prior to my attack.