
If anything ...
... deserves a PlayMobil reconstruction then surely this is it.
Ah, another fine morning in sunny Torquay. The crisp, invigorating sea air and – oh God, what is that smell? And what on Earth is that on the roof of our car? Someone... took a dump... on our car! This is how The Register imagines Devon seaside town resident Kirk Petrakis unfortunately woke up on Sunday morning after being …
...to 'fix' a car roof that had been shat on? I'd have just lifted it with a plastic shovel and hosed down whatever was left, job done. I'm guessing the perpetrator must have done significantly more damage than just a turd, to the tune of a couple of dents and several bad scratches in the paint. The crap must have been the icing on the cake, as it were.
if he'd have crapped in the front grill, the shit would have really hit the fan.
Or the air-conditioning intake. That doesn't bear thinking about actually... all belted up ready to go, adjust the interior blower outlet to point straight at your face because the weather report was for a hot, hot day... ignition on...
...to 'fix' a car roof that had been shat on?
Having had some drunken muppets decide that our Morris Minor would be fun to climb onto (and slide off) I can confirm that fixing the resultant dents and paintwork damage could well go into a 4-figure sum - especially as it's something that most garages would subcontract out to a specialist and not do themselves.
And that's on a car that actually has a significant thickness of metal in the bodywork - I'd hate to think of the damage that an average 'adult' male would do climbing onto the roof of a Jazz (which isn't one of the more sturdy cars out there!).
a white VW with a "53" on the bonnet things could have ended very badly for our wannabe phantom of the plopera.
It's possible to get DNA from shit (you lose a few cells from the inside of your intestines with each movement), so perpetrators can be identified by their excrement. eg
Surprisingly enough I am fully cognisant of the Devonian period & the joys of the rocks thereof.
However the point still stands, Torquay is one of the many places in the UK that would be materially improved by either a suitcase nuke or a Smallpox outbreak - and I doubt it's improved any from the mid eighties to late nineties. Nowhere else on this miserable island has.
The best that can be said is its not Ardnamurchan - that really is the bumhole of nowhere. It's like the Jehovahs Witness make over of Tatooine.
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The world isn't changing. Nor are the drunks. There are just more cameras dotted about. And a communications system that allows anyone anywhere to post the boring minutia of their dreary lives where anyone can view it. And worse, where TheMewsMedjia can find it. Which means that instead of only hearing about my neighbor's car getting shit on, I also hear about the car of some dude in Torquay (and every other podunk town anywhere in the world) getting shit on.
My! What a brave new world we live in. Is it Beer O'Clock yet?