You can't make this stuff up

This story is ridiculous but true. If you know me at all it will not be shocking. It will just be another in a long list of 1) you can't make this stuff up and 2) Audrey really is a magnet for this crap.
Stinky C and I are on the road to Hot-lanta. I really hate when people call it that but in this story we could only be heading to Hot-lanta. So we're on our way and have not even gone 5 minutes down the road. In the distance there is a bird feasting on a tasty treat in the middle of the road. Now logic tells you to swerve to avoid said snack, but no. I hit what must have been an armadillo. I say this because the sound was crazy loud and ominous. I can only imagine a shell being hard enough to make this noise. Immediately I hear a scraping noise under the car. Frick. I'm on a country road and it takes 5 minutes before there is even a place to pull off. When I do I am just imagining aramdillo guts and carcass stuck on my car and no way to dislodge the horribleness.
Nothing. Only a dripping that scares me until I call my dad and he reassures me this is only the air conditioner. The nice farmer who pulls over to help confirms the diagnosis. There is a part under my car that I dislodged years ago from being an awful parker. I convince myself it must be the culprit.
So we're off again and the noise is still there but in the wrong spot. I accept I have not yet found the noise. So now I'm freaking and dithering and pulling off yet again. By pure accident I see it. The roadkill has dislodge a piece of the car frame and it is scraping against the tire. Are you kidding me? Did I hit an armadillo or an elephant?!
So I pull off AGAIN into a gas station/BBQ joint. A lovely white haired lady comes out to offer assistance. I ask if there are any gentlemen who could help but she is there alone. When I show her my car she goes back inside for a hammer to whack it into place. Within seconds she is back out...with a shotgun. I kid you not. For a split second I am terrified. Then I realized she is using the butt of the gun to wedge the piece into place. She directs me to a body shop a few miles away for a more permanent fix. The owner very graciously screws it back into place within 2 minutes, refuses any compensation, and sends me on my way with a smile and a wave.
One would think after my prescription fiasco and the armadillo I should be done for a while. One can hope but I would stay tuned.