ShutterButton: Fallen Franzia Tells Us How It Really Feels

When those kids run around wearing green all weekend and slap me until nothing is left in my bag, sometimes I just want to lie down on the corner of 40th and Walnut in defeat. F*ck it. You know, it's hard to be a bag of Franzia – all those awful rumors circulating about me. You think getting Kesha tickets is hard? Try spending two hours inside a cardboard box at a pre-Fling Beijing BYO. That's hard. What does a poison-filled ordinary boxed wine have to do to be treated with respect around here? I'm not a bad influence. I blush like a sunset, and I work hard to maintain my sultry red glow. But the worst part is this – I'm only a few blocks away from my home at 43rd and Chestnut. Will I ever see my brothers and sisters again? Please, send help. Or Kesha tickets.