These caps are sold completely clean and yet to be soiled by god-knows-what future free-party fluid you wrongens will inevitably coat them in. For those who seek shade from sunlight for their eyes, in an unknown squat house with Infected Mushroom's back catalogue thumping on at the wall next door, where you perch hunched over in a filthy sitting chair, focussing on transcending across to the other realm of existence where K Cider flows freely in the rivers and you can pluck red packets of Doritos from the trees like rosey apples, dreadlocks grow without the need to backcomb and 3 legged malnourished mongrel dogs roam the fields like wild horses.