Finally I devoted twenty-eight tokens’ worth of my time to a relatively straight item, in which a slack-jawed cowboy got the lot, everything from soup to nuts, at the expense of the talented Juanita del Pablo. Just before the male’s climax the couple separated with jittery haste. Then she knelt in front of him. One thing was clear: the cowboy must have spent at least six chaste months on a yoghurt ranch eating nothing but icecream and buttermilk, and with a watertight no-handjob clause in his contract. By the time he was through, Juanita looked like the patsy in the custard-pie joke, which I suppose she was. The camera proudly lingered as she spat and blinked and coughed…Hard to tell, really, who where the biggest loser in this complicated transaction – her, him, them, me.
– Martin Amis: “Money”, (p. 47)