By Michael E. Miller
By Ryan Yousefi
By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Sabrina Rodriguez
By Michael E. Miller
By Carlos Suarez De Jesus
By Luther Campbell
By Kyle Munzenrieder
One of the services offered by Martin Markowitz, according to his business card, is "fact or fiction analysis." The Bitch has a lot of trouble distinguishing between the two, so she called him.
Turns out the fiftyish Kendall resident is the inventor of a machine he calls the K-Bar Electronic Generator. With the aid of this device, Markowitz claims he can detect deception and determine veracity. "I'm only dealing with the issue of honesty. Is this person being honest or dishonest in the way they remember things," says Markowitz, who adds he has put his machine to work for police investigators, district attorneys, insurance companies, philanderers, and the occasional tabloid reporter.
According to Markowitz, the K-Bar is used to analyze fluctuations and tremors in a person's voice (the K-Bar, fortunately, does not measure barks, whines, growls, or howls). The Bitch, highly skeptical, found a human subject to put to the test.
Though no stranger to tricks with collars and other doggie-style antics, the keen hound is aware the discussion of such deeds often elicits extreme levels of dishonesty and hyperbole. Without revealing to him the intent of the experiment, The Bitch tapped and taped John Frank -- some guy she met at the Kendall Ale House who gave unconditional consent in the name of research -- for lab work. Better still, Frank, who's 32 years old, says he works as a bartender at strip club called La Bare.
When Markowitz and the K-Bar broke down Frank's recorded statement -- which included a wild tale about seducing a chica when he was of a very young, perhaps physically impossible, age -- the inventor called falsehood.
Asked by The Bitch -- who can spot a prosti-dude at twenty paces -- if he had ever been paid for sex, Frank responded, "I've been offered." Markowitz deduced this was not true.
The Bitch was a little disturbed when she asked Frank how he gets the ladies to go home with him, but was relieved to find out, at least according to Markowitz, that the response of "Rohypnol" was also untrue.
Try a Shot with Salt, Lime, and a Brow WaxThe Bitch will just go ahead and say it: When it comes to female surrealist painters from Mexico, she prefers Remedios Varo's mysterious nightscapes of sorceresses and birds. Frida Kahlo's trademarks vex the sensitive hound: There's the fascination with monkeys and facial hair; the perverse romantic triangle involving Kahlo, her sister, and her husband (abusive, portly muralist Diego Rivera); and the artist's obsessive self-portraiture.
There's no arguing though, that in the half-century since her death, Kahlo has evolved into a Latin American icon surpassed only by Che Guevara. When Rivera wasn't smacking around the morphine-shooting Kahlo -- already consigned to a life of anguish owing to a bus accident she barely survived as a teen -- the revolutionary-minded painters were known to party excessively with the likes of Jacqueline Lamba and Leon Trotsky. During these grand fetes, legendary quantities of painkillers along with the purest tequila distilled in Mexico were consumed -- now that's the type of artistic movement The Bitch supports.
Inspired by the alcohol part of the Kahlo mystique, Bay Harbor Islands-based liquor importer Dorado, Pizzorni & Sons will soon distribute Frida Kahlo Tequila. Each bottle will bear her name and likeness.
Dorado President Jorge Gutierrez says the tequila, manufactured with the consent of Kahlo's family estate, is made with blue agave and processed in adobe ovens in the highlands of Jalisco, a central-western state of Mexico. "[Jalisco is] the best place to make tequila," Gutierrez boasted. "It's really a high-quality product."
Gutierrez's company is manufacturing three different types of FKT: blanco, reposado, and añejo. During a recent visit to his office, The Bitch downed three sample shots.
The blanco, which retails for $50 a bottle, was yank-your-uterus-out-and-nail-it-to-a-canvas bad. But the reposado, which will set you back $65, was one simian a drinking dog wouldn't mind having on her forequarters. The añejo, aged in American oak casks for three years, had a superb cognac-y quality to it; yet somehow, after further consideration of Self-Portrait with Monkeys, The Bitch thinks she'll stick with Hypnotiq. Make sure not to drive (though you can still take the bus) after imbibing this product.
Gore TextHerschell Gordon Lewis made cinematic history in Miami. Specifically, the director (now a Fort Lauderdale resident) revolutionized the gory exploitation flicks of the Sixties with Blood Feast, now a cult classic. The movie was filmed in 1963 in Miami and prominently featured the pyramid and sphinx from the Suez Motel, a landmark that stood at 18215 Collins Ave. until it was torn down last year to make way for luxury condos. Lewis's film also prominently featured bloody dismemberment in color, most of it performed by an insane Egyptian caterer named Fuad Ramses, who sacrificed hot chicks to his cannibalistic god.
So Lewis isn't Dario Argento. But Blood Feast put Lewis on the map in 1963, and from there he was off and running, garnering more infamy with splatter flicks such as Two Thousand Maniacs and Color Me Blood Red.
Filmmaker and musician Jimmy Maslon obsessed over Lewis's body of work in the Seventies, when he was a teenage regular of the midnight movie circuit in Los Angeles, where he still lives. Lewis's films were shown with those of Richard Flink (Love Goddesses of Blood Island) and Doris Wishman (Nude on the Moon).