As much as I enjoy breaking Master Wing's balls--which are supple and oh-so-smooth--he is really one of the least offensive of the TeeVee wartche shills. This might sound like faint praise, like speaking of the most intelligent Kardashian, and so it is.
There have been so many malignant personages in the Florida Wartche Triangle, starting with Eyal Lalo, probably the worst of the lot, took a leaf from Sturhling Unoriginal's book by pretending that his shit didn't stink, that wearing a Mighty Hydromax, complete with a skull wearing a sombrero in the dial, made a guy as cool and prestigious as some rich lout wearing a Rolex Deepsea. Of course, it didn't, but try to tell the simps who lined up, wearing Cheeto-stained wife-beaters and Vans trucker's caps, to buy his wartchs.
Or perhaps we could look at the ultimate greaser, Daniel Mink, who, at one time, was the highest end brand that Shop carried--again, insert Kardashian joke here--but who, through monumentally bad mismanagement of the brand of Renatoe--assuming a wartche slapped together in Hong Kong could be considered a "brand", devolved to trying to hawk Black Card programs, tourbillons that never got delivered, and even a weird Tupperware-type grift where you would spend big bucks to La Mink, and be able to do "Renatoe Parties."
Compared to these losers, Master Wing was pretty self-effacing, actually stood behind his product and fixed shit that was broken, and catered to his increasingly delusional customers.