A local Florida Man (know for excess drinking and drug use) in his small community of other Florida Men got high on bath salts last night and went nutso.
It all started in the late evening on a Friday night. The moon had one of those glows where you knew something fucked up was going to happen. It was one of those feelings where you knew you didn’t want to be caught outside with a bunch of people from Florida – especially those rachet Florida Men.
The people who stayed home on Friday night went to bed knowing they would not run into a crazed Florida Man under the Florida midnight sky. They knew they were safe watching their boring TV shows, drinking warm milk and petting their old pets who were too elderly and boring to go on a walk on that eerie Florida moonlit night.
The young and ambitious risk takers (the dumb fucks) who didn’t heed the warning that a Florida Man might be on the loose paid the price that night….oh God did they ever.
It started on Miami beach. The beach of lust. The strip where you know you could find a lay if you just drank enough. The beach known for STDs, multimillion-dollar condos and the infamous Florida Man.
A lone bystander (we will call her Florida Whore) spotted the Florida Man under a dark, unlit palm tree.
“Ya know me darling,” Florida Whore slurred as she drank from her watered-down margarita and tucked her two-day worn thong bikini back into her rather short jean shorts. “I was just minding my own business, looking for a hunk of man to take back to my place over out on Collins avenue….,” Florida Whore paused as she took an obnoxiously long drag from her Pall Mall cigarette. “And that is when I saw Florida Man.”
“How did you know it was Florida Man?”
“Oh honey, you just know when Florida Man emerges.”
“But really, I am from a more respectable state, unlike Florida. How did you really know it was Florida Man?”
“Hun…would you know a dick from a ball sack? Would you know a baby’s scream from a fish swimming? Would you know if these tits were fake,” as Florida Whore pulled out her long, saggy boys from her crop top.
Florida Whore might sound dense, but as a well know (and I mean well know) Florida woman, she ran as fast away as she could from the infamous Florida Man.
After being encountered by Florida Whore, Florida Man approached a famous night club in search – not for a quick lay like the rest of the patrons – but for chaos and destruction.
Florida Man entered the night club with a look of destruction on his eyes. He spent the morning screaming at his wife, stealing cough medicine from the local grocery store and driving drunk through a school zone. It was a Friday night and Florida Man wanted to fuck some shit up.
Florida Man’s eyes gazed upon a local college girl as he entered the club. Her black hair flowed to the sound of the techno music that filled the club. Her short dress barley covered her tan, long legs. Her shirt exposed her bust and her cute, dolphin belly button ring.
“Are you hungry,” Florida yelled into the dancing, black haired college girl’s face.
She stared back at him for a second then turned the other way and continued to dance.
“I said bitch! Are you hungry?”, Florida Man shouted while grabbing her shoulder and violently turning her around.
“Who the fuck is you? Don’t touch me,” black haired college girl screamed.
“You look hungry, why don’t you eat something skinny bitch,” Florida man stated in a calmer manner while walking away.
The college girl had a look of shock on her face. She was blown away by the philosophical statement of, “you look hungry”. That was when she realized she was indeed hungry. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and realized her belly was grumbling.
Florida Man continued to make his way deeper into the club, farther away from the real world of civilization outside of Florida. Florida Man was in his zone and ready to create chaos like Florida has never seen.
“Hey doofus!”, Florida Man shouted to a swollen, body builder of a fella.
“What is up buddy are you lost?”, the swollen body builder shouted back to Florida Man.
“Someone forgot about leg day….toothpick legs,” Florida Man whispered into the ear of the swollen body builder of a man.
The man was shocked. His ego was crushed. He knew he had been skipping leg day for at least 4,713 days. His legs were weak, and he knew it.
Florida Man continued, deeper into the club of sweat, smeared makeup and bad music. The rampage continued.
“Hey goofy bartender! You make your drinks weak. I bet you went to ‘college’ for bartending, didn’t you?”
“Hey desperate horny man! You won’t get laid tonight!”
Florida Man continued his rather blunt yet true statements all night in the club. By the time the last call was called the entire club was up in rampage. No one was getting laid. The hungry college girl was to busy stuffing her face with burgers. The toothpick leg “bodybuilder” was squatting in the corner. The bartender was making such strong drinks people were passing out drunk in the bathroom. And the DJ was playing GG Allin songs.
It was at this time that Florida Man knew he made a difference. He created the chaos that Florida Man always does. Florida Man sat back and laughed. He laughed while he huffed gasoline. He laughed while he shot up bath salts. He laughed as he made love to an alligator while eating Taco Bell. Florida Man was in his prime – his zone – and he was just getting started.