Oh, what a crappy topic. I was tempted to use my anti-crappy-topic-protest-device, but the early daguerreotype-ists already did suggestive soft-core with round fruit.
How this illustration relates to 'citrus' has a bit of a story behind it (I'm not feeling particularly adept at writing, so bear with me). Pictured is a scene from my real life. Kodiak Island, Alaska c. 1990. I was a SAR helicopter crewman at the US Coast Guard Air Station and, as most young men will, bought a crappy beater truck to bomb around the island in. This was a 1970 Bronco and I named it 'Fear'; as in 'we rode in fear' and 'I drive in fear'. You see It had many frightening aspects:
> the original owner replaced the large truck steering wheel with much, much smaller one from an MG;
> the rubber bushings that supported the axle within the truss rods were rotten, so the axle would occasionally drift back and forth;
> at high speeds on washboard roads, it would drift sideways as though on ice;
> there were only lap belts until I installed an old set of helicopter seatbelt/shoulder harnesses (sans interia reel);
> a friend putting in a new floor for me punctured the auxilliary gas tank which would leak into the cabin when full.
> the three-speed on the column would suddenly pop out of gear, often at speed
But, what you see here was the truck early in my ownership. The original owner had, for some asinine reason, coated the entire back bed with roofing tar. Roofing tar! Since I lived in the barracks, an old USCG friend of mine was a petty officer on the CGC Storis and lived in town and had a driveway. He let me park in front of his crappy apartment and spend two days scraping out the bed. His roomate suggested gasoline. But, since I didn't feel like being flamable, we bought a few gallons of...
Wait for it:
Citrisolve to clean out the bed. Two days of hand-cracking orange-smelling liquid and backbreaking labor we found we no longer stuck to my truck's floor. For all its fear-inducing antics, we drove that thing all over the island. Hunting, fishing, camping, paintball, plinking, mountian biking. We used t he heck out of it. We didn't die, but we were often scared.
Here we are:
For the record, I payed $700. I sold it to a friend for $200 and didn't feel ripped off.
Oh, the dog? He lived nearby. His name was Bear and he was a huge Newfie, only with the extra drool package installed. He was super friendly, but when he shook his head, it was like a sitcom.
What I'm listening to as I post: "Style It Takes" by Lou Reed and John Cale from "Songs For Drella"