All these stories reminded me of when I was still living north of the Twin Cities. In the early 90s the rest of the family decided to go get some dinner while I smartly stayed home. On the way there my dad nails a deer with the Mark VII, which went flying over the car and landed on the back part of the trunk before falling onto the road. The damage wasn't that bad, but I don't know if it's because Lincolns are freakin' tanks or because the front is sloped. He pulled over and walked up to the nearest house to call the police, but the guy told him he'd "take care of it."