"The best wine comes from destroyed fruit." -- Deepak, Jr.

 

One time, my college buddies and I picked a pickup truck bed load of marijuana out of a local dairy pasture and ferried it home, taking all of the back roads, fearing we would all go to prison at any moment.  The leaves were thick and green and beautiful.  We envisioned wealth, great parties and girls.  Tenderly, we strung up the stalks in an old abandoned barn, so that the sap would gravitate toward the heads.  When the shit was dry, a couple of weeks later, we lit up cigar-sized doobies and choked on Paraquat-laced organic debris for hours, without so much as a single giggle.  I’m not sure what this has to do with wine.  Just sayin’.