Dusty Fuck

It's back, bitches. What's back, bitches? Why, the red glowing phosphorescent plumped-out pregger-bun cascading over the basic and understated veldt is back, bitches. That's what's back, bitches. Tortured black hard enamel is back, bitches. Grass and pine is back, bitches. On the back, bitches. In the back, bitches. Out the back, bitches. As the way back, bitches.

Yes, you may notice what we call a proto-contraction. True contraction has not been applied and never will be. Nonetheless, the tongue picks up on subtlety of flavor that release a contractual sort of impetus. An impetus so juicy, so ripe, so melting, so full, so harmonic, so messy, so greasy, so limpid, so languid, so rotting, so cool, so dark, so wet, so pungent, so thick, that it demands an oxford comma.

List me in the book of life for a sweet new year and try not to get any mud on the carpet while you're dicking about in the library, donated by and dedicated to a truly healthy set of tanins. It sags in the middle under its own weight. It spreads itself out like a fucking evil king. A real food wine.

Origin: Christian Malta
Varietal: Ha!
Food Pairing: Red red meat. Red meaty red meat. Red bloody fatty meaty red blood-meat.