A Review of A Review of Sleep No More | The Honey Badger Chronicles

Let us begin with the review in question.  It is a one-star review of Sleep No More by Amaria M:

"I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet."
- Def Leppard

A few weeks ago, Tom and I slipped onto a 1 train uptown. Tom sat down next to a saucy minx with an enormous quilted tote bag nestled in her lap. She twisted like a corkscrew in her plastic orange subway seat, squeezed some savage duck lips, lined up her Android and snapped a selfie. With the flash.

Her hair swished left, her ample flesh went right, a re-duckeling of the lips. Another selfie. With the flash. Sexy squirming. Repeat. 17 glamour selfies in the time it took to get to West 72nd.

Most of the humans in the subway car who were not blinded by the strobing flash were extremely busy taking Vine videos of our MTA starlet. Mostly, I was just confused. Such activity simply could not be happening without "Pour a Little Sugar on Me" blaring like the voice of god.

I think it must have been Amaria M, yelp reviewer, making all those duck lips on that 1 train and blinding everybody within range of her strobe-level flash. Amaria M is like the honey badger. She don't give a shit. She just does whatever the fuck she wants on the subway. She writes whatever the fuck she wants in a review. Here is a short interpretive rendering of her yelp submission, in my own words:

I'm Amaria M and I'm excessively concerned about my handbag. You might think I have a handbag like this to be so scrunchface worried that the Sleep No More coat check girl would make off with it:

But my handbag looks like this:

Make no mistake, I don't get out much. And when I do, I'm one of those self-entitled folks who hauls my gigantic beach bag purse into a crowded venue and wields it to squash innocent bystanders' kidneys into nutty little samosas.

"You can't blame gravity when you trip over your gigantic handbag and fall on your face."
 - Albert Einstein, except most of the words have been changed.

Wah, I'm Amaria M and I don't read my email but I'm still going to get my ass all ragged over a $5 coat check girl. I've never seen a mandatory coat check girl in New York City in my whole life. And OMG, I had TO PAY. That's outrageous. Everything in Manhattan is usually free.

I'll grant you, it's probably a huge security risk to let lots of people run around in the dark toting huge lumpy personal baggage. Except I'm not talking about "lots of people" here, I'm talking about MEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Let me just throw in a short afterthought about the "actual show." It's literally a mystery to me why I decided to go to an arthouse performance with "creepy anxious orchestral music." I hate the bleeding-edge. I hate weird macabre shit. I'd rather be relaxing at the Olive Garden where there is lots of seating. I knew what to expect because of the Sleep No More NY Times review, 400 blogs, and the website where I bought my tickets, but I thought to myself ... I'm still gonna do this thing. I'm an intrepid masochist with a whole lot of one-star reviews jammed in my honeybadger-skin (faux, but I wish it was real) handbag.

Right now, I'm headed out to buy pants that are 4 sizes too small and give Banana Republic a one-star review for shitty clothing that doesn't fit.

Oh, also, I don't have any friends on yelp. I have no idea why. I'd hoped the creepy doll with no eyeballs would attract lots of other people like me who enjoy watching reruns of Dawson's Creek and eating powdered mini-donuts you can buy at CVS when they go on sale at 9 pm.

#Sleep No More Review #SleepNoMore #McKittrickHotel #McKittrick Hotel #yelp