Thursday, March 09, 2006

South Beach Randomary, Part II

1. OH MY GAG. Now I've heard it all. I can officially pimp a ride on that spaceship to sanity. Rescue me!

8th and Ocean
... a reality drama about models trying to make it big on South Beach. Whoa! Slow down! A REALITY DRAMA about South Beach? A REALITY DRAMA? HELLO! Am I the only one to note the oxymoron?

2. Um, what's an oxymoron? A dumb ass who adds bleach to the laundry during the spin cycle. Um, what's a spin cycle: the number of revolutions of a tricked-out hubcap.

3. Speaking of tricks, actual quotes from Euclid Avenue:

a) REAR WINDOW
"Hey dude, remember that apartment across the alley where the water was running from the faucet for weeks? Well, now there's a hazmat crew cleaning up the place."

b) GET A ROOM
"Hey, dude! You will not believe this! It's 1 AM and there's a couple having sex in plain view on the sidewalk. Not the swail mind you, the SIDEWALK!"

c) TRICKS ARE FOR KIDS
"Hey dude, I just bumped into my neighbor. He was butt naked! 'My trick is freaking out on me,' he said. Next thing I know, 'trick' is coming out of the apartment upstairs, fully clothed and completely composed!"

"Dude, who says 'tricks' nowadays? That's SO seventies!"

(What is truly disturbing about these conversations is not the actual sex and death on public display, but the fact that the interlocuters were concerned about things like hazmat, swail and whether or not the words "haz," "swail," and "tricks" are actually fashionably popular. You know, we just love that proverbial elephant in our own parking lot. Can't see the crime scene or the couple having sex from the palm trees, that sort of myopia.)

5. Speaking of worn-out words, there's a verb born every minute. Our friend at FANLESS puts a whole new spin on fashion-forward vocabulary.

The verb "stank" is not only the past participle of "stink," but the new black this season for your ho-lingual wardrobe. Don't even think about sauntering down Ocean Drive without edible candy panties (available at Riviera Liquors on Collins and 24th as a point of purchase item) and hollering "stank" off your pierced tongue! It's the mot juste du jour!

6. Speaking of edible panties, our friend at FANLESS just recently experienced a close encounter of the yuck kind:

"This morning I was returning to the office after buying a can of Monster energy, and as I walked in, some model dropped her iPod. I kneeled down to pick it up for her, and she kneeled down too. When I looked up to hand it to her I was greeted by her beaver, prominently on display for the whole world to see, thanks to her very short denim skirt."

Folks, in days of yore, women would drop their handkerchiefs to arouse the attention of a gentleman. But today, flirtation of this sort is dangerous. As our medical correspondent, Doctor Suck Mygupta explains, "this is how 'chick flu' spreads. Next time you sit down in that trendy, outdoor café, make sure you wipe the seat with clorox. You just don't know what skank ho saddled down on that chair, exposing her twat to the world, vaginal and anal excretions freely flowing onto the chair and dripping onto the sidewalk."

7. Speaking of excretions, since when is outing your beaver all the fashion rave? I mean, showing the thong-rash on your butt crack while wearing low-rider jeans aint enough? Girls, leave something to the imagination, please!

In a recent ho-hunt expedition to Lincoln Road, Manola spotted -- in the spell of two hours -- a handful of seriously disturbed anorexic women wearing short denim skirts and walking chihuahuas as big as their clitori. Here's an idea: why not limit public pussy pandering to your next appointment at the ob/gyn?

8. Speaking of medical exams, boys, you're not off the hook. The buck doesn't stop at beaver. Please, gay fellas, we love you, but don't ride your bike down Lincoln Road at 250 mph, ass lifted high off the seat, wearing a speedo. The hospital gown worn at the proctologist's prior to a colonoscopy is more discreet.

9. Speaking of anal probes, our sex therapy correspondent, Dr. Sue Yankyourchainon, agrees with Manola that those men who prefer the path of poop over the path of puss should simply stick their dicks where the sun don't shine, and obviously, the sun IS shining on many a puss-in-heels in South Beach!

10. Speaking of sunshine, Manola would like to move to Philadelphia. It's the only place where she received a decent compliment from a man on the street. "Hello, sunshine!"

See, cocks and dolls, while you're showing your genitals to the world, the art of flirtation is threatened with extinction. Sensuality is not about show. It's about tell.

xox

Manola BBB

1 comment:

recovered comments said...

fanless said...
This is pretty much the best blog post ever!
3:54 PM

n said...
"those men who prefer the path of poop over the path of puss should simply stick their dicks where the sun don't shine"

Amen. But isn't that the point? Boom Boom!

You've just reminded me of a whole new sexual...er... avenue I haven't explored, nor want to explore. It's too scary, and I don't think there are maps...
9:24 AM