Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Mondrian South Beach

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South Beach hotels, along with brothels and used car dealerships, are places where you know with unequivocal certainty that there are some people being fucked at any given moment in time.

…there are some people being fucked at any given moment in time.

The combination of alcohol, good looking people, and expensive rooms a button-press away guarantees that. That’s why if you’re not in the mood to hit up an obnoxiously smokey+loud SoBe club a hotel bar is a smart alternative. I think it should be a given that whenever I review a hotel I’m not really reviewing the hotel itself and just its fornication vector; the bar(s). Saturday I happened to be there kickin’ it with a rockstar jewelress and her fans. That should be a word. Anyway, I had some awkward little situations leading up to it after leaving Artwalk.

When I arrived, I didn’t want to valet, especially there since last time I did that some Jamaican asshole “fixed” my presets. He didn’t change any of the stations I had, instead what he did was order them numerically. One to six, from lowest to highest, now contained radio stations set from lowest to highest. That would be cute and endearing if it was done by a swollen-chested blond girl that quivered a little bit whenever I said her name, but it was done by some dick in a polo. So I didn’t use the valet. Instead, I found a parking spot three blocks from the hotel. As I’m walking to the hotel I see a doberman pinscher that looks exactly like Snoop Dog. It wasn’t leashed, and because it started barking at me, I started to run. The last time I ran from a dog it was four years ago, and the dog was a security guard at International Mall that just saw me fucking around with his Segway. What I’m saying is I’ve never run from a dog, so I don’t know why I decided to pick Saturday to do so. It wasn’t long before I hear the owner call out and the dog stops running. I felt like a dumbass for thinking I can outrun a wolf’s descendant wearing shoes that required a shoe-horn to put on.

As I’m walking to the hotel I see a doberman pinscher that looks exactly like Snoop Dog.

I didn’t really run far, but the fear for my life coupled with the brisk jog and the buttfucking Miami humidity ensured that I excreted a little unflattering back sweat. When I got inside, I wanted to hang out at the corner of the bar for a few minutes creepily staring at women while the back of my shirt dried up. That didn’t last too long, in under less than a minute I was noticed by a couple of friends that dragged me to the rest of the group. The ones that like to hug low got themselves a damp hand. I needed to fix this immediately, because there were hotties to meet, so I went to the restroom.

I took my shirt off and wanted to use the air blower thing to dry it…

Once inside, I found the handicap stall, internally apologized to any WW2 veterans that were about to wheelchair their way in and be forced to figure out a way to arc their piss into a wall urinal, and got to work. I took my shirt off and wanted to use the air blower thing to dry it, but the Mondrian decided it wanted to be one of the few fucking places in Miami that exclusively used paper towels. So I started fanning my shirt around like a gay, shirtless bullfighter. In total it took about 5 minutes of me whispering “toro, toro!” (which I briefly did call out, by the way) to get my shirt completely dry. However, in the middle of that 5 minutes, the lock on the door decided to inexplicably stop working, so a guy walks in holding his rum and coke to me with my shirt off mid-fan. What the fuck do you THINK I said? Obviously, “sorry bro, I’m high as shit right now.”

Wow, what did the whole scenario look like?

Artist’s impression.

Once I finish up, the rest of the night went pretty well. I should probably talk a little about the actual hotel. It’s South Beach, expensive drinks, beautiful women everywhere, pretentious assholes, and morons doing stupid shit in the restrooms. I like it. It’s a no-cover way to have yourself a sexy time on the island.

So where the hell is it?
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