Sehr empfehlenswert ist anonymous juice: the review of everything i´ve ever encountered.

Beispiele:

The Bad Thong Experience

-----> Leanne arrived from Canada and checked into the Chelsea Arts Club. Her room had pictures of Quentin Crisp and Francis Bacon on the wall. Downstairs we walked past the bar and the snooker table, into a back yard full of benches, long grass and empty gin and tonic glasses. L. had scored me Canadian chocolate bars on the way over so we began dividing a Crispy Crunch on the bench, acutely aware that we were the only people in London -- nay, the entire UK -- eating the colony’s finest bar. When the afternoon ended in a slow, yellowed fade we moved to the dining room for dinner. I began walking -- loping about, really -- like I thought people should in an arts club like this. The maitre d’ stood by the door to the restaurant, sipping wine and assaulting each incoming customer with his loud, gregarious voice. The room filled; as the light faded more people loped in from the garden, drinks in hand, and seated themselves at the long table.

The thong presented itself suddenly. I was caught by surprise, as most people are in a bad thong encounter. A woman at the table to my left had become increasingly excited over a comment made by one of the guests. After a long sip of white wine she leapt up to screech a rebuttal. While her pants followed in spirit, most of the fabric didn’t make the journey with her and suddenly I was witness to the excruciating sight of a pale English ass beginning to swallow an innocent band of Chinese lycra. (It was another result of rampant globalism -- the West consuming the East without mercy.) Suddenly the duck breast that had been set before me -- a thick slice of meat perched on a perfect circle of orange squash, drizzled in strands of spinach -- looked as appetizing as a plate of manure. The woman lifted herself further over the table to caw, forcing her jeans another inch south, revealing even more massive, dimpled blankness. I used my fork to motion to L., who was picking bones from the fish in front of her.

“Check that out."

“Check what out?” She looked. “Oh my god.”

-----> None of the stores are open on the Hohenstrasse on a Sunday. Even the Baby Gap is dark, ominous, with children’s half-naked mannequins prostrate in the windows. But the crowds are out regardless, if only to peer into the shops. It’s a strange sight for anyone weaned on the instant satisfaction of Sunday shopping. The largest crowd is in front of the Kaufhof building where the windows have signs in them saying Spielzueg-Schau! In the display are various Christmas landscapes full of animatronic elephants and rabbits moving in that dopamined animatronic manner, all the while singing a song that goes something like ‘poo-poo-poo-poo-yeah-yeah-yeah-booma’ in high, Germanic animal voices.

There are around fifty people watching the creatures. The crowd is three deep and they’re mostly adults. The smell of pipe smoke drifts through in the air.

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