I, Anonymous

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