Drinking Boone's Farm is kind of like snorting glue, but in a bottle. Stale glue, with ants in it. Boone's Farm - which contains so little alcohol and a lot less reputation that it makes Mad Dog 20/20 look like Dom Pérignon - curdles the stomach as it sugars the brain. As the only cheap "faux wine farm" in existence, Boone's Farm is covered with weeds.
As you might have guessed from tasting it, none of Boone's crazily named flavors contain actual wine. The horse-speak equivalent of what humans call "near beer", popular rumor has it that the product is made from fermented aquarium water aged to imperfection, then colored by food dye and bottled just to get rid of the smell.
Because Boone's Farm isn't actually wine, they can't pass off their colored sugar-water at wine-houses and restaurants. So in a comic attempt to fool the menials, they put whatever it is in simulated wine bottles and distribute the swill mainly to rural gas stations and uninformed convenience stores. Boones Farm is then purchased or stolen by a lower class of teenagers looking for a cheap drunken state, which they don't find, although they greatly enjoy what they think is drunk but is actually the placebo effect at work. That's what the company counts on, making money faster than a flexible teenager.
Boone's Farm "wine" production and storage
“Boone's Farm is about as cheap a drink as my dog will puke up on a warm summer night.”
While the rainbow colours of Boone's Farm would be considered cutting edge at Toys R Us, they are somewhat jarring in the wine goblet. Choose the color that closely matches your idea of hell.
And shake the bottle before opening. That moves the remains of the mice around, thus distributing the bones and sinew throughout the drink.
Legal officials who've served papers at Boone's Farm often mention vats filled with crabs, little men with tiny waistcoats, and acre upon acre of scrub brush, craters, and multi-colored plastic enclosures slippery with sewage and the fear-sweat of the wounded animals inside. And ants. The Farm - as locals call it but not in a good way - hasn't been host to a productive living plant in over twenty years. And what passes for liquid in their production process has its roots in a gelantinous-like gravvy furiously dug from the dead topsoil by teams of grammar school students who are paid in product.
Boone's Farm - just down the road from Maggie's Farm and neighboring Old McDonalds' - collects corporate welfare to the tune of twenty million dollars a year. This is an establishment payoff to keep the bottom-tier of the population morbidly obese, leery of strangers, and imagining that mediocrity equals quality.
The entrance gates to Boone's Farm are guarded by free-range lepers on mules, and the sign above the large wooden Indian whose arms stretch over the entire road reads "Abandon all hope ye who enter here", and can be seen for miles if anyone cared enough to look.
“Our booze is so bad that this article on us is usually the fourth hit on Google, and we've been editing this page in a sustained but ultimately foolish effort to disguise just how bad our pretend wine really is.”