Let me tell you something, mister. My great-great-grandfather started this company with a three-wheeled wagon, one half-rotten bulb, and a dream. A dream to provide the American public with delicious, high-quality, farm-fresh leeks—from our fields to your table without all the lies, the secrets, and the cover-ups that you get from those leek-industry fat cats. Wicky's leeks have seasoned the soups of presidents and visiting dignitaries. Wicky's leeks were the official leek of the Apollo 11 moon mission. Joe DiMaggio, the Yankee Clipper, ate Wicky's leeks before every game. And what do I get for the Wicky family's years of dedication to honest, transparent, ethical leek distribution? LOCKED UP, THAT'S WHAT. Now, I have no idea what y'all are talking about—I've never even been to Sweden, let alone taken liberties with any gals over there—and I sure don't know nothin' about treason. Please, I just want to get back to doing what I do best, which is making sure my leeks reach as many men, women, and children as possible. If you value freedom, if you believe in the principles of liberty, equality, and potato soup upon which this great nation stands, please set me free. Keep WickyLeeks alive.