“...some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”
- Alfred Pennyworth, 2008 (somewhere in Gotham)
EVERY VILLAIN HAS AN ORIGIN STORY
Once upon a time in the sun-soaked hills of Tennessee, where the whiskey flows as freely as the rivers, a hangover to end all hangovers was born. It was the morning after a night that would make even the stars blush, and there, amidst the groans and morning regrets, a legend was about to rise—quite literally—from the bed.
Enter Savage Brody, the social media personality known for his devil-may-care eyebrows and a liver that could outlast a vampire at a blood bank. On this fateful morning, with his head pounding like Johnny Sins on adderall, Brody was desperate for a cure. Coffee was too gentle, cocaine still illegal, aspirin was laughing at him, and water—well, that was a cruel joke.
It was then, in the depths of his misery and wishing for a painless and sudden death, that Brody stumbled (quite literally) into the secret patch of chili peppers his wife used to ward off the squirrels. With a clarity that only the truly hungover can know, Brody knew what he had to do. He would concoct a hot sauce so potent, so fiery, that no hangover demon could stand against its might. Thus, the legendary Wakey Wakey sauce was born.
Now, mind you, this wasn't just any hot sauce. This was a sauce brewed from the fiercest Carolina Reapers, hand-picked at dawn by monks who swore in Latin. It was simmered with vinegar so robust, it whispered sweet nothings to the salad dressing before pulling it into the bed of a 77 Chevvy pickup. And it was blessed with the sweet kiss of maple syrup, harvested by beavers with doctorates in forestry.
Morningwood Farm, a little slice of paradise with roots in Tennessee and branches reaching to the sunny climes of California, became the sanctuary where these divine, life saving ingredients were nurtured. The farm, as legend has it, got its name from the early rise of its crops (I know what you were thinking), which stand at attention at the break of dawn, eager to be part of the mission ahead.
Savage Brody, harnessing the power of his social media empire, preached the gospel of the Wakey Wakey sauce. This wasn't just a hot sauce, he proclaimed; it was an elixir of life, a potion of wakefulness, a baptism by fire for the taste buds. "Each drop," he'd say with a wink, "is as fresh as the dew on the tips of Morningwood."
As it turns out, Brody's hangover was a blessing in disguise. Morningwood Farm's Wakey Wakey sauce didn't just cure the remnants of last night's revelry; it sparked a revolution. No more mild-mannered breakfasts. No more silent sips of morning joe. This was the beginning of a new dawn, one where each morning greeted you with a fiery embrace and a cheeky smile. It was the dawn of legal breakfast cocaine. Wait, no that’s not it. Unsend.
And that, dear friends, is how a hangover, a handful of chili peppers, and a dash of social media savoir-faire gave rise to Morningwood Farm's Wakey Wakey sauce—the sauce that kicks you right in the taste buds and whispers seductively, "I want some Morningwood."