Bottle Shock Page #3

- Thank you.

Do we really need to fight to

bring this to some sort of resolution?

Keep on movin', man. Come on.

I'm gonna have to deck ya.

- Hippies.

- Come on, come on. That's all you got?

I didn't even bleed. Ha!

- ## [Jukebox:
Rock]

- [People Chattering]

- [Grunts]

- Something I can help you with?

No.

[Bo] I can't believe you did that!

[Laughs]

- Ice!

- He stopped a left cross with

his face to protect my virtue.

- Hey, Bo.

- Hey, Joe.

You didn't call. Having trouble

with that big, old dialing finger again?

[Moans]

Yeah.

- So you're a Joe?

- My father was the original Joe.

Left the place to me.

Oh, three.

So, why Montelena?

Well, you have good history

and good terroir.

They like our dirt.

Well, dirt was good enough

for Al Lovering Tubbs in 1882...

when he went and bought

- 254.

- That...

and... yours was the

only position I was offered.

Well, you know, history does judge

a prizefighter by the bouts he selects.

And the ones he avoids.

Life lessons from a surf bum

and a wannabe winemaker.

I am here because I wanna learn...

everything there is to know

about viniculture and viticulture.

Hear! Hear!

Don't we all?

Oh, Gustavo is very modest when

he's not snapping off the antennas...

of racist truckers twice his size.

- Modesty is the virtue of slaves.

- Oh, cheer up, Stavo.

Gustavo Brambila was raised

in the vineyards of Northern California.

He has our valley's grapes

in his blood.

If you pour this Mexican hombre

a glass of wine...

he can tell you how much cabernet

and how much merlot's in the blend.

He can even tell you the vintage.

Bullshit.

- Bullshit!

- I'll be right back.

Hey, Joe.

What have you got in the back room?

- You got money?

- Yeah.

Pick any three for me

and put 'em in paper bags.

Hey, listen.

I take 60% off the top, okay?

- What? I gotta buy the wine.

- Okay.

- Mm-mmm.!

- She's not gonna sleep with you.

[Bo Laughs]

She's gotta sleep eventually.

Yeah.

In her own bed.

Hey, everybody.

Listen up.

Who here wants to wager a little money

that this Mexican...

son of an immigrant field hand...

can't guess what kind of grapes

are in these wines...

that our kind bartender

has personally selected?

F*** you. Fifty percent.

Don't break my antenna.

I'm just trying to get us paid.

Any a**hole can tell a merlot

from a zinfandel.

Yeah, maybe. But can any a**hole

tell you the vintage?

All right. Ten bucks.

And he has to guess all three.

- Ten bucks. It's hardly worth the trouble.

- Okay. Twenty.

And I get to slow dance with her.

You're on.!

Anybody else?

I want 20% for that.

- I'll give up 10 if you give up 10.

- Okay.

All right. I'm flush!

Gentlemen, action if you

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