Every trip to the mailbox is an adventure when you’re the HoseMaster, and not just because it’s where my little alien friend lives. I call him W. Blinky Gray because he’s very small, has a gigantic head, loves the sound of his own voice, and hurls little tiny turds at me. No, it’s an adventure because I never know when I’m going to receive yet another nasty piece of hate mail. I’m not sure what I do to deserve the deluge of dislike I endure. I try to remember the advice my late mother always offered, “If you can’t say anything nice, say it loudly.” Here are some wonderful examples from my recent foraging among my voluminous hate mail.
I guess I should have expected this one…
Sure, you make fun of me going to prison, but you don’t know the half of it, Fart Water. Those 2009 Bordeaux that Mr. Big Shot RP (Ridiculous Palate) gave those inflated scores to, guess where he got ‘em? Yup, that’s right. I sold them to him. All 19 of them! And they were all Pontet-Canet I bought for $50/btl at BevMo and recorked and relabeled at my house in Altadena. Funny, right? Everybody’s giving him crap for giving them all 100 points, but why wouldn’t he?—they’re all the same damn wine! Starts to make sense now, doesn’t it? Hey, give it to the guy, he’s consistent. He knows the same damn wine when he tastes it. He just doesn’t know it’s the same damn wine. Oh, the 99+ wines, those were Pontet-Canet mixed with Yellow Tail Shiraz. Shit, the thought of Yellow Tail makes me feel lonely here in prison.
And like I’m the only fraud out there. What about you? You steal jokes and relabel them, what’s the difference? All I did was give people cheap thrills, mostly shithead Millenials who think Dujac is that thing you put on your car that tracks it in case it gets stolen. Sure, they busted me for making a stupid label mistake, but there’s a lot of wine out there that is fake. I’d estimate that 90% of the pre-1965 Burgundy sold in restaurants is fake. Funny thing is, the fake stuff tastes better. Take it from Dr. Conti, the only thing that smells worse than forty year old Burgundy is orange wine. Orange wine! How stupid is that? It’s the wine equivalent of white people appearing in blackface.
If I were you I’d be careful about calling people frauds, HoseMustard. What I did made people feel better about themselves, which is more than you can ever say. I made those suckers feel important. Ten dollar wines can’t do that unless they’re labeled like thousand dollar wines. I made those guys feel better about themselves. I did it to be nice.
Dr. Conti aka Rudy from “The Cosby Show”
I confess this letter came as a complete surprise. I wonder who wrote it for her…
Dear Mr. HoseMaster,
The most important grape in Napa Valley is Pinot Noir, and like that native of the Loire Valley, the Wall Street Journal strives to be the most important voice in wine journalism. I write simply and directly, making certain that I convey my facts gently and concisely to the highly educated swindlers and Mammon worshippers that read our publication. I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain in the future from pointing out the dullness of my subject matter—I choose my subjects only to highlight that same dullness in my voice. It’s called WRITING!
If you read my work carefully, which only requires an elementary school education and a truckload of NoDoz, you’ll discover that it is loaded with insight and surprise. For example, I recently wrote about Napa Valley Cabernet and revealed that many of those marvelous wines over $100 are blended with Merlot! I noted that it was a good way for wineries to unload their unwanted Merlot and, essentially, water down their expensive Cabs. You can only imagine the shock waves this caused in the industry. But there’s more to come. Just wait until I reveal that many of the Merlots are blended with Cabernet! I know, it’s hard to fathom, but this is the sort of back-breaking journalism I pride myself on. (Oooh, did you get that surprise? I talked about Merlot and then I said “Pride,” like the winery that specializes in Merlot. This is the kind of inside stuff I know those creepy suits who read WSJ won’t get, but I do it for all the wine experts that read my work. I’ve been told they laugh at everything I write! Isn’t that wonderful?)
Your blog isn’t funny, Mr. HoseMaster. What’s funny about, “She puts the ‘teague’ back in fatigue?” You’re a sad, pathetic blogger. You treat your readers, if you have any, like they’re smart and wine-savvy. I don’t think anyone likes that really. Not when you have the WSJ to teach you about wine.
Go fuck yourself,
Finally, a letter I will long treasure…
So the people at Belvedere call me to help with an ad campaign. We talk, and I realize we’re on the same page. We both want to bring back what this great country of ours needs now more than ever—misogyny. Our Forefathers, the men who wrote the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and the original pilot for “The Jeffersons,” they were proud misogynists. They didn’t give women the right to vote, or to pursue life, liberty and happiness. Those things are for men! Misogyny is what this country has been missing the last forty years since those FemiNazis started taking over, though FemiNazis is an insult to my Third Reich friends. But, Sir, my friends in the media and I are bringing misogyny back, and bringing it back with a vengeance. And I’ll thank you and your stupid blog to stay out of it.
I’m going to be working with some wineries and some wine regional associations on ad campaigns as well. Wine is the bastion of men, like football and cigars and Oxycontin. I’m sure a jerk like you thinks women should be allowed to smoke cigars after sex. All of my ex-wives smoked cigars after they had sex—I could smell it on their clothes when they got home. And it’s just not right. It’s unnatural.
So here’s a couple of ideas I have for ad campaigns for wine that will help bring misogyny back where it belongs. I love Australian dessert wines, so how about a picture of a guy talking to a sexy girl at a bar and he’s saying, “I prefer mine sticky.” Hilarious, right! Or there’s this idea I have to sell Port. It’s a photo of two hot black sluts and the caption says, “You can have Ruby or Tawny any time you want.” Whoo, Boy, this is classic stuff. One more, one more… A picture of a broad wearing a short skirt swirling a big glass of red wine and the caption says, “It’s not the legs, it’s what comes between them.”
And once we get misogyny back, it’s on to killing miscegeny. Though that our forefathers liked.
You’re not funny and I’d have paid your mother to have used birth control,