Message from the box wine

Joel: I got another email from the house today, this time from "Mr. Vella". He appears to be, how should I put this...."concerned" with certain "neighbors" of his. I hate to paraphrase, so like the last message, I'll just cut and paste it, so you'll hear it straight from the box's tap:

Kinny,

Hope yer trip is a goin' good. We sure miss seein' your squinty puss peekin' in here once in a while. Frankly, we ain't seen much since ya' filled up yer sassypack and got outta dodge. Now, you know I ain't one to raise a ruckus, but we got us a big ole problem here next to the range and, if it don't git fixed soon, I ain't gonna be responsible fer my actions. See, yer pickled compadre, Joelle, hasn't peeked his blood-shot eyes inta here fer weeks. Last time, was to pull on my tap (which, from the look on his puss, seems to give him some kind of sick pleasure), tip me practically up on my backside and almost crushed the life out of me to git the last drop of my rare imported nectar. Now that my insides are plum empty, I've spent the last few weeks just sittin' here next to the moo juice (which is lookin' a little chunky lately) and havin' to put up with a SMELL that would peel the outsides off a banana (which, last time I got a gander beyond the ice box, would be a mercy killin' for those poor bastards fermentin' outside)!

NOW, you 'member that tuna crap you shoved in here before ya' left?

Well, it is STILL here and has stunk up the place so bad, I don't know how much longer any of us can stand it. Don't get me started on yer hoity-toity Hummus that's bin livin' here since Santa's birthday. I mean, I do admire its bravery from a couple weeks back...ya' shoulda seen it leap down from the upper shelf, bounce offa'tha pickle jar, richochet upside down offa'the mayo and land, upright, on top of the tuna beast in an attempt to smother the little bastard. However, Hummie's been smellin' ripe for months and between the two of'em, I swear...if I had anythin' left inside me, I'd spew it! If I'm lyin'...I'm dying (which is purty much what happened to them "smart veggies" that ya' shoved down into the crisper before ya' left. They're practically V8 now...and not the good kind).

You better find a way to git hold of yer compadre, and soon, or ya' might as well stay where ya' are, cause it ain' gonna be purty here when you git back. You catchin' what I'm throwin' at ya'?

Yers chillin'.

Mr. Vella

I think it might be best if you maybe take a few minutes this weekend to clean out the fridge. Mr. Vella sounds like he means business...