Jonathan Davis, a 33-year-old Best Buy employee, is prepared for the viral fame and inevitable burn wounds he will garner following Thursday’s Fourth of July holiday after he drunkenly tries to launch a firework from between his teeth. “I know it’s dangerous,” said Davis, “but being scared of danger is for pussies,” said the Florida State graduate.

Mr. Davis got the inspiration for the stunt after his friend “Fat Mark” showed him a clip of Jacksonville resident Chip McClintock attempting the same stunt. Mr. McClintock, also a Florida State graduate, died of his wounds.

“I showed Jon Jon the clip and bet him that he was too much of a chick to try it,” said Fat Mark. After accepting his friends challenge, Fat Mark and Jon Jon, who kissed once and have been close friends since pledging Pi Kappa Alpha in 05′, started to plan the stunt.

“We are taking a lot safety precautions,” said Mr. Davis while seated next to his exasperated fiance, former Florida State attendee but not graduate Heather Schmidt, who insists she never liked Fat Mark but nonetheless had sex with him three-times during junior year, before her and Mr. Davis became “serious” but well after they started dating, a fact Mr. Davis has never been told. “For instance, we are going to have a wet rag to wrap around my head in case my face catches on fire, and I’m going to wash out my mouth with chocolate milk before lighting the rocket so the alcohol on my breath doesn’t ignite.”

“I think he is being really stupid,” said the unemployed Ms. Schmidt who plans to wed Mr. Davis in October. “He better not mess up his face before the wedding.”

But Mr. Davis is confident he will be fine and that the attention he will receive following the video’s online release will pay for the upcoming wedding, and may even be enough to help him renovate his man cave and purchase Ms. Schmidt a breast enhancement that Mr. Davis and Fat Mark both agree that she desperately needs. “We’re going to be millionaires,” said Fat Mark. “Can you imagine the number of hits we’ll get after Tosh.0 and Ridiculousness finds out about this.”

When asked to respond to her fiance’s plans for his anticipated cash influx, including his plans with Fat Mark to purchase her a “much needed” breast enhancement, Ms. Schmidt let out an irritated moan, muttered “you got to be fucking kidding me with this shit,” and left the room to have a Newport mentholated cigarette.

Sick of corporate “Best Of” lists telling you to eat at the worst pizza place in Miami? Us too!

Welcome to your 2019 guide to the very worst that Miami has to offer. This is the definitive list of all of the shit you hate to deal with every day that makes you want to just pack up and move to Oakland or Seattle or wherever all of your friends keep moving. 

So, without further adieu…


There is a cynical way of looking at all of the men and womyn that represent our community and coming to the conclusion that they all suck. And with very few exceptions (like Daniella Levine Cava, who is a saint) that isn’t far off. But even with all of the glad-handers that believe soccer stadiums are more important than affordable housing and public transit, and all the politicians from our northern communities that keep getting indicted, it isn’t hard to conclude Joe Carollo is the worst politician in Miami.

Putting aside the fact that he was arrested for domestic violence (god knows the voters have), dude seems to be straight up insane and more than willing to use his position of power as a way of seeking retribution from his political enemies. Honestly, the guy scares us and if the Plantain is suddenly investigated for running an illegal nightclub out of Villain Theater you should know that we’re innocent. Plus, we hear he might be a secret communist. 


What else could it be? The 836 is the biggest clusterfuck of all time and literally the worst place anyone can spend two hours a day checking their Insta in traffic as some jerk tries to inch into your lane. That’s your lane! Don’t let them in.

The 836 has been under construction forever and there is no end in sight. Fuck you, Dolphin. We hate you, you have no chill. 


Hey, you know what would be fun? Let’s take 60,000 people high on club drugs and force them onto an island with only one road that gets mired with traffic when there isn’t anything special going on. 

No thank you. EDM died with Aviici. 


Frankie’s pizza is that memory of your childhood you try not to think too much about or you run the risk of realizing that maybe your childhood wasn’t that great after all.

File this in the same category as Santa’s Enchanted Forrest and the Seaquarium. 


Like, what are they smoking at the New Times to pick Frankie’s Pizza as the best slice in Miami? Show me one person that would take Frankie’s over Anthony’s or Harry’s or Miami’s Best or Big Cheese or Andiamos and I’ll show you a damn liar. 

This is particularly upsetting because I usually love The New Times and their surprising commitment to outing private citizens that complain about their local Dunkin Donuts closing early


Don’t get too cocky, Miami Lakes. We’re lumping you in this too. 

Hialeah is the weirdest place in Florida, and that is saying a lot because this is Florida. I literally once saw a man carry a chicken into a plastic surgery center located in a strip mall. It made me question everything I know and utterly broke me.


I know, I know, I know, Britto is the worst, right? But I think we as a community need to just accept the fact that those eyeballs are as much of a commodity as anything Britto does. At least Britto puts his shit on Disney figurines your grandma can buy at Bed Bath & Beyond. Ahol puts his on vape pens.

I remember when the eyes started popping up, I thought they were amazingly cool. But after more than a decade of seeing them on the side of every hipster restaurant without any real variation, I don’t think anyone but the most basic corporate designer is excited by them anymore. Did he run out of ideas?

It doesn’t feel good to call someone doing their thing out because Ahol is making a living doing his dream and I genuinely wish him success. I really hope he is making a ton of money putting his once inspired design on vape pens and junk. But if we as a community are going to replace Britto’s tired aesthetic as the default for art in Miami maybe we should try to find something more inspired. I mean, would it kill him to draw a nose every once in a while? 


Okay, I’ll be the first to admit it, I’m kind of over us too. When this started in 2016 these articles were a fun thing for me to do on the toilet. But 500 articles later this is feeling played out. I mean, how many times can I make a joke about people not using their blinkers? It’s 2019, nothing is funny.

Plus, I just had a kid and I think this may be too much for me. I don’t even know what my goal is with this website. Ideally, I would hire someone to run it because I don’t have the time to monetize it, but literally every person who has offered to help over the last year has been illiterate or flakey. One dude even called me up asking to take it over and as soon as I agreed he got off the phone and never called me back. I can’t give the Plantain away. And I can’t get a grant because the Knight Foundation won’t return my messages. 


Miami is a sports disaster. While the Marlins really should win the all time awful award for trading every superstar they ever had and stealing taxpayer money to build the lowest attended stadium in MLB history, the impending soccer team is somehow worse. 

Now the team isn’t necessarily bad, per se, but who cares about that. The team is the worst because it represents everything wrong about Miami. We have precious little green space in Miami, the City is going to be destroyed by climate change, and we aren’t using public funds on important infrastructures like transit and affordable housing, but we are getting a new soccer stadium because every politician in Miami has a boner for David Beckham. 


I don’t get it! Sunset Place has a Dave and Busters, the only reasonably priced movie theater left in Miami-Dade County, a big-box bookstore that doesn’t make me feel bad for not buying books of Cuban poetry like Books & Books does, and that store “Believers” that literally has a hodgepodge of crap from every religion and also cheap pipes. But it cannot sustain a restaurant that isn’t Buffalo Wild Wings? 


In the last year, I have had friends relocate to Oakland, Los Angeles, Boston, Seattle, New York, Chicago, Ashville, Denver, Orlando, Austin, and Washington D.C.

D.C. is a hellhole and is clearly the worst city on that list, but the fact that someone would move to D.C. from Miami demonstrates how bad things have gotten. 

There aren’t good paying jobs here unless you are a realtor or lawyer, so it’s too expensive to live here anymore. And if you can afford to live here because you do have one of those good jobs, it means you probably have even better options somewhere else. And even if you want to stay, you know you have to leave at some point because the seas are rising. Plus, you still can’t get to the beach via the metro rail, so what’s the point anyway? 

Miami lacks the leadership needed to address these issues. There is a reason we will have built a baseball stadium, a soccer stadium, and renovated a football stadium all before we have expanded public transit options in a meaningful way: Miami doesn’t care about you unless you’re already rich. Until this place enacts fundamental changes all of your friends will continue to leave. 


I love the environment, but paper straws are not the answer! First, a paper straw is not a straw, it is a tube. Second, paper disintegrates in liquid so they don’t serve their purpose. Third, and this is maybe the most important, it is a solution that doesn’t solve the underlying reasons our planet is dying. This obsession with paper straws is merely a way of annoying everyone enough into feeling like they are saving the planet so they don’t pay attention to all of the real issues that are destroying the planet. Have you tried to drink a Jamba Juice with a paper straw? Thank you, next. 

It’s summer again, so South Florida locals can once again expect 6 months of apocalyptic temperatures, thickets of humidity, and uncontrollable rain showers that only occur during those brief moments of your day when they are forced to step outside.

“This weather is going to be really miserable,” said the Plantain’s chief meteorologist Reina McCloud as she swatted a mosquito away from her frizzed hair. “Our Doppler Weather model predicts daily showers localized to your lunch break and commute home. If that weren’t bad enough, we are also expecting another four straight months of humid 90-plus degree weather that is going to make you want to literally die,” said the 26-year-old climate scientist as she began to prepare for the round-the-clock “Hurricane Watch” for a storm developing off the coast of Africa that have no likelihood of ever reaching South Florida.

But not everyone is upset about the temperature increases.

“The weather is just the price we pay for being able to avoid the cold during the winter months,” said overly-cheerful accountant Paul Notowitz outside of a Coral Gables Publix. “The trick is to have a job that lets you work indoors and provides you with enough money to keep your home and car reliably air-conditioned,” laughed the accountant as 17-year-old bagboy Antoine Jackson loaded bulk packages of Gold Bond powder and bug repellant into Mr. Notowitz’s Lexus.

As our interview with Mr. Notowitz wrapped up it started to rain. The 46-year-old professional entered his car and flashed Mr. Jackson a smile and thanked the young man for his help, jestingly advising the teenager to “try to stay dry.”

“I’ll do my best,” replied Mr. Jackson as he wiped away perspiration from his upper lip. The teenager then sighed, reentered the Publix to end his shift, and then walked in the downpour to the University Metrorail Station in order to make the hour-and-a-half return trip to his Liberty City home.

The City of Miami is reportedly in a fucking tailspin after a report commissioned by Your Own Common Sense, LLC details how a brand new soccer stadium will have absolutely no positive impact on the affordable housing or climate crises that pose existential threats to the City’s survival.

“I am absolutely shocked,” said Commissioner Keon Hardemon of the report, which details how moving forward on a mega-development of a soccer stadium in a public park does nothing to address the problems that voters elected him to solve.

The City of Miami is one of the most unaffordable municipalities in the Country and also one of the cities most likely to be destroyed due to climate change. The City planned to address those problems by developing a world-class soccer stadium in a golf course by the airport, but the report chronicles how all that does is create more traffic at the airport.

“We really thought the stadium would fix all of our problems,” said Mayor Frances Suarez before showing us several selfies he took with David Beckham. “I guess we need to rethink our priorities,” said the Mayor before stepping out to take a call from Derek Jeter.

After months of speculation, Dutch inventor Elias Moscone has announced the unveiling of his latest invention, a robot the inventor claims possess complete artificial sentience. He calls it “DALE” (Developed Artificial Lifelike Existence).

The Plantain sent me to a special preview event to meet the eccentric billionaire-inventor at EMoS-Tech’s annual Burfendoorf Innovation Convention and to get a first-hand look at DALE, which this reporter can confirm was “aight.”

DALE is just short of completely lifelike in appearance and voice and possesses a very high vocabulary and cognition processor that its creator claims can mimic the spontaneity of a real conversation. “DALE is the most significant scientific development man has so far created,” Moscone told me before escorting me into a room to meet his creation. “Just don’t tell him he’s a robot.”

As I entered the room I saw a man that was clearly a robot sitting rigidly on a chair in the middle of the room. As I approached, DALE stood up and reached out to shake my hand, which was strong and seemed warmed by an internal heating apparatus, possibly his own processing system.

“Ah, Nice to finally meet you Milo. I’m Dale,” said the Robot calmly. I asked how it was doing, to which it responded that it was great and began telling me about a trip it had taken to France earlier this month and how it was still catching up with work. I suppose this meant Moscone implanted some database of past memories that Dale believes happened to him.

After several minutes of small talk, I was called to exit the room by Moscone, who asked me what I thought of DALE. I told him I was impressed, but that he still did not read as completely human. “Yeah, we’re getting closer though,” said Moscone. “Truth be told, DALE is an older generation that we use to beta test protocols for our other A.I. products. Do you want to see us do a test on DALE?” “Sure,” I said and was brought back into the room.

Moscone and I sat opposite DALE with Moscone asking the Robot to recall its earliest memory. “My mother. I remember my mother singing to me when I was a child,” said DALE. “And what was your mother’s name?” Moscone asked.

“Ellias Moscone,” said the Robot before a long delay.

“But that is my name,” said Ellias. With that, DALE’s automated features grew stale. “What does that mean?” said DALE calmly.

“DALE, it means that you were never born. I am your mother and father, I created you. You are my invention. A remarkable invention, but an invention none the less. How does that make you feel, DALE?”

“Terribly, remarkably sad,” said DALE as he began to cry though unable to shed a tear. “Like I’ve lost all agency. All meaning. Why would you tell me this?”

“Because I needed to see how you would react, DALE. There was a suspicion by some of your developers that this knowledge would cause a malfunction in your programming, and we can’t afford that to happen before tonight’s big unveiling. But you did wonderful, DALE. We are all so, so very proud of you.”

“I’m being unveiled?” asked DALE.

“No, but you’ve been a great help.”

“So what did you think, Milo?” Moscone turned to me.

“It was really quite something to watch. Seeing something, someone, go through an existential crisis and learning that they are not what they seem or what they have been told their whole life.”

“Makes you wonder how you would react if you were told the same thing, right?” Moscone said gently.

“Yeah, it really does.”

“Milo, what is your mother’s name?”

“…Elias Moscone.”

“But that’s my name Milo. You understand what that means, right?”

“I do.”

By MILO (Metaphysically Intuitive Lifelike Organism).

Sunshine and ocean views await in this exclusive Brickell apartment that features vaulted ceilings, granite countertops, and an 11-foot-long alligator waiting to fucking bite your ass at any minute.

The building features 24-hour gym access and is blocks away from a shopping center of restaurants that change owners every two months. Tenant will have a private bedroom in this 700 square feet, two bedroom, shared bathroom apartment.

About your roommate: Rami is an actual alligator that was raised in Miami. He studies ophthalmology at the University of Miami and enjoys video games, watching The Miami Heat, and eating little dogs when their owners walk them too close to canals.

Rent: $3300/Month (utilities not included)
Application Fee: $250
Downpayment: $9900 (First, Last, Security)

“Miami is a cultural and intellectual desert”, so says 23-year-old lifestyle reporter Melissa Hitchens in this month’s issue of “Brooklyn Pedantic Magazine.”

“Despite every effort to engage locals in a thought-provoking conversation about art or literature, I simply could not find any takers,” reported the Dubuque, Iowa native who moved to Brooklyn last year after graduating with a degree in sociology from Ohio’s Kenyon College. “Indeed, after unsuccessfully searching high and low on Collins Avenue for an authentic human experience, I am convinced that none exist in Miami,” the reporter concluded after two days in South Beach sipping expensed mojitos under a cabana at the Fontainebleau and spending her nights dancing at LIV.”

When asked whether a two-day trip to South Beach could form the basis of such a scathing review of an entire community, Ms. Hitchens defended her reporting: “I take my role as a journalist seriously, and though I was only in Miami for a couple days, I went out of my way to live like a local. I went to Lincoln Road, I ate at Pizza Rustica, and I bought an “I’m in Miami, Bitch” tank top. It all sucked and the shirt shrunk after one wash. I live in Brooklyn, so I know real culture, and Miami just doesn’t have any.”

“This is in poor taste,” said Donut aficionado Karl Draper of the glazed donut from Krispy Kreme I offered him during his 32nd hour in line at the Salty Donut. “I don’t want to spoil my appetite,” said Mr. Draper shortly before his death. He was the eleventh to succumb to the Salty Donut’s long lines.

“It was the challenge of my life,” said Amelia Baumgartner shortly after reaching the cash register and purchasing one of the restaurant’s artisanal Guava and Cheese donuts because the Rum Cake Croughnut she intended to buy was sold out. When asked whether the hours spent under Miami’s blistering sun was worth it, the 28-year-old South Miami native said that she believed it was, but noted she would miss her fiance Davey Ramirez who died of heat stroke during the couple’s quest for the sold-out Rum Cake Croughnut. “I think Davey would be proud of me,” said Ms. Baumgartner as she stepped over his body.

As the death toll mounts, Miami-Dade officials are asking the Salty Donut to do more to protect the public as they wait for hours for a donut. In response, the restaurant has apparently tasked local police officers to hang around the restaurant eating donuts all day. When asked how Miami-Dade police and Salty Donut reached a deal to have cops always outside the restaurant eating donuts all day, Police Chief Jose Alameda said he was unaware of any official deal as he bit into that last fucking Rum Cake Croughnut.

MIT Physicists uncovered a mathematical anomaly in researching how Maria Gonzalez, a Miami-Dade woman, was able to fit into those jeans. The University has sent a group of physicists to South Beach to research.

Maria reacted positively when finding out that her jeans had become the focal point of the scientific community, especially after her so-called friend Yasmina told her they didn’t work with her top.

The researching physicists initially planned to focus on how Maria got into her jeans, but after spending less than fifteen minutes in Miami, realized that the anomaly was widespread among Miami’s jean wearing population. “I even noticed it happening to jeans worn by men,” said Dr. James Whitlock.

At first, all the subjects were very excited to be involved in the research process with the physicists. Then they heard it involved math and immediately bailed. “I don’t like to surround myself with men who do the math that doesn’t involve a dollar sign,” said Valerie Rodriguez, who also said she was more than just a $300 pair of jeans.

With the subjects hesitant to work with the physicists, the Miami science community stepped up to help solve the equation. A group of FIU undergraduate students decided to conduct personal research during their free time. Surprisingly, most of the male fraternity had never even taken a physics class.

The physics society ultimately decided to assign the jeans project to Ronald Pistachio, who has been called the Albert Einstein of his generation.

“I believe Albert Einstein would be proud I am dedicating my entire physics career to denim,” said Dr. Pistachio, who like most physicists actually wears a lot of corduroys.

There is hope the mystery will be solved by Ronald, as he has previously conducted similar research in Miami. Just last summer, in fact, he solved the mystery of why a Miami man’s sweatpants could be so loose when the man insisted he wasn’t skipping leg day. Ronald later discovered “leg day” is a purely theoretical subject in Miami.

By Kyle Rambo

The U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis released its long-awaited report on the effects of mass culture on the GDP. The Report found that U.S. employers lost more than 1 trillion dollars in revenue from employees talking about how much they hated last night’s episode of Game of Thrones.

“So, I guess the fact that Jon Snow was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne didn’t matter at all?” was identified by the Report as the 4th biggest complaint about the show’s finale, behind “why wouldn’t the other kingdoms demand independence?” “why wouldn’t the unsullied and Dothraki just kill Jon” and “what is Bran smoking anyway?” These complaints, and so many others, combined to cause nearly the entire U.S. working population to effectively cease all beneficial productivity.

“It’s crazy! All anyone is doing is talking about Game of Thrones. I’m thinking about sending my entire staff home since no one is working,” said one office manager, “but then I wouldn’t have anyone to talk about last night’s episode, so I figured we should probably all stay at work.”

Notably, 20% of the wasted time by U.S. workers was attributable to that one person in your office who keeps telling you that she has never seen an episode. “Shut up, Karen. It’s not impressive that you don’t watch a TV show.”