Deacon Dr. Fresh Wine Newsletter

A Wine Newsletter With An Edge - Definitely NOT your typical white bread, mofo, cracker, peckerwood, jank, peckercracker wine newsletter! If this info is too advanced for you, check out my other newsletter: Wine for Dix at

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Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada

World's Lurchest Wine Writer - The Gangsta of the Grape - The Sultan of Shiraz - The Buccaneer of Burgundy - The Prince of Pinot Noir - Yellow Tail's Bane - Locus of the Ladies' Focus - Wielder of the trousered Hammer of Thor - I have arrived to rescue the wine world from overly-serious, rigid, deconstructionist, rooster juice peckerwoods who'd never dream of gettin' a tattoo or crackin' a smile. I am without a doubt, the smartest, funniest and toughest sumbitch in the entire wine industry. And I aint goin' away. All disputes will be settled bare-knuckled in the Octagon. You heard me. Oh, and by the way...Bite me crank!

Thursday, February 12, 2009


So stop your lame-ass widdlin' and snivelin'! It is a glorious day in Scarlem because His Excellency, President Deacon Doctor Fresh - the Undefeated Welterweight Wine Fighting Champion of the World is back on the scene!

Control yourself ladies and hos! I got a wife!

Wassup, homeys and cheeseheads?

Now it's true that your Deacon has not put quill to parchment for a long time and of course, the whole effing planet's axing "Screw the economic meltdown! Where's the Deacon?" Well I'm here to tell y'all that it's been one fantastic whirlwind of a year. Not only has your humble Deacon guzzled about 3 bottles of quality vino a day since my last posting, but there's been a lot of other stuff goin'on too.

Thanks to all you mega-fanz who've stuck with me, even though I've been below the radar for reasons I'm about to explain. I kept hearing from people like Colio homey Doug Beatty and Billy Munnelly axin' your Deacon where he gone to. Your concern is appreciated, and your Deaconic addiction is about to be assuaged and mollified...Where else can you find a gangsta wine journalist that actually reads Ginsberg, Salinger, Basho and Machiavelli? Nowhere, peckah!

And now of course, the usual emetic and cathartic rant...

Greetings assorted DIX and bastards and a hearty ingest my banana to all you "extra-hot latte with soy milk" Stradlater-styled morons who don't understand how brilliant this gonzo wine column actually is!

What a fantastic rant that was! I didn't edit it at all, it just flowed in a stream of consciousness...Shades of Virginia Frickin Woolf!

So...there is so much to tell you that I don't know where to start. Last year, one of my peeps, Tony Aspler got the Order of Canada and deserves a hearty congratulations for it! This is the highest civilian recognition in the Great White North, and although we don't have to call him Sir Tony, I think it's probably a good idea and will help us all stay in his good books in case he winds up as Prime Minister some day. Now speaking of awards...

Around June last year, I got a mysterious phone-call on my cel, which surprised me, since almost nobody's got that number. It was this serious sounding guy and he axed me to meet him at the Four Seasons Hotel for drinks, and told me it would be "in my best interest". Now your humble Deacon's more than happy to meet a challenge head on, so I took the Bentley out of mothballs and roared downtown. I burst into the lobby bar and was met by a friendly black dude who was flanked by a couple of genuine heavies. I can't tell you his name due to issues of National Security, but his initials were B.O. It turned out that he was running for President of a major Super Power and wanted your Deacon's support. I axed what was in it for me and he axed what my price was, and I thought about it for a minute or two. Then I answered that I wanted the planet Mars. He seemed relieved and said that it was doable. All I had to do was make some hilariously damaging comments about his opponent and make sure they were widely circulated.

"You have an enormous influence on the general populace" he said smiling.

True dat!

I'd write the smear and his team would do the rest. I figured this was a good deal, and drove home and wrote a pamphlet describing his nemesis, John McC*in as a kimodo dragon wearing a suit and standing on its hind legs. Then I printed about a million of these on my HP printer and flew all over a certain country to the south in my Apache Attack Helicopter, dropping leaflets by the bundle. Rozeen and the South Central Wine Posse helped out.

Obviously it worked. The rest is history.

So awhile back, NASA sent a space plane for me and flew me to Mars where a huge 2 month long ceremony was held in my honour, with over 3,000 performers gathered at Cydonia where they have this giant face from a previous ancient civilization. I was presented with some gifts, including a crystal skull, a Mayan calendar and a bunch of diamonds and emeralds. We drank Krug Champagne and watched the sun rise between Phobos and Deimos, and then I was proclaimed Emperor of Mars.

That's right! I'm the effing Emperor of Mars!

Let's see you top that one, Aspler!

And you people thought your lives were interesting.

More to follow...

Deacon Dr. Fresh
Emperor and Legal Owner of the Planet Mars

Prime Cydonian Real Estate available! Act now!

You heard me.


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