By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By David Villano
By Jose D. Duran
By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Kyle Swenson
By Luther Campbell
If you were a local homeless dude, you didn't have to touch someone inappropriately to get swept away from the public eye. Since basketball season started, cops began targeting regular ol' bums around the American Airlines Arena for alcohol-related and other petty arrests. Commissioners unanimously voted to pass an ordinance that nearly doubled the "no-panhandling zone" around the arena, cutting into untold beer funds and singlehandedly crippling Colt 45's countywide sales.
Sorry shelter-deficient scamps, but LeBron's in town. Mimi couldn't have society's unsightly detritus bothering her new boyfriend while he was at work, could she?
Step three: Play the field, with slightly creepy results.
Forgive us if this was already covered in some Ashton Kutcher movie. But doesn't it seem like when you're single and lonely, the opposite sex won't touch you with a ten-foot prophylactic, and when you've got a good-looking mate, you can't beat off the suitors with a crowbar?
We think that's what's happened with Mimi. She became a hot commodity on the meat market again. And while we're far too progressive a publication to use the word slut, let's just say Mimi is the type of woman who's never not-looking. The net result of this animal attraction is that she got involved with some pretty sleazy characters. Yes, we're referring to you, right-wing weirdo politicians.
It was one of those election cycles, rife with attack ads and boldfaced political lies, that made South Floridians want to claw their skin off because they felt so dirty. And when the dust settled, we were left with a Burger King Kids' Club Gang of dangerous and unqualified — but racially diverse! — newly elected officials.
Let's start with Rubio, who looks like a 12-year-old Catholic schoolboy and treats politics like a game of locker-room towel snap. The West Miami native downed a giant shot of yeah-sure-down-with-big-government-and-Obama-is-a-Muslim-why-not? in order to send Crist packing. And while we have to admit it was entertaining to watch The Tanned One flee the scene with Rubio's size-6 Croc lodged in his ass, now comes the harrowing reality of a U.S. senator who looks he should be valeting cars.
We sort of understand why Mimi got involved with Rubio. He's charming and good-looking in a barely pubescent Jonas Brothers kind of way. But we were totally befuddled when our girl got herself in a long-term relationship with Rick Scott, who's about as charming as death by gangrene, and looks exactly like the evil dude in Poltergeist II. Scott — he of the nihil political experience and $2 billion Medicare fraud settlement — wasn't supposed to have a chance against Alex Sink in the gubernatorial race. The difference-maker may have been that Scott spent a record-breaking $75 million on television ads that featured his hypnotic, glowing red eyes. More likely, it was that Sink's campaign — declared the worst in the year's national election cycle by MSNBC — was as lively as a shred of Subway lettuce.
Rounding out the stab-you-with-a-Harley-gasket quotient of depraved characters inaugurated into public office was Allen West, who won a Congressional seat despite ties to a biker gang, the Outlaws, that is notorious for its involvement in the meth trade. He even wrote for the gang's magazine, bumping bylines with such booby-batting pundits — actual quote from the publication: "Vaginas are way kool" — as Nuke n' Pave Dave, Nasty, and Miami Mike. The political attack ads wrote themselves: "Guns. Prostitution. Murder. That's who Allen West rides with," a gravelly voice intoned over one Democrat-funded spot.
West had negligible political experience and his dogged wear of a flattop and military medals seemed desperate, considering he was booted from the army for firing a gun next to an interrogation suspect's head. But apparently the magical rarity of a black guy in the Tea Party — the political equivalent of a chupacabra humping a unicorn — made West invincible.
So it is that Mimi — Gucci-clad, makeup-caked, and wearing a spiked German motorcycle helmet — roars into the new year on the back of West's hog with Rubio and Scott pedaling behind in a baby blue tandem bicycle, ominously whistling show tunes.
Fast-forward to May 2011, and Mimi is back at the dive bar, chin sagging into her Campari. Instead of Frankie Valli, there's an angry operetta playing on the jukebox. Riley stands behind the bar with his arms crossed sulkily, every so often pulling out that long piece of paper to jot down some testy note-to-self. That doofy black-haired barback Erik? He got canned months ago for ineptitude, and left the bar with the outline of Riley's revolver butt molded into the back of his head. It's no more Mr. Nice coach — erm, bartender — now.
LeBron already skipped town after finishing up work a little earlier than expected — why was nobody told the Boston Celtics already have a "Big Three"? — and will spend the spring and summer with his Midwestern high school sweetheart, who always knew he'd return with his tail between his legs.
As for Mimi's other suitors: In Tallahassee, the streets are paved in human skulls that once belonged to opponents of Rick Scott's Bloodthirsty Robot Equal Rights Act. Allen West is holed up in a Hialeah meth lab with an aging biker babe named She-Blade. And Marco Rubio spent the last six months making collages of President Obama wearing a dashiki and dancing on Ground Zero.