Wine was once fine, plump grapes, sitting on a tree, basking idly in the evening sun.

But it made the mistake of letting its guard down. While those innocent grapes were minding their own business WHAM some leather-skinned man tore you away from everything you knew and SPLAT they trampled upon you with their heavy hairy feet until your skin split and your gooey insides turned into papery juice.

Then they poured and strained your liquid form, before locking it in a dark, cold barrel and leaving it to stew for a few decades.

It’s not like all that prepared you for what was to follow. Waiting to be picked from some overpriced menu, sloshing your way down a warm, sweaty esophagus, a quick acid stomach bath, before a long smelly trip back to the salts of the earth. At least if you’re lucky, you’ll evaporate, and one day fall as rain on some of the ungrateful sods who whine about you all the time (Whine! Ha! Get it? I’M SO CLEVER).

So really, wine has been through a lot. Maybe cut it some slack, y’know? You think you’ve had a hard time? Try being a £4 wine on Tescos.

And now some rude words (for testing)

Oh shit we really shouldn’t use the word shit or fuck or goddammit even.