Where We Get Vodka

“Now then, the coloring you are all tasting is pure essence of flavor. That green hue is literally thousands of olives condensed into my own brand of concentrate and then distilled into the vodka. The coloring is merely an indication of the purity of each concentrated flavor. Have any of you ever tried raw, unprocessed vodka before?” Ole Grandpa spoke while gesturing about the factory floor. Over in one corner, drunken workers were spilling cranberries all over the floor while dumping them into what appeared to be a pile of lawn mower engines connected together. Fire belched out of several tail pipes and the roar was almost deafening for a brief moment as the cranberries shuddered into the strange machine. Out of an entire wheel barrel load, only a thin trickle of dark red poured forth into a small bottle. “What do you mean by unprocessed vodka? Like it hasn’t been fermented yet?” Gerry asked. Ole Grandpa shook his head and led the group over to an enormous tub full of what appeared to be peeled potatoes in some sort of liquid. The smell was awful and everyone covered their noses. A snap of the fingers and a worker stumbled over with a bucket full of a milky smelly substance. “This is unprocessed vodka. Your average distillery will simply purify it by heating this until some foul tasting mixture comes out that passes for alcohol. Here we purify it with my own patented Ole Grandpa method. Behold!” There was a loud pop that made everyone jump while an overweight worker drove in with a pink convertible that appeared to be having severe engine trouble. He pulled it up to the bin everyone was standing next to it and drunkenly yelled for someone to, ‘fucking help me with this shit’. A chain and crank were lowered, and the engine was hoisted out with a few taps from one of the electric rods Ole Grandpa had used earlier. Still belching smoke and covered with black grease, the engine was positioned next to a large pipe at the base of the potato vat. A twist of a knob and the milky liquid began to drain out and into the engine, which was still running, and with a few sputters pure vodka began to pour out of the fluid exchange and into a funnel below. Jonah, who was still sipping on her martini, gave a cry of horror and promptly poured it out.