Only in Miami Stories from The Miami Creation Myth

After 38,485 pounds of trash, three years as an entrepreneur, and eight years working on The Miami Creation Myth, I’m freaking tired!

Many were rounded up and placed in the Four Seasons, where they endured appalling conditions such as spring mattresses and a self-serve continental breakfast.

The USS Lyndon B. Johnson launched a Tomahawk cruise missile that sank a 45-foot yacht anchored just off Downtown Miami.

Given Trump’s infamous aversion to reading, all the volumes in the library’s 15-acre campus will be coloring books or 1980s Playboy foldouts.

The sheer unbridled cognitive dissonance made a dozen men around a Miami ventanita collapse into frothing comas.

Men need more meaningful social connections, and we can’t achieve that if we write off half the world’s population.

Charlie Kirk was a hate monger who profited from peddling bigotry to millions. But I didn’t want to open a link that documented his murder. 

ICE is now accepting any bigot able to fog a mirror, shred a copy of the Constitution, and sign a loyalty oath to their Dear Leader.

ICE is now accepting any bigot able to fog a mirror, shred a copy of the Constitution, and sign a loyalty oath to their Dear Leader.

Miamians declared they would gladly take the $840 million as direct payments to help with the city’s crushing affordability crisis.

My parents were shocked when they saw me remerge from the barracks. I was pallid, rail-thin, and wobbly.

The Army takes everything you loved as a child and makes it awful. That's how it turns hiking into its dirty, brutish cousin: rucking.

And we’ve come to starvation. Healthy, athletic male college freshmen in industrialized countries tend not to weigh 113 pounds.

Forget whatever bullshit frat boy version of hazing you have in your head. West Point hazing circa 2005 was a creature completely apart.

“You’re not starving to death,” explained the 22-year-old medic gripping my ankle. “You’re just starving.”

When a Cuban immigrant was kidnapped and separated from her nursing child, her community rose in righteous anger to do absolutely nothing.

When they go low, we satirists must wantonly slam our heads into the ground until we tunnel to the other side of the planet. 

I made it, everyone! The Dirty Thirty. The Double Quinceañera. 30,000 pounds of trash.

Even when injured, dehydrated, moments from heat stroke, one wish kept me from collapsing into the mud forever: selling shirts to papi chulos.

“I’m the Secretary of State!” yelled a short, tubby man with a Miami accent. He shook his bars as the dozen other people in his cell grinned.

A comprehensive guide of the many types of Miami bros one is liable to encounter in da clurb.

Two years ago, when I self-published a silly little book titled The Miami Creation Myth, I set the goal of selling 1,000 copies.

Many elements contributed to Cuban Americans’ recent rightward shift but I want to focus on two particularly salient factors: trauma and anger.

Let’s embark on a tour of some of Miami’s most gentrified neighborhoods that’ll serve as your next post’s perfect prop.

I and many of my fellow Miamians could be left unmoored—culturally adrift, unable to find purchase in our long-lost motherland or newfound home.

How do I proceed as a satirist and champion of Miami when well more than half the county fundamentally and sometimes violently disagrees with me?

I do my work because of its intrinsic pain, anger, frustration, and cathartic release. I do it for the mangroves, but I also do it for myself.

How can one differentiate between communists and patriots in Miami? Luckily, there are several tell-tale signs.

Cuban dominoes is a vehicle para hablar mierda, a psychological battle whose objective is to invade, occupy, and destroy your rivals’ minds.

We Hispanics owe Haitians our support, not just because they helped us in our times of need, but because it’s the right thing to do.