Sometimes, I just wanna get my spic on.
That’s the thought process that goes on right before I come here. I’m all like “Orlando, sometimes I just wanna get my motherfucking spic on,” and then people look at me funny because I say it aloud in a packed elevator. I talk to myself pretty often because I read somewhere that Hitler used to talk to himself and I want to be just as influential as he was.
…Hitler used to talk to himself and I want to be just as influential as he was.
Well, not just as influential but you know what I mean.
Speaking of Hitler, Baru is full of my peeps. I like to dance salsa and merengue because it’s like acceptably dry-humping without resorting to the classlessness of reggaeton. Mind you, I’m not always down to make my way to fish tank-like venues where bartenders take pesos, but there’s a time and a place for that and when the time comes I’m glad it’s at a close enough place.
The last time I went they charged $10 at the door. Normally, this is a problem, but what they do here is give you a little ticket worth $10 at the bar, so all they’re really doing is ensuring that everyone buy at least one drink. I guess I’m fine with that. By the way, those girls working the door? Jesus Christ dude, it’s like they took Sofia Vergara’s DNA and cloned a bunch of mini-hotties with funny accents.
The DJs here don’t go around trying to be pretentious assholes either. It sounds like they just turn on El Sol 95.7 or La Mega 97.9 and let that shit run. Good, because I don’t feel like listening to a mashup closely enough to hear which two artists I should hate. Recently I heard a Black Eyed Peas + Taio Cruz mix and decided to take up witchcraft to see if there’s anything I can do about that wretched combination.
…I suspect they sell arepas and shit.
Clearly, I’m reviewing this place in its nightclub form. During the day it’s a restaurant, and I suspect they sell arepas and shit. That was a turn of phrase, I don’t literally mean they sell feces along with arepas. At least, I hoping it’s nothing like Dolores But You Can Call Me Lolita.
Now in a place like this populated by women that come from nations where boobjobs are as traditional to womanhood as bat mitzvahs, it’s imperative that you can dance. That’s how you break the ice with a Colombian girl. You either dance with her or cut up some white powder. No, I don’t mean laundry detergent because she’s a woman, I mean cocaine because she’s Colombian. Do I have to explain everything? Damn.
To sum it up, hot Hispanic chicks, lots of dancing, and no English allowed.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 1001 South Miami Ave
- Miami, FL 33130
- (786) 991-4570