Your Yelp reviews suck because they look like you.
It's bad to profile people. Stereotypes are abundant in this day and age, and I can assure you with the utmost certainty that these stereotypes - be they of religious, cultural, or racial groups - are absolutely falsified constructs. You cannot gauge people based on how they look or speak. People will be people, and you must truly understand those people before you can pass judgment upon them.
Unless, of course, they've posted a review on Yelp or Google within the past year.
Online critics, in my experience, are horrible people.
The tales they weave of their discontent at the nearest sushi bar or burger joint are rife with inconsistencies. In the same string of words that claim the taco they ate was the "worst of all time," they'll admit that they've never eaten a taco before in their lives.
Critics: if you've ever reviewed a food and thought that your detailed, scathing paragraphs about the texture and taste of an item you could never possibly hope to accomplish the creation of in your own kitchen are going to be heralded as the epitome of a food review and ushered into the Yelp Hall of Fame, you are dead wrong.
Your mid-3os soccer mom with a bob haircut that demands to speak to a manager at every establishment they walk in to regardless of whether or not they've been there before attitude stops with me.
I'm reviewing the reviewers. They're going to be local to me in the hopes that they find and read this article, and subsequently attempt to hunt me down and kill me.
The names of these horrible children in adult bodies have been changed so that their actual children don't read this article and realize that their parents should be shunned and disrespected.
Cucumber Dream
Cucumber Dream here just got a kebab from a Persian kebab food cart. Naturally, being that she picked a food cart - where the general idea of the food is to contain meat - she purchased the "veggie" kebab, and immediately complained about it.
Does Cucumber Dream bring this concern up to the purveyor of the food?
Presumably not.
Instead, Cucumber Dream takes seven dollars worth of easily replaceable kebab - well, if she had generated the decency to raise her complaints to the chef, of course - and tosses it directly into the trash.
Harsh, Cucumber Dream!
Thankfully, it seems you have other reviews. Let's see what's recently been stamped with your seal of approval.
Thanks, Cucumber Dream!
Who's that jumping onto the scene?
Why, it's none other than California native "Heyyyyyyyyy," which is a name that I crafted by Photoshopping her original name into a greeting that she presumably utilizes on a constant basis when meeting with friends.
Heyyyyyyyyy has just come to Portland in search of food. Namely, she's on the hunt for sushi.
There are several things wrong with this review that I'd like to point out. First and foremost, Heyyyyyyyyy was "really hopping" for some "ok sushi." Upon setting foot in Portland, she transformed into a frog with a hankering for some raw fish slices.
Beyond that, the idea that Portland does not have "ok sushi" based off of her experiences at a single sushi bar is incredible to me. There are plenty of sushi places in Portland, and a lot of them are extremely good. Hell, we have an award-winning sushi restaurant here.
I am assuming that Heyyyyyyyyy suffers from a crippling disorder, however: object permanence.
If it's not in her field of view, it doesn't exist. If you were to show Bamboo Sushi's awards to Heyyyyyyyyy, she would be enthralled and demand to visit the restaurant, but the second the awards leave her sight she is lost upon the dark waves of cravings, pining for a sushi that never was.
Also, duckface? Really?
YouTube Jones
I've named YouTube Jones after one of the reviews I'll be talking about later, wherein he raves angrily about a bar that he used to, in turn, rave positively about to his YouTube channel. YouTube Jones, I already care less about your channel that I was not aware of ten seconds ago.
You, however, are an amazing specimen.
There are a few things that YouTube Jones loves to do in his reviews:
-Misspell words.
-Tell tales.
-Take contextless photos of ATMs.
We're going to be taking a look at all three instances of these bulletpoints here.
First, we have a review of a bar.
I've left the second review at the bottom in because I believe that there is a tale to be told in the star ratings. YouTube Jones finds the confines of jail more appealing than a saloon. He had less negative tales to tell about a state penitentiary than he did a small bar on the corner of a street. I also find that his story about the saloon doesn't really make any sense, and I feel like he may have overexaggerated.
His following reviews fare no better in my mind.
If you've read that review, congratulations!
If you're skimming, let me summarize this for you: YouTube Jones went to a gas station, bought two gallons of milk, and - to his shock - they were not good.
YouTube Jones then went on to say that he went to an actual grocery store "just down the street." Lo and behold, their milk was fine. My favorite statement is that he "maybe left the gallons of milk out, even though he didn't leave the gallons of milk out."
YouTube Jones... Are you hiding something?
Did you leave your gas station milk out, YouTube Jones?
I can't say much about this one. He clearly was going to give this gym one star, if it were not for a girl working out there that is "soooooooo HOT" and he likes that there are hot girls at the gym.
I feel like YouTube Jones has never touched gym equipment in his life, and he may have just been staring through the window longingly.
Finally, we have these two reviews:
There are no star ratings. There are no reviews. There are only ATMs.
Truth be told, these may be my two favorite reviews. There is no bias in their dealings - no star rating weighing down upon any words that may be spoken. Only a name, a place, and an ATM.
You've redeemed yourself in my eyes for these ones, YouTube Jones.
God bless.
I hold a hamburger tightly in my two trembling powerful hands. My fingers puncture the bun, and then the lettuce and tomato, arriving at the center, the meat, the cow that was, the food that is, the energy that will be, boring into the cooked delicacy of Americana with the force heavy machinery of undeniable destruction.
My fingertips meet, and for a second, I pause, letting my fingers linger in complete rings like the onion rings I had cast aside onto the floor with a forceful and angry sweep a few minutes before the main event. I then follow through with my task, my finger bones crushing each other into dust as I collapse my fingers and thumbs into the meat, adding to its savory flavor, until my hands are naught but stumps disappearing into the growing monstrosity of edible sinewy beef, my muscles intermingling with the juices and creating spasms that bring out the taste.
I then bring it to my unhinged jaw and start to heave this mixture of flesh and carbohydrates into my gullet, allowing myself to consume the hamburger, the bun, all that remained, and then my stubs, my arms, my legs, my heart, a true McOuroboros, a Singularity King, Endy's, we are all one with the meat, and as we are meat we will meet ourselves in the afterlife,

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