Only in Miami Stories from The Miami Creation Myth

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.

Former President and Presently Convicted Felon Donald Trump, shoved a branch into an underground burrow occupied by Governor Ron DeSantis.

Quit your whining, quit your complaining, and just be glad I don’t send the nearest train to ram right through your front door! You got me!?

So long as you find yourself within the confines of Miami-Dade County and are a sentient human, anyone can and will address you as “bro.”

The newest, most advanced AI just went public in the form of MiamiGPT, a chatbot designed exclusively for Miamians.

Asked to opine on Suarez’s endorsement, Trump responded with, “What do I care what that Mexican says? Why haven't we deported him yet?"

Carollo postponed a judgement to auction his house by declaring his actual place of residence was deep within the bosom of all anticomunistas.

“The funds are a liberal conspiracy to gayify the state!” cried Purdue, apparently unaware of Florida's infamous resemblance to a dong.

Miami must save itself from climate disaster. It’ll be hard as hell, but I’m game if you are. What do we have to lose other than everything?

Miami must transform into a green citadel by building onion-like natural fortifications to protect itself from ever stronger hurricanes.

The harder I attempt to grapple with commonalities that define all Latinos, the more elusive they become.

Exuberant techno-utopianism was replaced by dourness when word spread that the world’s third richest gentrifier was moving to Miami.

We were nominated for the International Latino Book Awards' Best Fantasy Novel and received an Honorable Mention for Best First Book.

I wound through Northeasterners and Californians discussing AI, summer homes, and wild little hand pies they discovered called “empanadas.”

Some worry that banning the alphabet would fill Florida with illiterate, ignorant, omni-hating imbeciles, but that boat has long since sailed.

Alright recent arrivals, I know what you’re thinking. Who the hell is this Dale guy and why is everyone in Miami obsessed with him?

Peeking into the Celestial Convection Oven, God realized He set Miami’s temperature far too high, turning it into a charbroiled mess.