Hung over, I stagger to the juice aisle and select an enticing receptacle, anticipating the sweet relief its rich, nectarous contents promise my desiccated membranes. Outside, though, I am forced to spit the foul, watery, insipid liquid into the gutter. What is this acrid, ersatz abomination I was just duped into purchasing? Struggling to focus on the label, I am assailed by the repellant phrase "Vitamin Water." My wrath boils over as I hurl the bottle at a defenseless Vespa. You vile capitalist marketing bitches! Of all the blitheringly idiotic refuse you've attempted to ram down our throats, this is the worst. Even the Crystal Pepsi fad pales beside this egregious affront. Look here, you Bioré Strip whores, during the siege of Leningrad an entire city survived for 900 days on zoo animals, wallpaper glue, and putrefied sheep intestines, and here you are asking us to actually pay for your bland, freakishly colored fucking water? Please. Whatever focus group assented to the proliferation of this monstrosity ought to be thoroughly lashed. You and your spurious fluids are so not invited back in 2008.—Anonymous