One thing I’m not particularly proud of occurred when I was about sixteen years old. I snuck into a friend’s house when the family was on vacation and along with two buddies took turns peeing in a jar of prune juice before placing it back in the frig. I’d like to believe that nobody drank from the jar. I can’t imagine them putting it to their lips, for the smell was absolutely horrific. What possessed us to urinate in the said prune juice given that we were all friends of this dude is beyond me. Was it a cry for help? If so, what kind of help were we seeking? Perhaps the real moral of this story is that we all have a "jar of prune juice" in our life, something buried deep within our psyche that just won’t go away. Your prune juice might be a sense of shame or perhaps a problematic childhood. Then again, it might represent the confluence of irreconciliable worldviews in your mind, as if two swirling eddies of contrary beliefs are sucking you down the vortex and leaving you in a state of cognitive dissonance. The only thing I know for sure is that to this day I’ve never again drunk prune juice.