Why won't somebody pay us to whine?

Now wouldn't that be great? I think a MacArthur Foundation genius grant would be an acceptable recompense for all the whining we do, here and in other quarters. But, really whining sounds so unpleasant—we would have had to call it Finge Whinging.

Or perhaps a Whine Tasting party would be a good perk-up.

Tell me, sir, how is your cabernet?
It's a caber-not, the worst yet today.

Tell me, miss, how's your pinot noir?
Just a common black red, ce soir.

And ma'am, the tang of your pouilly fusse?
Pbbt-really fussy, that's what I say.

And, cuz, how's the taste of your merlot?
Bleah! What else you got? Er, go.