During this pandemic, my back yard peach tree has had a jolly good time having sex with itself. As a result, it has birthed a prolific abundance of now rotten fruit. I’m only charging a dollar/bushel, so come on over and grab some. These little grenades are great fun and can be tossed at politicians, ex-spouses, aggressive drivers, Karens and woke virtue signalers. Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, they make a vino eccellente o bello that rivals the very best Thunderbird and Boone’s Farm vintages.
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