If You Can't Say Anything Nice, Say It Loudly

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…

Dear HoseBastard,

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.

Sincerely,

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,

Lettie Teague

Finally, a letter I will long treasure…

Dear Slut,

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,

Rush Limbaugh

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

Letters, I Get Letters, I Get Stacks and Stacks of Letters

As you might imagine, my mailbox overflows with hate mail. Most of it from the AARP. Old fucks. But a lot of it comes from Viewers Like You. People I've offended or outraged, people I've insulted or hectored, people who wish I would be nicer, more like 1WineDoody or other bloggers who personify the success of Electroshock Therapy. What's crazy about folks who write hate mail is that they even bother. It takes a lot of energy and time to write a nasty letter to someone you hate. It's like going on a lousy date with someone so ugly the waiter serves their food stuffed inside a mackerel and having sex with them anyway. Which is how I learned to like mackerel, but that's a different story. I love hate mail. Here are a few of my recent favorites.

I was surprised to hear from this person. But you never know who's reading your blog...

Dear Mr Master of Hose,

I was referred to your natural disaster of a blog by someone who felt sorry for me. I've had it rough the past few weeks, what with my company turning the Gulf of Mexico into a giant toilet. BP makes one mistake, one little explosion on one offshore oil rig, and you'd think that was the only thing in the world that mattered. Sheesh. Let's look at the bright side. The fish that will be caught will be pre-packed in oil! This should save those whining fishermen lots of money. And, anyway, it's the damn Gulf of MEXICO, not the Gulf of USA, but you don't hear the Mexicans complaining. Not that it would matter if they did. When Meg Whitman becomes Governor of California she's going to buy Mexico and have them all evicted. And speaking of Whitman, how about the disgusting slick she left on her little eBay? How come no one is calling for her to clean up all the crap floating around there? Homemade Bert and Ernie merkins and crocheted iPads for Depends and all that other disgusting flotsam. All we did was spill a little crude out in the middle of the damn ocean where, frankly, it smelled bad to begin with from all the pollutants our refineries have pumped into the water for the past fifty years.

And, by the way, we expect to have that well capped very soon with a new plan I devised inspired by a movie I recently watched on the Adult Channel in my New Orleans hotel room. I've got my engineers designing a gigantic BP! Get it? Butt Plug! Slide that sucker in and, bam, no more icky gooey leakage. The BP BP is sure to work. And it's about time the Earth learned the joy of anal erotica. It changed my life.

Speaking of which, your blog spews more disgusting stuff in one post than our well does in a week. Why the hell hasn't someone tried a Top Kill on you? Oh, that's right, you're not at the top. Maybe someone should try a Loser Kill on your blog. I know you think you're funny, Mr Master, but, really, your jokes are about as funny as an oil spill and twice as toxic. Do all your readers have to wear hazmat suits? You're such a lowlife, I wouldn't abuse you with somebody else's dipstick. Though it does give me great comfort at a trying time like this to know that when it comes to polluting the United States of America, BP cannot compete with the HoseMaster of Wine.

Sincerely,
Tony Hayward


I guess I shouldn't have been surprised by this piece of hate mail.

You No-Talent Fake,

How dare you aim your petulant, pedantic, pusillanimous, puerile, pissant blog at the esteemed judges of the Wine Blog Awards. The eleven of us have more talent put together than you have in your little finger! Our selections for the prestigious Wine Blog Awards, which are not called Poodles, Right, Wine Blog Awards Trophy by the way, but the Doodies, after the greatest wine blogger in history, the very wet dream of wine marketing people everywhere, 1WineDoody (and don't go making any scatalogical remarks about how Poodles Doodie all over the Wine Bloggers' Conference either, Enema Breath, we don't appreciate that sort of name-calling), are perfect. Hey, you don't even know us, how dare you insult us! We weren't asked to judge the quality of wine blogs because we're stupid. That was just a bonus.

We know that you think you deserved a nomination for Best Writing on a Wine Blog. Yeah, right, fat chance. We're giving it to Heimoff and that's the end of it. The guy won't speak at the Conference if we don't, and our first choice, Ron Popeil, turns out to be dead. We want to give the Doodie to the Negress because she's cool and, well, now that Obama has made it hip, it just made sense, but we have to give it to Heimoff. By the way, that voting thing, well, let's just say the WBA uses the same vote counting technique as Kim Jong Il. There are always fools that vote and believe the popular vote carries 50% of the weight. Sure it does. And Kobe Bryant never travels. We, the judges, picked eight winners and thirty-two randomly generated competitors. You don't think we read all that blog crap, do you? Have you read Bigger Than Your Head? The guy writes like Ted Kaczynski, but without the interesting hobbies.

You weren't nominated this year and you won't ever be nominated. You suck. All you do is insult the art of wine blogging as exemplified by our fine nominated wine blogs. These are blogs that are as comfortable and predictable as a "Gilligan's Island" rerun, but with far less drain on the intellect. The nominated blogs know that their job is marketing. Their job is to sell pedestrian wines and fraudulent gadgets and sanctimonious events nonstop and without questions. Is this so hard to understand, CrapMeister? You weren't even close to being nominated. We almost did give you a special award, though. Best Wine Blog to Read Out Loud to Gitmo Detainees.

There's a reason we eleven judges chose to be anonymous, and it wasn't to avoid lobbying from pinhead wine bloggers--as if the predetermined awards could be changed by poorly written emails. We chose anonymity because we deserve it, that's why! Shithead.

Sincerely,
The Eleven Wine Blog Award Judges (not one of whom is a marketing person, we swear, not even one of us, why would that be?)


And, finally...

Listen, Pinhead,

I can't believe you told him. What the fuck were you thinking? You and I had a good thing going. You were the first man in a long time to melt my glacier. You raised the temperature of my globes with your man-made emissions. I worshiped your hanging chad. But now you've gone and ruined it. You just had to brag about it, didn't you, HoseMinuscule? You just couldn't help yourself. And now Al wants a divorce and we have to pretend it's amicable and all just fine for the press, to save Al's jowly face. You just had to post about your affairs with me and Liv Tyler and Robinson Cano, you whore for fame. You just had to declare, "Tipper, Cano and Tyler Too!" Well, I hope you're satisfied. I know I never was.

Goodbye,
Tipper

My Favorite Hate Mail

My recent rise in readership that came about because of the San Francisco Chronicle article has been rather disconcerting. Mostly because I wasn't aware San Francisco even had a daily newspaper. I get all my news from The Christian Science Monitor. His name is Mary Baker Eddie, and he stands outside monitoring the Christian Science Reading Room in Healdsburg. Want to have some fun? Go into a Christian Science Reading Room with a gaping flesh wound. They'll give you something to read for it, usually a year-old Wine and Spirits Magazine with a fascinating article by Patrick Comiskey on great Northwestern United States Clamato Juice cocktails. (One cocktail was even named for a noted food writer--the James Bearded Clam.) Oh, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, it's been rather a whirlwind few days, lots of Internet chatter about having me be a suicide bomber at the next Wine Bloggers Conference (they'd strap bottles of Korbel Brut to my body rigged to explode whenever Alder Yarrow congratulates himself--so, right off the bat), many more hits than usual on HoseMaster of Wine (the blog, not me), and, thankfully, a lot more hate mail! Here are a few chosen from the ol' mailbag. Suicide blogger bomber


Dear HoseMaster of Stupidity,

We've never met, but we will. I'm the wine buyer for Hell, and I have a few bones to pick with you regarding your recent insulting remarks about my customers and my by-the-glass program. First of all, where does an imbecile like you get off taking shots at Robert Mondavi and the Gallo brothers? They were making California wines cheap and famous, keeping their thumbs on the backs of migrant workers and underpaying small farmers, before you were out of diapers, which, by the way you smell, must have been an hour ago. What does an incontinent blogger wear to bed? Depends. Get it? Like the undergarment, not "it depends." Plays better in Hell.

I was talking to Bob and Ernie and Julio at the bar last night. They were having a drink with Parker and Fred Franzia, who isn't dead, but has a second home here when it gets too hot in Bumfuck, California, where he lives. I was gently pulling their fingernails out and waterboarding them (at the suggestion of Dick Cheney, who had one foot in the door here last night but got called back--what a great guy!) not with water, but with Ecco Domani Pinot Grigio, which is exactly the same, I guess. Anyhow, they think you should treat them with more respect. I told them that you're a douchebag, in fact, a douchebag for Joan Rivers, and that they'll get their whacks at you when you arrive here, which is undoubtedly sooner than you think. I'm not supposed to say anything, but that liver of yours is about as functional as Charlie Sheen. But maybe it's not too late for you if you back off now and lay off my boys. They don't mind the waterboarding, but they're very sensitive to criticism.

And I do not serve Lodi Zin or Gruner Veltliner by the glass, dimwit. Satan hates that shit. He's happy to see humans drink it while they're alive, but he doesn't want that in his house. I have a very interesting by-the-glass list that consists of about thirty different wines that I've carefully chosen from reviews by the most pathetic wine bloggers working! I tried to select worse wines, but, hell, oops, heck, I'm just not that good at touting crap. But BrixChicks and WineHarlot and WannabeWino take all the work out of it for me! You should see the look on Parker's face when he has to drink a glass of each. You'd think he'd died and gone to Hell, which he has. In fact, now that I think about it, taking their wine recommendations is exactly like waterboarding yourself.

So stop writing about things you don't know anything about, HoseMonster of Wine. Hey, nice article in the Chronicle!

Sincerely,
Raj Parr
Wine Buyer, Michael Mina Restaurants and Hell



Hey Laughing Boy,

So I travel to Napa Valley, where the children of God own wineries, to attend the Wine Wroters (past tense--pretty clever, right, and why I get the big bucks) Symposium, which they tricked me into attending, by the way, by promising that I wouldn't have to listen to the Ethics Panel discussion, which, as it turned out, was actually about how to avoid having any ethics, which is what wine writers really want to know, and where do I end up at dinner that night? Well, you know where, across from you. I had to turn down invitations from some of the most powerful people in the wine world (aside from me, of course), like 1WineDude--hey, I could have had dinner with 1WineDude, dammit, except it turns out French Laundry doesn't have a children's menu. Which is odd. How do they serve the winery owners' wives? Anyway, I could have spent an evening with Charlie Olken! Yes, the Charlie Olken. Have you read this guy's comments? He's funny like one of those robots on Mystery Science Theater 3000! I could have had dinner with Steve Heimoff. Well, OK, that's never gonna happen. But instead I end up with you and Alfonso. Alfonso told me we were meeting somebody talented and famous. I was sure he meant James Laube. How many people get to actually meet James Laube?! Laube's the J.D. Salinger of wine writing, if J.D. Salinger were boring and incapable of writing an interesting sentence. But instead Alfonso plays a big practical joke on me and you show up! I haven't had such a boring evening since I watched every episode of WineLibraryTV that isn't gibberish. Both of them.

I'm sure our paths will never cross again and Alfonso can kiss his wine career goodbye. The two of you ruined my trip like a visit to the tasting room at Castello di Amorosa (though I loved her on "The Apprentice!") But, hey, nice article in the Chronicle!

Ta-ta Sucker,
The World's Most Famous Wine Writer


Dear Mr. Washam,

What have poodles ever done to you that you constantly compare them to wine bloggers? I'm sick of it. You make me sick, and your blog makes me want to hurl up my Ken'L Ration. Poodles are honorable and noble beasts, loyal and honest, faithful and intelligent. Does that sound like a blogger to you, pinhead? Go ahead, name one who could be described like that. Gets a little sticky with that honest and honorable stuff, doesn't it? And poodles are hypoallergenic! Ever been in a room with Tom Wark? Oh my God, the guy sheds like a garter snake. Your stupid quote about wine blogging as "the attention barking of lonely poodles" is gratuitously insulting to poodles, and, beyond that it's incredibly stupid. You're a misanthropic moron. You tear everything down and do nothing to contribute to any conversation about wine. And you make fun of poodles! Every poodle on the planet is superior to you, and most beagles too. Why, the world would be a better place if, in fact, wine bloggers were poodles. Hell, they sniff each others butts enough!

But, hey, nice article in the Chronicle!

Sincerely,
Liberace

PS--I had drinks last night with Mondavi, the Gallos and Fred Franzia. They said to say,"Hi, your table is ready."

My Heartwarming Christmas Mailbag

We're well into the Holiday Season, so what better time to rummage through my voluminous hate mail? It always warms my chestnuts to receive thoughtful venom this time of the year. We spend so much time during the holidays communicating affection and gratitude to those we love, but so often we forget to express our heartfelt contempt for the people we wish were dead. I feel lucky that I inspire so many to unabashed and heartwarming hatred. Here are just a few samples from the ol' HoseMaster mailbag.


I've been expecting this letter, but was genuinely moved when I finally received it.


Dear Mr. hose,

where do you get off making fun of me? your always calling me a trained chimp, or a clown, and I don't appreciate it because I'm not a clown or a chimp--you're the trained chimpie, DoucheMaster! I'm a wine internet star and i know more about wine than you'll ever know about chimps. For example, can you just stick your nose in a glass of Italian priorat, say something funny about how it smells, like maybe you say it reminds you of the time uncle larry made you rub him and there was that funny kind of chlorine smell coming from him, and then give the wine a number? maybe one of your chimps can do that but I bet you can't. DoucheMaster of Wine at work

You don't want to mess with me, Mr. Master, i rule the Internet and my little boy toys at Wine Enthusiast gave me an award to prove it. I'm the next Parker and with just one little podcast i can sell whatever crap i decide to. nobody reads your little excuse for a blog. i sniffed one of your posts and i told everybody it smelled like the time i had Jancis Robinson on my show, i bet you never even met him (yeah, people think it's a she, but I know better, i was there), and had eaten some bad borscht and she made a lot of faces but it wasn't that bad, but your post reminded me of it and I gave you a 76! So there.

be sure and let me know if some wine rag gives you an award so i can send my collection of ice wines to hell to store them at a freezing temperature.

happy holidays
Gary Vaynerchuk


Sometimes the letters are just short and to the point...

Dear HoseMaster,

I'm not dead, OK? But if I were dead I'd come back as a Zombie and eat your brain for lunch. With a nice bottle of D'Arenberg 2002 Dead Arm Shiraz which I rated 96 Points--last tasted 6/08.

And your Million Point Scale is stupid too. Who ever heard of a million words on a spelling test?

In vinum illis est meus verum,
Robert Parker, Jr.


And I can only be flattered when someone takes time out from their busy schedule to honor me with their prose.

Dear Ho's Master,

Somewhere there's a pair of Port tongs with your name on it, and one day you'll have a tong tattoo around that pencil neck of yours. This is the wine business, you terroirbag, and we conduct ourselves civilly. We don't post insulting remarks about wine and people on the Internet; we don't lampoon distinguished figures in the industry; we don't pull our metaphorical pants down and fire pooty rockets at wine critics! We only say nice things. Didn't your mother, Rosemary must have been her name, ever teach you the wine blogger's creed, "If you can't say something nice, say something stupid?"

In case you hadn't noticed, these are hard economic times. Many wineries have cases and cases of $150 bottles of wine just languishing in their cellars. Some winery owners in Napa have actually had to go to Mustards for dinner!! Mustards! And you sit at your keyboard and make fun of them! Wine critics are losing their audience, their clout. Where once they sold truckloads of admittedly overpriced wines, their very recommendation enough to start a ten-year waiting list for yet another cult Cabernet Sauvignon, now they brag about moving crap that sells for under $20. Bragging about it! It's our #1 Wine of the Year! Imagine their shame, the disgrace the economy and thoughtless bloggers like you have brought upon them. What next? The New York Times Book Review puts a Dan Brown novel on it's Ten Best List? The Playmate of the Year is Helen Turley? The Oscar goes to Tom Cruise? At a time when midgets rule the Earth, is this a time for your two pathetic cents?

Your blog is disgusting, and everyone who reads it needs to get a Home Lobotomy Kit for Christmas. I just hope you get what you deserve for Christmas, Ho's Master, the worst thing that can happen to a guy like you. Success.

Merry Christmas,
Robert Mondavi

PS--Like RP says, we ain't dead!

Opening Up the Ol' Male Bag

It's time once again to dip into the old mailbag and reprint some of the voluminous and enlightening mail that I receive here at HoseMaster of Wine. The most interesting comments I receive come via my personal email and not as posts in the Comments section. Obviously. Herewith, a few of the recent epistles.



Dear Mr. Washam, Fellow Nobel Laureate,

Congratulations on your Nobel Prize for Wine Blogging. As I was telling Michelle just the other day as I was putting the big Barack to her in the Lincoln library, I never miss an episode of "The M.S. Conspiracy." Never read it, never miss it. But that's not why I'm writing.

Ron, I really think you should bring back the naked girls you used to have on your blog. Now, I'm not the kind of President who thinks naked girls are entertainment, that was President Clinton. I'm still scraping the stuff off underneath the Presidential desk in the Offal Office. Naked women are what made America great, and they should be celebrated. Our forefathers knew about naked women, heck, that's why they're our forefathers. I don't know if you're aware of this, but I can trace my lineage directly back to Thomas Jefferson's slow cousin George. And, in his great words, "Well, we're movin' on up." So those people who have said that it was degrading and exploitative for you to post cheesecake photos on HoseMaster of Wine, well, they're simply wrong. Or they're lying bastards like those assholes at Fox News, where America goes to escape the truth.

I'll see you in Oslo. You may have heard that I won the Nobel Peace Prize. And, hell, I didn't have to kill half the number of people Kissinger did to win it!

Io Triumphe,
President Barack Obama



Dear Mr. Washam,

Perhaps you've heard that "Gourmet" magazine has ceased its print publication. We ran out of recipes. Hell, we were reprinting crap we ran in the '70's, surrounding it with staged photos of shallow pinheads pretending to have an actual dinner party and for some reason no one was buying it. It was my idea to run stories about food and culture, about the history of food, about food as a substitute for sex, especially zucchini. I hired some of the best writers in the business, which ain't saying much, granted, but still, they were the best. And for what? Decreased circulation, like a guy with E.D. I wrote endlessly about my life, about how my mother and my family influenced me, ridiculously vapid and maudlin stories of growing up with the love that came out of my mother's kitchen, thinking that would get the suckers to subscribe, but, as it turned out, schmaltz only sells so many magazines. I should have gone with more food porn. I've got shots of Rachel Ray removing kernels from corn cobs with her, oh, never mind. Though it does make a tasty goulash.

Anyhow, now that "Gourmet" has gone the way of dinosaurs, passenger pigeons and Sarah Palin's integrity (did you see where her almost son-in-law is going to pose nude in "Playgirl" showing his Alaskan pipeline to fifteen minutes of fame and fatherhood?), I'm wondering if you have any need for a guest blogger on your esteemed HoseMaster of Wine. Oh, I can write all about growing up with wine and how I learned to feel love at my mother's knee as she opened her third bottle of Green Hungarian in the kitchen while Dad was working late at the office again. Or I can write all about wine and culture with all kinds of insight. Did you know wine was Jesus' first miracle? It was. And then he turned the bottles into fish bottles. Or something like that. I'll do some research. Or I can write one of those Gerald Asher type articles that talk all about the history of wine. Did you know the Vikings, when they discovered Minnesota, called it Vineland? Isn't that interesting? I didn't even know they spoke English. I'm chock full of this stuff, and I'm better than Asher. I didn't demote him at "Gourmet" to writing wine pairing filler for nothing. Sheesh, who needs articulate and educated writing when you can have pretentious and laborious pontificating? I know from your work that you wholeheartedly agree.

I look forward to hearing from you and working with you to make HoseMaster of Wine the next "Gourmet."

Sincerely,
Ruth Reichl



Dear Mr. HoseMaster,

I don't for a minute believe that you know the first thing about wine. Or comedy, for that matter. You never even talk about wine on your stupid blog, you just write idiotic pulp fiction parodies and make fun of real wine bloggers. I don't read wine blogs to be entertained, for God's sake, no one does. In fact, as you well know, the only people who read wine blogs are other wine bloggers, pathetic wine wannabes, and social media consultants for wineries. In other words, Losers.

At least serious wine bloggers have a goal. They want to influence people with their taste. They generously stoop to teach the poor unwashed ignoramuses who just like to drink wine that it isn't enough to enjoy wine, it's more important to preach about it. They remind us that all other wine critics are corrupt and misguided, that opinion has a place in the wine world, just not yours. They live to suck up the free samples taking up space in winery warehouses--OK, they used to be for sale, but now they're free samples. They perform a service, they remind us that wine isn't an adult beverage meant to bring enjoyment with a meal, it's an adult beverage meant to bring enjoyment to a meal if they say it brings enjoyment, and not a minute sooner.

And what about you, Mr. HoseMaster? What is it that you do? Aside from amuse yourself, and no one else, with your snide asides and ignorant opinions? Why don't you just drop the facade and admit you don't know anything about wine? You're not fooling anybody. Of course, it probably doesn't matter, who would buy a wine you recommended anyway? Who would be that stupid? OK, the folks who buy Murphy-Goode, fine.

I suggest you find another line of work and abandon your mind-numbingly stupid blog. I hear there are a lot of positions available in wine marketing. You'd be perfect.

Sincerely,
Anonymous

Hate Mail for the HoseMaster

When you annoy people in the name of comedy, you get letters. Slinging unwanted barbs at people can be dangerous work, ask any porcupine. But it ain't satire unless you ruffle some feathers, and HoseMaster of Wine has ruffled more feathers than Big Bird masturbating. I thought I might share some of those angry epistles with my loyal readers.

After I referred to Mr. Jess Jackson as "Huckleberry" a few times I received this note:

Dear Mr. Hosemaster,
I'm going to hunt you down and beat you like a Fred Furth voodoo doll. Your implication that I have lost my grip on reality is libelous, insulting and I own thirty wineries. None of which are currently making any money, Sweetcheeks, and I resent the fact that you say they are. Just where do you get off saying that Murphy-Goode wines taste like the grapes want revenge? I bought a perfectly nice blogger, Hardy Burgundy, or some stupid fucking name like that, and look at all the good that's done me. I can't even race the mule. I love mule races. No money in them, not like owning thoroughbreds like Verite, but it's fun to watch those big stupid animals like Hardy Breakfast run in circles. But, hey, don't try to confuse me, I'm here to make a point. I own thirty wineries. Thirty. Calling me Huckleberry rolls off me like integrity rolls of Marvin Shanken, another mule I own, and a good one. I'll buy every blogger alive, don't think I won't. I got the money right here in my pants next to where I keep my keys to the thirty (THIRTY) wineries I own. Which don't make money no matter what you say in your stupid blog. Hey, don't I own you as well as that Hardy Handshake fucker? I need to ask my wife. She must be around here somewhere. She's not in my pants. Hell, she's probably at one of the thirty wineries I own and you don't, Hosemaster of Shit.
Sincerely, Huck


I've taken a disproportionate amount of cheap shots at Alder Yarrow whose blog Vinography wins Best Wine Blog every year, which says more about wine blogging than anything I could say. (Sheesh, there I go writing like Alder, who punctuates like an orangutan.)


Ron,
While I very much appreciate your background in wine, your rise from lowly comedy writer to sommelier, the passion you've shown for the bounty of the grapes, the wit and eloquence with which you skewer wines, the wine business, wine bloggers and people with deformities, mostly of the mammary persuasion, your mission to redefine wine blogging, an admirable mission, a Sonoma Mission, if you'll pardon my attempts at your trademarked humor, by making me a personal target leaves me ill at ease.

I came to the wine business late in life, some would say so late I missed that ferry, and the one after it. But I've been posting religiously and frequently about wine for five years. I want to thank, first of all, my wife, whose patience and understanding have been astonishing given that writing about wine is not my main occupation! I know, I know, it's hard to believe! Wine is not my main career. How could it be? That would be like a brain surgeon operating with hand tools. Or like a tennis player with no balls. Or like Kevin Costner. My blog is among the most widely read and admired, especially by wineries who know I learned my lesson from my mother who used to always say, as mothers do, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. And if you say something nice, expect free stuff." Aren't Moms always right?

I am ill at ease because I can't think of anything nice to say to you. You're mean. You make my tummy all woozy. When your blog comes up in my Google Alerts, oh, God, don't you love Google Alerts?, I get all sweaty and I want to go downstairs and talk to my wife, only she's not there, she's just out with her girlfriends, she'll be home before I'm done posting Vinography and I'll once again be able to guess what wine she's been drinking from her breath and the stains on her dress, and people still say I can't taste blind. Then I read your mean remarks and it just makes me wish I'd never gotten into the wine business. Just stop. Go after that BiggerThanYourHead guy, he's the real doo-doo head. Sorry, Mom.
Sincerely, Alder


And I couldn't believe it when this note showed up in my email.


Dear Mr. Washman,

As publisher of Wine Spectator I take offense when you call it, "a lifestyle publication for those dweebs who sorely need to get a life and get a style." We take great pride in our reader demographics, which skew towards the upwardly mobile, the active, and those who read at a fourth grade level. So, basically, people who run for City Council. Compare that with your readers who wouldn't know a Rolex from a Timex, a Cuban cigar from a horse turd, or a bottle of Hardy Rodenstock Jefferson Bordeaux from a fake. I knew it was a fake all along, by the way, I just didn't say anything. See Thomas Matthews' article on "The Billionaire's Vinegar" in the next issue of Wine Spectator--OK, OK, we have timeliness issues, but we're working on it. It runs right after the article about Jess Jackson's search for a Social Media Director at Murphy-Goode and the piece about William Foley buying Michael Jackson's remains.

And I don't much appreciate the potshots at my weight. "Marvin is so big that last year the tent for the Napa Valley auction was one of his old pair of underpants." "Marvin was a big hero at Sebastiani Winery when he noticed a leaking foudre and quickly secured it with his belt." And, "After Marvin's last visit to Cuba to pick up cigars, 79 people used him to illegally sail to Florida." What is your stupid blog, The Marvin Shanken Roast? (ED. NOTE--which would be enough to feed the city of Florence.) Get off my back, Hosepunk, or I'll sick Laube, Kramer, Steiman, and Suckling on you. Worse than that, I'll give you a lifetime subscription to Wine Enthusiast. See how you like that.

Sincerely,
Marvelous Marv Shanken


And those are just three out of the gigantic pile of hate mail the ol' Hosemaster receives! You should read the one I got from Robert Mondavi, postmarked Hell! Maybe next time...