The other day, a friend had posted some pictures on Facebook from back when we were in high school. Prominently featured in the photos were several bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine.

The comments were all the same: people waxing nostalgic about the good old days and the great memories and, of course, the glory that is Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. 

While I do recall the good old days and the great memories, I have a distinctly different view of the beverage of choice. Sure, it helped get the party where I wanted it to go, but more often than not, when you started the night with Strawberry Hill, it did not end well.

For every time it worked out, there were at least 10 times when you found yourself whipping across traffic, hoping to make it to a parking lot before someone who had drunk a bottle and a half of warm wine sprayed it all over your seat and dashboard, or she spewed it all over a fast-food establishment then immediately blacked out and fell into it.

I’m certain that, at one point or another, every fast-food employee has cursed aloud as she pushed the mop bucket into the women’s restroom and saw what must look like a murder scene of spewed strawberry deliciousness.

Ladies, I know you think all of the memories of it are great, but think back, and I am sure you will eventually make that face that you make when you smell something rotten as you remember the time you made a little volcano erupt on the side of some guy’s parents’ vehicle and then babbled a half-coherent apology while fading in and out of consciousness as he washed it down at the car wash.

While thinking back about all these alleged good times and reading the comments of the girls who “luved this back in da day,” I can’t help but wonder why they don’t still feel dat luv. Honestly, has anyone over the age of 16 ever drunk Strawberry Hill? I can’t think of any.

I can’t understand how the government hasn’t shut the Boone’s Farm down. They have to know it’s how children get introduced to alcoholism, binge drinking, blackouts, and sex in the back seat. The FBI should be slapping the cuffs on every member of the Boone family.

For those of you who don’t have any idea what I am talking about, do yourselves a favor: Get a homeless guy to go in and buy it – give him a 20 and tell him to buy whatever he wants with the rest (I know you are of age now, but nobody who drinks it ever bought it himself), then hide it in your trunk on a hot summer day for five or six hours. When you can see the condensation forming on the inside of the bottle, take it out.

Go to the gas station and get a cup of ice, and drive to a spot without adults around (for us, it was the levee, in the pre-casino days). Drink it fast, and drink it all, and then just roll with whatever happens – just remember to stick your head out of the window if you have to get rid of it while driving.

I think I will be going to a liquor store in a bad part of town tonight to relive the glory days.