It’s finally the weekend and your excitement for the annual family retreat to Willow Point and the cabin on Lake Buchanan rouses you from your slumber with the rising sun. You scramble some eggs while the bread toasts, and then sit on the back deck and enjoy a solemn breakfast beneath the warm sunrise. Breathing in the fresh morning air, you take the last sip of your coffee and decide to start your weekend of leisure by washing the car while everyone else sleeps. After all the suds have been rinsed away and the Chevy Suburban sparkles like a diamond under new day sunshine, it’s time to tackle the interior. You open the rear passenger door and climb inside with your trusty vacuum hose in hand and are immediately hit in the face with the foulest odor man has ever created. You attempt to filter the filthy smell by breathing strictly from your mouth while you scurry out of the vehicle. The smell is so terrible you consider lighting the Suburban on fire and replacing it before anyone wakes and is any wiser, but better judgement takes over and you attempt to pinpoint the abomination and remove it without force.
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