Smithsonian Institute's HoseMaster Hate Mail Wing

One of the great joys of being the HoseMaster of Wine is the accumulation of personal correspondences from folks that hate me. I’ve been asked by the Smithsonian to leave my collection of hate mail to them in my will, but it would mean having an entire new wing built just to house them. I’d like to have Frank Gehry design it. Like most of his buildings, it would look like Zeus puked. Sifting through some of my more recent mail, I chose these few to share.

Honorable HoseMaster,

Kim Chia Pet

Now that I am in Hell, I am forced to read your blog. I wanted to ask you a few questions. Where do you find a dull meal in North Korea? Under the bored wok. Get it? This is satire, my friend. Funny pun, and irony. You can’t find any meal in North Korea. My people are starving like your readers are starving for entertainment. Anyone who says I have the Bomb obviously hasn’t read your excuse for jokes. OK, here’s another question. What’s the name of the last Supreme Leader of North Korea? Termana Lee Il. Ha-Ha-Ha. This is a very funny joke. Why don’t you try to write funny things like me? All you write about is Robert Parker. Nice guy. I met him at the bar last night. He and I have a lot in common. Just two dictators that wanted to conquer Asia. OK, OK, here’s another question for you, Worthless Westerner, Mr. Funny Blogger, Racist Pig and Sommelier of the Year, What do you call my Korean hairstyle? Kim Chia Pet. Oh, hahahahahahahaha, you’re killing me. That’s classic. I am Supreme Commander of Funny Jokes. Kimchi and Kim Chia Pet—oh, I think I wet myself.

You are not funny, HoseMaster. Who told you that you are? Your blog is why I denied Internet access to my people. If you had lived in North Korea I would have had you imprisoned and forced you to read mindless propaganda. How would you like that? Nothing but Vinography and The Gray Report. Soon you would be a vegetable. A human bean---hahahahahahahaha. I kill me.

Your Eternal Leader

Kim Jong-il

Hey Loser,

More plastic than a Hollywood land fill

So all the time I’m filming “The Bachelor” I’m thinking about you, HoseMaster. OK, not really. I’m hanging around taking hot tub with a whole bunch of hot babes and I’m thinking about what every red-blooded bachelor would be thinking about. Money. I am making so much money acting like I want to marry one of those bimbos. Me and my Benziger buddy are raking in the biodynamic cash selling our own little wine—Engorged. Try my 2009 Engorged Pinot! All those bachelorettes want my Engorged Pinot. But that ain’t happening. I’m not chasing a bride, I’m chasing fame and fortune. Just like those pathetic exhibitionist girls are. I don’t care which one ends up being the last one. Hell, I suggested to the producers to just line ‘em up and do it wine country style—blind tasting! I am never going to get the smell of degradation out of my clothes.

Does it ever occur to a mutant like you that you and your blogging friends are like the stupidest of reality shows? Desperately needy people pretending to be someone they’re not who are intoxicated almost all the time and who say and do endlessly stupid and annoying things. Just to be noticed. Tell me that’s not the blogosphere, Ho’sMaster. At least I’m getting laid. The only reality show they’d let you appear on would be “America’s Dead Palate,” hosted by James Laube. Now that would be a depressing reality show—a real tongue depressor! See, I’m not just a pretty boy, I’m funny and smart too. Your little reality show known as HoseMini of Wine sucks. Ain’t nobody laughin’ here, SleazeMaster, but you might be able to hear the sound of me laughing all the way to Sonoma National Bank.

Cheers,

Ben Flajnik

Dear HoseMaster, you Ignorant Piece of Yellow Tail,

We’ve had just about enough of your witless and tasteless jabs at Master Sommeliers. You think you’re so fucking funny when all you’re doing is demonstrating your seeming bottomless pit of stupidity. Sure, you pretend to know a lot about wine, but all you really do is insult your superiors, try to bring them down to your level of Hell. We’d love to see you try and pass the exams for Master Sommelier, Mr. Smart Guy. You rotten piece of Rombauer. Here, DumpBucket of Wine, try these questions on for size. Every MS knows the answers to these. Think we’re just a bunch of dummies with pretentious letters after our names? Eat a Veuve sandwich.

1. Name the four colors of wine. (You won’t even think of saying “Orange,” because you don’t even know what orange wine is. It’s wine fermented in traffic cones. Mr. My Gruner Don’t Stink.)

2. Name the 13 Grand Crus of Chablis (Gotcha! It’s a trick question, MoetHead. There are only 7 Grand Crus in Burgundy—Valmur, Les Clos, Bougros, Les Preuses, Tom, Penelope, and J. Jesus, you’re an idiot.)

3. What river flows through the Rhone region of France? (Yes, yes, this is hard. But it’s the kind of fascinating stuff we have to “master” as Master Sommeliers. And these aren’t multiple choice questions either, corksucker, you have to know this stuff.)

It’s not that your stupid and libelous references to MS bother us. Yeah, like we give a BevMo what you think. It’s that it’s people like you who show no respect for the hard work, expense and boundless self-regard it takes to become a Master Sommelier who are ruining the wine business, GrisHole. Why don’t you go after MW’s? They’re the real fucking Proseccos.

Regards,

Court of Master Sommeliers